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(BEING THE TWELFTH OF A NEW SERIES.)

PART THE FIRST.

PRODESSE ET DELECTARE.

E PLURIBUS UNUM.

By SYLVANUS URBAN, Gent.

LONDON: Printed by JOHN NICHOLS and SON,
at Cicero's Head, Red Lion Passage, Fleet Street ;

where LETTERS are particularly requested to be sent, POST-PAID
And sold by J. HARRIS (Successor to Mrs. NEWBERY),
at the Corner of St. Paul's Church Yard, Ludgate Street;
and by PERTHES and BESSER, Hamburgh. 1819.

THE IPHIGENIA OF TIMANTHES.

The subject of the NEWDIGATE Prize at Oxford for 1819.

FANCY! fair, radiant, goddess of the Speechless her lips, yet resolute her eye,

skies,

Rob'd in the rifled rainbow's thousand

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tear,

In sober sorrow stands the priestly seer; Ulysses by, in unavailing woe,

Could almost dare to deprecate the blow; And sorely Ajax proves his bosom wrung, As passion'd pity thunders from his tongue, While sorrow-chasten'd Menelaus sighs, His heart's full anguish gushing at his eyes;

This is the throe that bleeding bosoms bear, The scorpion-sting of desolate despair.

In sadder, stiller, prominence of pain, The silent princess proves resistance vain; Her conscious spirit owns the godhead there,

And chill conviction chains the tongue of prayer.

Fixt and forlorn, in terror's breathless calm,

Her big soul palpitates with mad alarm ;

In mute appeal for mercy to the sky : E'en such a look sad Pity's self might

wear;

It taught Diana's savage soul to spare.

But mark that form! amid the group of grief,

In dumb distraction tow'rs the warrior chief;

Deep in his heart the father yearns to spare,

But all the King repels the impulse there;

Not his a struggle for the vulgar eye,
The dim eclipse of fearful majesty.
Consummate art! 'twas thine to veil his
woe,

To draw from Fity twice her wonted throe; 'Twas thine to shroud a monarch mortal's face,

That grief might blend with grandeur and with grace.

This! Aulis! this! we owe thy piteous

tale,

Of kings and princes turu'd in horror pale. The deep tradition smote Timanthes' heart, Till genius kindling call'd the aid of art,

And o'er the dread, stupendous, perfect whole,

Outpour'd its full magnificence of soul.
Britain thy genius owns no rival claim,
If once it ask eternity of Fame;
Thine be the task to bid a father slay,
And "Jeptha's Vow" shall bear the palm
away.

HYMN FOR SUMMER*.

YE zephyrs bland, at opening day

That on the rippling waters play!
Ye cheerful gleams of dawning light,
That chase the hovering shades of night,
O'er Ocean's level surface spread,
Gild the tall promontory's head,
Then, kindling with the Sun's first beam,
Shed lustre on the silver stream,
That glides in silence thro' the vale!
Ye flowers, which balmy sweets exhale,
And as ye blossom fresh and fair,
Perfume the circum-ambient air!
Ye meads, bright glistening with the dew,
Which decks each herb with verdure
new!

Ye mists, that from the valleys crowd,
The mountain hoary top enshroud,
Or on the tufted woods repose,
Till with fresh warmth all æther glows,
While thro' a flood of radiance wide,
The landscape smiles on every side!

Ye bending crops of full-ear'd corn,
Which many a gentle slope adorn,
Still waving like the restless deep,
As the light airs your surface sweep!
Ye fleecy flocks! ye lowing herds!
And ye melodious singing birds,
That joyous hail the season gay,
Sporting on many a leaf-clad spray!
Glad influence join with one accord,
And teach me to confess the Lord!

Oh! while I view the rip'ning store
Of blessings, may I still adore,
HIM who bestows my daily food,
And satisfies my soul with good!
So may my renovated joy,

To his just praise my song employ;
Nor be forgot the nobler prize,
His mercy sets before my eyes,
A crown of endless bliss above,

In the pure realms of Peace and Love.
June 1819.
M. CHAMBERLIN.

* Sequel to the Hymn for Spring. See Gent. Mag. for May last, p. 465.

PREFACE

TO THE

FIRST PART OF THE EIGHTY-NINTH VOLUME.

WE are called upon, as usual, at the close of a Half-yearly Volume,

to open a new Season of our Literary Theatre, by a Prefatory Address. Of course we must adopt a language suited to the occasion, and a costume adapted to the times. We must do what is indispensable in such situations-make fair promises, and be sure to keep them. We must summon confidence to appeal to the past, as a probable pledge of the future.

"The object of Philosophy," says Stewart, "is to ascertain the Laws which regulate the succession of events, in order that, when called upon to act in any particular combination of circumstances, we may be able to anticipate the probable course of Nature from our past experience, and regulate our conduct accordingly." We know what has been repeatedly said about Plebophobia; but we are not convinced that the alarm is unsound. We think that there is one leading cause of our public vexations-too extensive population. Our very virtues and also our vices augment the evil. This paradox is explained by Franklin. Industry and frugality, with an easy means of acquiring subsistence, are the leading causes of increasing population. But our manners are luxurious; and how much manners influence States, is evident from Switzerland and other countries, where there is not a greater sum expended in subsistence than ought to be consumed. Scotland, where the necessaries of life are as dear, or dearer than in London, yet where the people of all ranks marry, is a proof how manners operate on the numbers of a country. Thus we see how both rich and poor countries co-operate in the process of overstocking Nations: and how much luxurious habits tend to render provision for the poor more difficult.

Dismissing

Dismissing a subject which promises to end unsatisfactorily, let us turn to better prospects. Peace will give occasion to the increase of knowledge and inventions in a very ample degree. Numbers of our youth will now adopt the Learned Professions; and it is known that the cheap and instructive habit of reading obtains twice as much in peace as in war. Inventions, where there is a strong desire of making speedy fortunes, will multiply of course; and some may prove very important.

This is, indeed, a wonder-working age. The fall of Buonaparte was only a signal-rocket. It is said that the very sexes do, by volition, change their nature; and males become females, under the peculiar appellation of Dandies. The antient habit of walking seems likely to be consigned to funeral processions only. Medical Free-thinkers have long ago deprived us of souls, and legs are no longer legs; they are become paddles, and the body is only the steam-cylinder which impels them. We may now think that there will come a time when we shall not be able to walk (the word escaped us unawares) along the streets of London without danger of being knocked down by a flying wheelbarrow. Such has been the improvement of Machinery, that we shall soon expect to hear of talking Steam-engines, and their making long speeches in Parliament and at the Bar.

These last probabilities we do not contemplate wit: agreeable sensations, for fear of Cast-iron Magazines being invented; but we shall not be sorry if, old as Sylvanus Urban may seem to be, he should learn to acquire a velocipedal pace in public encouragement.

Leaving off the dulce est desipere, &c. in which we like to indulge, because innocent humour generates shrewdness, facilitates combination of ideas, and promotes common sense, we can seriously promise our Friends that we shall always endeavour, as we trust we have hitherto done, to merit their kindness.

June 30, 1819.

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