95? B5B4 acf uxseB UC-NRLF $B 575 DbS 20 CO Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from Microsoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/addresstoliterarOObickrich AN ADDRESS TO THE LITERARY MEMBERS OF THE UNIVERSITY. BY COUNSELLOR BICKERTON, ESQ. u Richard's himself again." Shakspeare. OXFORD: PRINTED AND SOLD BY MUNDAY AND SLATTER. 1816. 353. Bit AN ADDRESS, &c SINCE the publication of the first Number of my " Lamentations' ' I have entirely changed my plan, and shall no longer mourn over my own sins ; but will seize the lash., and endeavour to make others lament their vices and their follies. ec Semper ego auditor tan turn ?■ No, no., I am determined to do justice to the University of which I have the honour to be a member. No longer shall the Etonians continue to reign triumphant over us. They with reason boast that the Microcosm has not yet been equalled by the idle Oxonians ; but I trust the time is now approaching when they shall be forced ce to hide their diminished heads/' and acknowledge their total defeat. For this purpose I call on my brethren of the Gown for their assistance, and request to be favoured with their Communications on all interesting subjects. I hope the lsis will occasionally give up some of her votaries ; that the charms of the oar and the melody of the M143167 aquatic band will yield to the claims of Science and Literature. I utterly despair of the Tandem Club— of the Knights of the Whip: " facilis descensus Averni : Sed revocare gradum, " u there is the rub." They are too far gone in their folly. The Belles Lettres have no charms for them. The ex- travagant senseless taste for a leader has led them beyond the power of my rod. I leave them in their besotted career, which I am afraid will never terminate whilst they have either credit or cash re* maining. As I before said, I solicit the assistance of all that are inclined to take up their pen in behalf of their Alma Mater. Those who wish to learn the opinion of the public respecting their compositions, may send them without even the possibility of ever being known. They may deposit them in the letter-box in the window of my Printers, or consign them to the Penny Post-Office, addressed to me at Messrs. Mun- day and Slatter's. I shall use my own discretion respecting the ad- mission of the Communications sent to me. The only subjects I have a real dislike to are Party Politics and Polemics. Writings in favour of the British Con- stitution, as established, or on National (Economics, I earnestly solicit. I wish, however, my Correspondents to understand that I am not an admirer of the ec Vaga- bond" style. I think our own language is sufficiently copious and sonorous ; I disapprove of that tasteless attachment to French words, which boys just escaped from their boarding-schools are so ridiculously fond of. Why in the name of common sense should we Frenchify the Military Art? Do not those words sound as well as cc L' Art Milit aire?*" I have no objection to quotations., but I am so true a John Bull that I most firmly believe we are as much superior to the French in our Language as we are in our Arms; and that the present vitiated taste for inter- larding our sentences with Gallic frippery arises prin- cipally from the vanity of being thought adepts in that language. I wish to call the attention of my literary brethren to one particular part of the Belles Lettres. I mean Criticism on new and popular works, as it possesses all the attraction of novelty in Essays of this nature. The species of Criticism I wish for is to be found in the Quarterly, British, and Edinburgh Reviews. Not a mere string of quotations from the best or the worst parts of the publications reviewed ; but also dissertations illustrative of the various subjects ; anecdotes of the * II Vagabondo, No. 1 . authors; and allusions to other works of the same nature. I shall not object to my Paper being the vehicle for bringing before the public ec Rejected Essays and Poems," which although not deemed worthy of being placed first in the academical list, may yet possess great merit, and may do honour to myself and their authors. I cannot help hoping that my Lucubrations, assisted by the literary strength of Oxford, may at some future period stand by the side of the ct Connoisseur," which sprang from the same source. We have not a Bon- nell Thornton, a Warton, and a Colman amongst us in these days ; but I could mention many of equal literary celebrity, and I anticipate with rapture our producing a Periodical Paper in this University which will outlive the day of its publication, and may be thought worthy of being collected together, when finished, and given to the world in the shape of a BOOK. I am arrived thus far without giving my Miscellany a name. I find the ceremony of christening my in- tended work a very arduous undertaking. I am like Tristram Shandy's Father, very fond of particular names. We have had the Connoisseur, — The Stu- dent, — The Looker On, — The OUa Podrida, and va- rious other appellations in Oxford; but here Mr. Shandy has the advantage of me. He wished for a name because it had been worn by some great per- sonage : I must not take one that has been used be- fore :— but I cannot lose my time in seeking for a name, the Printer's boy being now with me, loudly calling for "more Copy, Sir;" I hope, therefore, that some Correspondent will send me a title, enclosed in his Essay or Poem, as early as possible. By the bye, I wish my own name to be kept in re- collection. It should be remembered that the <c Lu- cubrations of Isaac Bickerstaffe, Esquire," alias " The Tatler," obtained and still possess great celebrity; and why not the " Lucubrations of Counsellor Bickerton, Esquire," alias the ce ■ ■■ ■. " My Correspondent will fill up the hiatus. Some of my Readers may think it necessary to en- quire into my history. This they may soon have an opportunity of being acquainted with, as I have in the Press cc Memoirs of my own Life," which no doubt will be equally as interesting as the Life of any other learned Man that has lately appeared in "The Public Characters" of Sir Richard Phillips, although I cannot dub myself B.D. a Senior Fellow and Tutor of College, and one of the Public Examiners. 8 Previous to the appearance of my LIFE, I must, however, say a few^words about myself, at least so far as relates to my intended farrago : — but stop, gentle Reader, — a sudden thought strikes me. — Why not make FARRAGO the Title of my Miscellany ? It shall be so ; and now be it known unto all Persons, that Number One of the "FARRAGO," or the " Lucubrations of Counsellor Bickerton, Esquire," will be published on Monday next, the 17th instant, and will continue to appear weekly, during Term, as long as the University shall remain. Let not this bold assertion startle my Readers. I have deeply studied " Hermippus Redivivus" with my learned friend and fellow Collegian, Constant iiie Demetriades, the great Athenian Philosopher; and have read through the thirty-six Books on Philosophy and the six on Physics, written by Hermes Trismegistus, who flou- rished under Ninus, Anno Mundi 2016. These in- estimable treasures were discovered, a few years since, in a vault under the foundation of our College Library, and have been wisely withheld from the inspection of all but myself, and our learned Principal. I am (although unlike the Wandering Jew in his "Vagabond habits") similar to him in longevity, and I mean to amuse and instruct Oxford, until — I was just going to say — "time shall be no more;" but, upon retire- 9 tion, I find that I must eat and drink, although im- mortal ; and I know my Printers will expect to be paid their bills regularly; therefore my " Terminal Mis- eel lany" must have a termination^ unless I discover the Philosopher's Stone, by perusing the celebrated Manuscript entitled " Tle%i t^q hpctg rexvyg rv\g ts %^moz hcu ts a^yv^s TZ9ivL<reug," written by Zosimus the Panopolite, in the year of Christ 316; the only copy of which was in the King of France's Library, until my Hart- well friend, LOUIS X VIII. sent it to me from Paris, as a reward for my services. My Coadjutors, I am sorry to say, are at present not very numerous. Constantine Demetriades has promised me two Comedies and one Tragedy in mo- dern Greek ; a beautiful Cossack Ode, which he picked up during his last trip from Greece to St. Peters- burgh, and a Dissertation upon the Greek language* clearly proving that the Professors and Tutors know r nothing of it ; and that be is the only person now in England who is able to teach it, as it should be taught, in this and every other University. My Friend and travelling Companion during my last Circuit, has kindly given me some specimens of his poetical talents, which I have placed at the end of this my Prefatory Address ; and I hope for many 10 more of the effusions of his muse during the progress of my "FARRAGO." Owing to the visit of the Commissioners of the Crown to our College, who expelled all the Members I had the honour to number amongst my acquaintance, I unfortunately lost many of my promised assistants. I have made diligent researches for them in the Attic Lodging Rooms of St. Thomas's, but, unfortunately, without success. I do not however despair. At all events I look to the Gentlemen to whom I have ad- dressed this Preface and hope I shall not be disap- pointed. I wish them to conceal their names, even from me and my Printers ; because I mean to exert the full powers of my judgment in my editorial capacity, and will not, if I can avoid it, be biased in any way as to the admission or rejection of the Articles sent to me. Every Composition I receive on subjects that are likely to have a libellous tendency, which may en- danger my own or my Printers' cars, will be strictly examined by myself, clothed in all the majesty of Wig — that Wig which has so often excited the ad- miration of Undergraduates in St. Mary's Church, the Schools, and the Town-Hall ; no risk, there- fore, can be incurred, for my talents as a Counsellor 11 are known throughout the University. I conclude my long Preface in the language of the Lottery ** Delays are dangerous. The Numbers to be drawn on the 17th will be rapidly bought up. Repair, therefore, with all possible expedition, and leave your orders with Messrs. Munday and Slatter, on Carfax; PRINTING-OFFICE over their door in large cha- racters." COUNSELLOR BICKERTON, Esq. JVew College Lane, Oxford, June Qth, 1816. P.S. Enjoying my short pipe, (a present from our worthy HEAD) and wrapt up in cogitation on the sublimity of my favourite Hermes, I was suddenly awakened from ray re- verie by the abrupt appearance of a patriotic Cordwainer, who has always shewn much friendship towards me. Iq one hand he held a pair of shoes ; in the other a paper. The shoes he begged me to accept, as a mark of gratitude for the pleasure he had experienced in reading the first Number of ray Lamentations ; but hinted that he expected something more from me. After a little prelude, he un- folded the wet paper he held in his hand, and begged me to read with attention what he called the most gross LIBEL that ever yet appeared in print. I took the sheet from him and discovered it to be " II Vagabondo," No. 2. I read over the passage which he called a Libel, and told him I could not say much on the subject, as I had very little to 12 do with Oxford Tradesmen, in consequence of my pro- viding all the things I wanted from — it's no matter from whence — but if he would take my chair, (I am not fond of the incumbrances of useless furniture) and state to me what he had to say on the subject, it should appear on Monday next, by way of Postscript to my Address. After a few hems and ha's, and begging that I would put it into a proper style, he began — u You see, Mr. Counsellor, by this here paper." — I beg the reader's pardon, I am to put it into my own language; therefore I will begin again — s c You see, Mr. Counsellor, by this paper, that all Oxford Trades- men are scoundrels ; in fact not only scoundrels, and the epitome of impudence and cunning, but huge poisonous Spiders, ever on the watch to devour the poor unfortunate, simple Flies, called Freshmen, who happen to drop from Chaise, Coach, Curricle, Gig, or Pony, upon this devoted spot of the globe, called Oxford. As soon as they alight on Terra Firma, these poor Flies are unmercifully clutched in the fangs of the Spider Tradesmen, dragged to their dens, wrapt round and entangled in the black web of end- less ruin ; or if ever the least remorse should enter the bosoms of the venomous Spiders, the Freshmen Flies are at last liberated ; but so deeply empoisoned by the wounds inflicted on them, that they are inevitably doomed to spend the remnant of their days in disappointment, misery, and regret. Now, Mr. Counsellor, I'll tell you my opinion of the Vagabonds, who wrote this lying Libel ; — they did it for the sole purpose of sending it to their Fathers or 13 Guardians, by way of excuse for so frequently writing for supplies of money, for certain purposes, without enclosing their Tradesmen's receipts in their letters. " In my turn I will give a little advice and information to ^Freshmen, through the medium of your book, Mr. Bicker- ton — Members of the University may, by the mere ex- ertion of their common sense, spend as little in Oxford as in any other place in the kingdom. They can purchase their clothes of every description, their provisions, their books, in fact all that they should have, as cheaply as else- where ; even if they do not pay ready money. If they are de- termined to be extravagant, they may be so most certainly ; and where is the place in which they cannot •? If they will run into the way of incurring heavy Surgeons' bills, which leave many a wreck behind ; pay a guinea or two per day for a tandem or a hunter; have constant wine-parties; in- stead of dining in the College Refectories, procure their dinners from Inns or Coffee-houses ; run up enormous bills for pies, tarts, soups, and sugar plums ; and enter into various nameless extravagancies, which must be paid for with their ready money ; their after years of life will, most probably, be embittered ; constant irritation of mind must be engendered ; and they (and their parents also) will feel disposed to curse the day when their names were entered on the college books of Oxford. Mr. Counsellor, I speak strongly, but I speak the truth. "The observations in the Vagabond respecting the facility of running into debt, I cannot controvert. I wish I 14 could. Were it more difficult I should be much richer We Oxford men are much like those of other towns, very fond of ready money when we can get it; and if the learned wights who clubbed their wits together one week to puzzle, and the other to libel, would devise a scheme for abolishing Day Books and Ledgers, I would be the first to open a subscription for erecting a monument to their memory. But, alas ! I am afraid we must still go on in the same way ; indeed I doubt very much if these great writers themselves are guilty of the d d bore of paying their bills at sight. "Were the Oxford Tradesmen proved to be the villains represented in the Vagabond, and proof might be easily ob- tained if the charge be true, justice may instantly be done to the Members of the University. The Vice-Chancellor's Court can crush the offending parties with the utmost facility; the wretches may be discommoned, or in other words, banished from the place, and the evil put an end to as soon as discovered. I, Mr. Bickerton, have lived long in this place. I have observed very few Tradesmen get rich in it. In other places they retire upon a decent independ- ence after labouring for twenty years or less ; but here that seldom occurs; indeed the poverty of Oxford Tradesmen is almost proverbial, and in no place I ever visited, have I observed less extravagance amongst men in business, or so few horses, gigs, or other equipages kept by the Trades- men. "There are, undoubtedly, in this as well as in other places, 15 dishonest men; but it is the most wanton cruelty, Mr. Bickerton, to charge a whole body with the crimes of a few individuals ; and to set down all the Oxford Tradesmen as villains, because the writers may have suffered from the dishonesty of a few. Mr. Bickerton, I am ashamed of these cowardly assassins that stab in the dark ; as well might I, Sir, act in the same way towards the University ; because I have bad debts on my books ; but I scorn such base, Unmanly conduct, and will say before you, Mr. Counsellor, what I have always said, that although I occasionally lose some money by that body, probably from my own care- lessness, that there is no set of men, of any description whatever, that I would sooner place (and I speak from long experience) on my Ledgers, than the Members of the University of Oxford." Here my friend, the Shoe-maker, concluded; and after reading what I had written from his dictation, was so well pleased, that he instantly promised me a pair of new boots for my use during my next Circuit, kindly wished me a good evening, and left me to my pipe, my Hermes, and my friend Zosimus the Panopolite. Soon after Mr. ****** was gone, I espied 'the Vagabond he had left in my room, and curiosity induced me to look into it. When I came to the attack on the Tutors, I threw down my pipe, put on my cap and gown, and set off to my kind Benefactor at College, one of the fraternity. Un- fortunately he was out of his room, therefore I cannot yet say positively that my next Number will be « A Vindica- 16 tion of the Tutors of Oxford from the scurrilous attacks of Anonymous Writers.* * I find that the Printer of " II Vagabondo" has since withdrawn some of the Passages alluded to in my Postscript; but many Copies containing them having gone abroad, I still think it necessary to publish the Observations of my friend the Shoe-maker. t I •• POEMS BY MY TRAVELLING FRIEND*. A Translation from the cc AEIMMATA A0HNAIA" of CONSTANTINE DeMETRIADES. IiO ! where to scale and emulate the skies The Dorian towers of Theseus' fane arise ! Hallowed, thrice hallowed, be the sacred cell Where thy dear ashe^ classic Tweddell, dwell. Hallowed for ever be the holy shrine, Where sleep the relics of a soul like thine. Science and Virtue there their vigils keep, Where, youthful Sage, thy mortal remnants sleep. Oft on thy tomb shall fall the passing tear, E'en Elgin's self shall pause from ruin here. * Vide Page 0, I 18 Lines sent with a parting Presejit. Oh think whene'er thou view'st this tome, On him who's far away :— Him who, where'er his feet may roam. From thee can never stray. Through changing scenes of weal or woe, Whate'er may be his lot, 'Twill sooth his bitterest hour to know That you forget him not. And if within thy breast should die Of him all memory, His latest prayer, his parting sigh, Shall breathe a prayer for thee. rr Oxford: Its Men and Manners for the Year 1816." Ii Vagabondo. Lots of Bawds— a brace of Proctors — Spires and Domes— and Fools and Doctors — Books and Boats— and Gigs and Tandems- Caps and Gowns — and W***** and Randems. 19 *' Dum vivimus — vivamus" ■ — ■■■ AN IMPROMPTU. Come quick around the bottle pass. My friends, and who can blame us ; There's virtue in a social glass, " Dum vivimus — vivamus." Afar from sorrow, and from grief, No mortal cares shall claim us. From woe's dark book let's rend a leaf, <c Dum vivimus — vivamus." Come fill the glass again my friends, Let sober loons disclaim us ; 'Tis mirth that study's brow unbends, <c Dum vivimus •—vivamus." Epigram on the three London Bootmakers High by> Ho by, and Hum by. By Highby charged for boots too high, I for relief to Hoby fly, Overcharged, to Humby next I come, But find High ! Ho ! 'tis all a Hum. .llucd«>' and Slattcr, fi inters, Oxford. THE FARRAGO: oit THE LUCUBRATIONS OP COUNSELLOR BICKERTON, ESQUIRE. No.I. OXFORD: PRINTED AND SOLD BY MUNDAY AND SLATTER. 1816. OO A 51 II A r i THE FARRAGO. Monday, June 17, 1816. To Counsellor Bickerton, Esq. Sir, In consequence of your hint re- lative to criticism on new and popular works, I enclose you a Critique on Mr. Coleridge's last Poem. Should it meet with your approbation, I hope it may be honoured with a place in your u Farrago." T. O. Oxford, June 14, 1816. Christabel — Kubla Khan — the Pains of Sleep — by S. T. Coleridge, Esq. pp. 64. London, 1816. Concerning the merits of Mr. Coleridge the readers of poetry have been much divided : the praise of ori- ginal genius has been denied to him by none ; but many are disposed to reduce that praise to a very limited compass. — Now to state our own opinion of Mr. C. ; he has always appeared to us as possessing a more than common share of wild and creative talent ; but as marvellously deficient in what alone can render that talent universally attractive and popular— a sound and critical judgment. Under these impressions we took up the 1 Poem which forms the subject of this article, and on perusing it received a stronger conviction from every page, that we had rightly appreciated the merits of the Author. It will be recollected that Lord Byron in his Notes to the " Siege of Corinth" bestowed a very high compliment on the then unpublished poem of ct Christabel." Such flattering notice coming from so celebrated a quarter, naturally excited great ex- pectations among the literary world. The admirers of Mr. Coleridge's former works looked exultingly forward to that auspicious day which should greet the publication of the renowned Manuscript But when that day did at last arrive, and the paper-knife hacj been applied to the first pages beyond the Preface, how mournfully was expectation disappointed. The first pages, instead of the beauty so celebrated by Lord Byron* exhibited nothing but a continued farrago of childishness and discord. As the perusal continued, a few flickering gleams of genius enlightened the dreary path, till at length even these were no more perceptible through the increasing darkness which overshadowed the conclusion. The world was at length too well convinced of the satirical talents of Lord Byron, and discovered, too late, that when he praised the originality, beauty, and wildness of the un- published " Christabel," he was only repeating the experiment which ho had tried in his own " Siege of Corinth/' namely, to discover the exact measure of stupidity which the sanction of a name could induce the readers of poetry to admire. rc Christaber' is confessedly an unfinished poem; — we shall not,, therefore, in its present state, enter into any discussion of the merits of its plot. — It will be sufficient to give the outline of it. The scene opens in the middle of the night; — Christabel, the daughter of ee Sir Leoline rich," has, in consequence of sundry dreams of her lover which had annoyed her on the pre- ceding night, strayed into the wood adjacent to her father's castle. She is here praying in silence under a ff huge oak tree," when a sudden noise alarms her. She starts up in dismay, and steals gently to the other side of the tree, and there beholds " a damsel bright, Drest in a silken robe of white. Her neck, her feet, her arms were bare, And the jewels disordered in her hair. I guess, 'twas frightful there to see A lady so richly clad as she. Beautiful exceedingly." Christabel, after invoking the protection of heaven, asks this unknown damsel her name and story. The stranger replies — ic My sire is of a noble line, And my name is Geraldine. Five warriors seized me yestermorn, Me, even me, a maid forlorn : They chok'd my cries with force and fright, And tied me on a palfrey white. The palfrey was as fleet as wind, And they rode furiously behind. They spurr'd amain, their steeds were white ; And once we cross'd the shade of night. As sure as Heaven shall rescue me, I have no thought what men they be ; Nor do I know how long it is (For I have lain in fits, I wis) 6 Since one, the tallest of the five, Took me from the palfrey's back, A weary woman, scarce alive. Some mutter'd words his comrades spoke : He plac'd me underneath this oak, He swore they would return with haste ; Whither they went I cannot tell — I thought I heard, some minutes past. Sounds as of a castle bell. Stretch forth thy hand (thus ended she), And help a wretched maid to flee." They reach the chamber of Christabel, after much exertion on her part to sustain the sinking spirits of Geraldine. Christabel accidentally mentions the name of her mother, when— • Alas ! what ails poor Geraldine? Why stares she with unsettled eye ? Can she the bodiless dead espy ? And why with hollow voice cries she, 4 Off, woman, off! this hour is mine — 1 Though thou her guardian spirit be, « Off, woman, off! 'tis given to me.' Then Christabel knelt by the lady's side, And rais'd to heaven her eyes so blue — Alas! said she, this ghastly ride — Dear lady ! it hath wilder'd you ! The lady wip'd her moist cold brow, And faintly said, * 'Tis over now!' Again the wild-flower wine she drank: Her fair large eyes 'gan glitter bright. And from the floor whereon she sank, The lofty lady stood upright : She was most beautiful to see, Like a lady of a far countree. And thus the lofty lady spake— All they, who live in the upper sky, Do love you, holy Christabel ! And you love them, and for their sake And for the good which me befel, Even I in my degree will try, Fair maiden, to requite you well. But now unrobe yourself; for I Must pray, ere yet in bed I lie." Christabel disrobes herself first accordingly, and " Lies down in her loveliness." She cannot however refrain from watching the motions of Geraidine. She accordingly raises herself on her elbow and looks towards the stranger. — " Beneath the lamp the lady bow'd, And slowly roll'd her eyes around ; Then drawing in her breath aloud, Like one that shudder'd, she unbound The cincture from beneath her breast : Her silken robe, and inner vest, Dropt to her feet, and full in view, Behold ! her bosom and half her side A sight to dream of, not to tell ! And she is to sleep by Christabel. She took two paces, and a stride, And lay down by the maiden's side : And in her arms the maid she took, Ah wel-a-day ! And with low voice and doleful look These words did say : In the touch of this bosom there worketh a spell, Which is lord of thy utterance, Christabel! Thou knowest to-night, and wilt know to-morrow This mark of my shame, this seal of my sorrow; But vainly thou warrest, For this is alone in Thy power to declare, That in the dim forest Thou heard'st a low moaning, And found'st a bright lady, surpassingly fair : And didst bring her home with thee in love and in charity^ To shield her and shelter her from the damp air" 8 This finishes the first part ;— we have, however, in what is termed a tc conclusion to part the first/' some farther intelligence of the proceedings of the night,— " With open eyes (ah woe is me !) Asleep, and dreaming fearfully, Fearfully dreaming, yet I wis, Dreaming that alone, which is ; O sorrow and shame 1 Can this be she, The lady, who knelt at the old oak tree? And lo ! the worker of these harms, That holds the maiden in her arms, Seems to slumber still and mild, As a mother with her child. A star hath set, a star hath risen, O Geraldine ! since arms of thine Have been the lovely lady's prison. O Geraldine ! one hour was thine^- Thou'st had thy will ! By tairn and rill, The night-birds all that hour were still. But now they are jubilant anew, From cliff and tower, tu— ighoo ! tu — whoo! Tu — whoo ! tu — whoo ! from wood and fell !" Christabel " Gathers herself from out her trance/' and "sheds— " Large tears that leave the lashes bright." and then, — " Yea, she doth smile, and she doth weep, Like a youthful hermitess. Beauteous in a wilderness, Who, praying always, prays in sleep. And, if she move unquietly, Perchance, 'tis but the blood so free, Comes back and tingles in her feet. No doubt, she hath a vision sweet. What if her guardian spirit 'twere What if she knew her mother near? But this she knows, in joys and woes. 9 That saints will aid if men will call : For the blue sky bends over all !" Part the second commences with a most ludicrous scene. " Each matin bell, the Baron saith, Knells us back to a world of death. These words Sir Leoline first said, When he rose and found his lady dead : These words Sir Leoline will say Many a morn to his dying day. And hence the custom and law began, That still at dawn the sacristan, Who duly pulls the heavy bell, Five and forty beads must tell Between each stroke — a warning knell, Which not a soul can choose but hear From Bratha Head to Wyn'dermere. Saith Bracy the bard, So let it knell ! And let the drowsy sacristan Still count as slowly as he can ! There is no lack of such, l^ween As welHill up the space between. In Langdale Pike and Witch's Lair, And Dungeon-ghyll so foully rent, With ropes of rock and bells of air Three sinful sextons' ghosts are pent, Who all give back, one after t'other, The death-note to their living brother; And oft too, by the knell offended, Just as their one ! two ! three ! is ended. The devil mocks the doleful tale With a merry peal from Borrowdale." The peal arouses Geraldine,, who — " — nothing doubting of her spell, Awakens the lady Christabel." After praying that— " — He who on the cross did groan, Might wash away her sins unknown/* 10 Cbristabel accompanies the lady Geraldine to her father, Sir Leoline; and then follows what we de- cidedly think the most beautiful passage in the whole book.— " But when he heard the lady's tale, And when she told her father's name, Why wax'd Sir Leoline so pale, Murmuring o'er the name again, Lord Roland de Vaux of Tryermaine ? Alas ! they had been friends in youth ; But whispering tongues can poison truth ; And constancy lives in realms above ; And life is thorny ; and youth is vain ; And to be wroth with one we love, Doth work like madness in the brain. And thus it chanc'd, as I divine, With Roland and Sir Leoline. Each spake words of high disdain And insult to his heart's best brother: They parted — ne'er to meet again ! But never either found another To free the hollow heart from paining — They stood aloof, the scars remaining, Like cliffs which had been rent asunder ; A dreary sea now flows between, But neither heat, nor frost, nor thunder. Shall wholly do away, I ween, The marks of that which once hath been." The Baron determines to send Geraldine back to the mansion of her father, and salutes her with a warn embrace, when, — " ■ a vision fell Upon the soul of Christabel, The vision of fear, the touch and pain ! She shrunk and shudder'd, and saw again (Ah, woe is me ! Was it for thee, Thou gentle maid ! such sights to see ?) li Again she saw that bosom old, Again she felt that bosom cold, And drew in her breath with a hissing sound : Whereat the Knight turn'd wildly round, And nothing saw, but his own sweet maid With eyes uprais'd, as one that pray'd." The vision however speedily passes away, and Sir Leoline calls to one of his attendants, named Bracy, and entrusts to him the errand of proceeding to Lord Roland's castle, and inviting him to come with all his retinue to conduct his daughter home. Bracy re- plies, — " Thy words, thou sire of Christabel, Are sweeter than my harp can tell ; Yet might I gain a boon of thee, This day my journey should not be, So strange a dream hath come to me : That I had vow'd with music loud To clear yon wood from thing unblest, Warn'd by a vision in my rest ! For in my sleep I saw that dove, That ge»tle bird, whom thou dost love, And call'st by thy own daughter's name — Sir Leoline ! I saw the same, Fluttering, and uttering fearful moan, Among the green herbs in the forest alone. Which when I saw and when I heard, I wonder'd what might ail the bird : For nothing near it could I see, Save the grass and green herbs underneath the old tree, And in my dream, methought, I went To search out what might there be found ; And what the sweet bird's trouble meant, That thus lay fluttering on the ground. I went and peer'd, and could descry No cause for her distressful cry ; But yet for her dear lady's sake I stoop'd, methought the dove to take, 12 When Io! I saw a bright green snake CoiPd around its wings and neck. Green as the herbs on which it couch'd, Close by the dove's its head it crouch'd; And with the dove it heaves and stirs, Swelling its neck as she swell'd hers! I woke ; it was the midnight hour, The clock was echoing in the tower; But though my slumber was gone by, This dream it would not pass away — It seems to live upon my eye ! And thence I vow'd this self-same day. With music strong and saintly song To wander thro' the forest bare, Lest aught unholy loiter there." The Baron, however, hears him with an incredulous smile, and says some words of encouragement to Ge- raldine; when, — '* Casting down her large bright eyes, With blushing cheek and curtesy fine She turn'd her from Sir Leoline ; Softly gathering up her train, That o'er her right arm fell again ; And folded her arms across her chest, And couch'd her head upon her breast, And look'd askance at Christabel Jesu, Maria, shield her well ! A snake's small eye blinks dull and shy, And the lady's eyes they shrunk in her head, Each shrunk up to a serpent's eye, And with somewhat of malice, and more of dread At Christabel she look'd askance! One moment — and the sight was fled ! But Christabel in dizzy trance, Stumbling on the unsteady ground — Shudder'd aloud, with a hissing sound ; And Geraldine again turn'd round, 13 And like a thing, that sought relief, Full of wonder and full of grief, She rollM her large bright eyes divine Wildly on Sir Leoline. The maid, alas ! her thoughts are gone, She nothing sees — no sight but one ! The maid, devoid of guile and sin, I know not how, in fearful wise So deeply had she drunken in That look, those shrunken serpent eyes, That all her features were resign'd To this sole image in her mind : And passively did imitate That look of dull and treacherous hate. And thus she stood, in dizzy trance, Still picturing that look askance, With forc'd unconscious sympathy Full before her father's view As far as such a look could be, In eyes so innocent and blue!" When this fearful trance was dissipated, Christabel entreated her father, by the soul of her deceased mother, to send Geraldine immediately away. The mighty spell, however, overpowers her, and she can speak but a few words. Sir Leoline is much enraged to find— t! — all his hospitality To th' insulted daughter of his friend By more than woman's jealousy, Brought thus to a disgraceful end — " He regards Bracy with a stern look, and, after repri- manding his delay, " Leads forth the lady Geraldine." — To correspond, we presume, with the former part, we have a " conclusion to part the second ;" in which if our readers can discover a single particle of either 14 sense or poetry, they will be more fortunate than we have been.— " A little child, a limber elf, Singing, dancing to itself, A fairy thing with red round checks That always finds, and never seeks, Makes such a vision to the sight As fills a fathers eyes with light ; And pleasures flow in so thick and fast Upon his heart, that he at last Must needs express his love's excess With words of unmeant bitterness. Perhaps 'tis pretty to force together Thoughts so all unlike each other ; To mutter and mock a broken charm, To dally with wrong that does no harm. Perhaps 'tis tender too and pretty At each wild word to feel within, A sweet recoil of love and pity. And what, if in a world of sin (O sorrow and shame should this be true!) Such giddiness of heart and brain Comes seldom save from rage and pain, So talks as it's most used to do." As we before stated, we shall refrain from all com- ment on the plot, until the succeeding parts be pub- lished ; which Mr. Coleridge hopes to accomplish in the course of the present year. We have been so free in our quotations, that we cannot afford much more room for the discussion of the present article. A few words, however, we may be permitted to say. We have accused Mr. Coleridge of a total want of judg- ment. In no poem was this essential requisite so completely forgotten. Would judgment have advised the publication of such passages as the following rW 15 *Tis the middle of night by the castle clock. And the owls have awaken'd the crowing cock ; Tu — whit! Tu — whoo! And hark, again ! the crowing coclc, How drowsily it crew. Sir Leoline,the Baron rich, Hath a toothless mastiff bitch ; ■From her kennel beneath the rock She makes answer to the clock, Four for the quarters, and twelve for the hour ; Ever and aye, moonshine or shower, Sixteen short howls, not over loud ; Some say she sees my lady's shroud." And again, — The night is chill ; the forest bare ; Is it the wind that moaneth bleak ? There is not wind enough in the air To move away the ringlet curl From the lovely lady's cheek — There is not wind enough to twirl The one red leaf, the last of its clany That dances as often as dance it can, Hanging so light, and hanging so high, On the topmost twig that looks up at the sky. We are aware that our decision may appear harsh to many ; but we must positively assert, that on no occasion has Mr. Coleridge appeared in so degraded and degenerate a light as in the present publication. The quotations which we have given, we selected as being most iHustrative of the story; they are decidedly not the worst passages in the Poem. We have likewise asserted that Mr. Coleridge was possessed of a considerable share of original and creative talent ; and we received a strong conviction of this fact from the cc Christabel." One of the passages which we have above quoted exemplifies our assertion, THE FARRAGO. Tuesday, June 18, 1816. Poems by Lord Byron. pp. 38. London ; Murray, 1816. The genius of Lord Byron is totally distinct from that of any other Poet of the present day. In his gloomy, but, we fear, too faithful pictures of the human heart — in his affecting and high-wrought scenes of tender- ness — in his rich and glowing delineations of scenery —nay, even in the very structure of his verse, he stands proudly and eminently alone.— It has been truly remarked, that while the popularity of Mr. Scott has given birth to many very successful imitations of his poetry, no one has yet exhibited a tolerable copy of the Byronian train of thought and versification. To unveil and expose the inmost recesses of the heart- to drag every latent passion as it were from its lurking hole into public view, requires so much of the <c mens divinior" of the genuine inspirations of superior genius, that but few are found who possess either the power to execute,, or the hardihood to attempt so difficult and appalling a task. Widely different is the case -with Mr. Scott — his style of poetry is of all others the most inviting to imitation : the copyist does not stand in need of the slightest knowledge either of books or the world. Suavity of versification,, and a romantic border stpty, are his .principal requisites. Having premised thus much, let us proceed to the considera- tion of the poems now before us. We do not think that Lord Byron is exhibited in them to the greatest advantage, although many marks of genius are dis- cernible — to instance this, we quote the following Poem: — When all around grew drear and dark, And reason half withheld her ray — And hope but shed a dying spark Which more misled my lonely way ; my 2. In that deep midnight of the mind, And that internal strife of heart, When dreading to be deemed too kind, The weak despair — the cold depart ; 3 . When fortune changed — and love fled far, And hatred's shafts flew thick and fast, Thou wert the solitary star Which rose and set not to the last. 4. Oh! blest be thine unbroken light! That watched me as a seraph's eye, And stood between me and the night, For ever shining sweetly nigh. 5. And when the cloud upon us came. Which strove td blacken o'er thy ray- Then purer spread its gentle flame, And dashed the darkness all away. 6. Still may thy spirit dwell on mine, And teach it what to brave or brook- — There's more in one soft word of thine, Than in the world's defied rebuke. 7. Thou stood'st, as stands a lovely tree, Whose branch unbroke, but gently bent, Still waves with fond fidelity Its boughs above a monument. 8. The winds might rend— the skies might pour, Bat there thou wert — and still wouldst be Devoted in the stormiest hour To shed thy weeping leaves o'er me. 9- But thou and thine shall know no blight, Whatever fate on me may fall ; ,< For heaven in sunshine will requite The kind — and thee the most of all. 10. Then let the ties of baffled love Be broken — thine will never break ; Thy heart can feel—but will not move, Thy soul, though soft, will never shake. 11. And these, when all was lost beside— Were found and still are fixed in thee— And bearing still a breast so tried, Earth is no desart — e'en to me. At page 16 there is a beautiful copy of verses under the title of " Stanzas for Music.' ' The metre appears at first «^traordinary and unmusical. This, however, will be no longer the case, if in reading, each line be divided into two, so as to exhibit a regular succession of eights and sixes. We quote one Stanza to ex- emplify our meaning :— There's not a joy the world can give Like that it takes away, When the glow of early thought declines In feeling's dull decay ; 'Tis not on youth's smooth cheek the blush Alone, which fades so fast, But the tender bloom of heart is gone, Ere youth itself be past. We are sorry to observe at page 21, the republica- tion of a Poem which has a pointed reference to a subject wholly unfit to meet the public eye. The pre- rogative of public criticism, however unlimited in other cases be its power, cannot be fairly said to extend over the domestic conduct of living characters. By this we would not be understood as asserting, that on no occasion ought the veil which conceals private life to be torn away— but as merely condemning domestic criticism in general as cruel and disgraceful. Against the noble author of the volume now before us, the public has lately taken a most decided part — with what degree of justice or propriety it behoves not us to determine. If the noble Lord be guilty of the offences laid to his charge, no reprehension, whether of a public or private nature, would be an adequate punishment. If he be accused wrongfully, not even the restoration of his former fame would be a sufficient compensation. — We hasten to quit this ungrateful topic, and proceed in our criticism on the remainder of the volume. The next Poem which offers itself to our notice, is an ce Ode on the Battle of Waterloo/' said, as indeed all the ensuing poems are, to be trans- lated from the French. We wish it had never been published. The sentiments contained in it are mean and revolting in the last degree. What must be thought of the following apostrophe to that arch vil- lain Murat:— - " And thou too of the snow-white plume ! Whose realm refused thee ev'n a tomb, Better hadst thou still been leading France o'er hosts of hirelings bleeding, Than sold thyself to death and shame For a meanly royal name ; Such as he of Naples wears, Who thy blood-bought title bears. ■* Little did'st thou deem, when dashing On thy war horse through the ranks, Like a stream which burst its banks, While helmets cleft, and sabres clashing, Shone and shivered fast around thee — J Of the fate at last which found thee : Was that haughty plume laid low By a slave's dishonest blow ? Once — as the Moon sways o'er the tide, It rolled in air, the warrior's guide ; Through the smoke-created night t)f the black and sulphurous fight, The soldier rais'd his seeking eye To catch that crest's ascendency, — And as it onward rolling rose, So moved his heart upon our foes. 8 There, where death's brief pang was quickest, And the battle's wreck lay thickest, Strew'd beneath the advancing banner Of the eagle's burning crest — (There with thunder-clouds to fan her, Who could then her wing arrest — Victory beaming from her breast?) While the broken line enlarging Fell, or fled along Uie plain ; There be sure was M^'Rat charging ! There he ne'er shall charge again ! ', . r The next Poem rises somewhat in the scale of poetry, though not of patriotism. It is the lamenta- tion of a Polish Officer, whom Buonaparte had raised from the ranks, and who iu vain solicited permission to accompany his master to St. Helena. — The fifth- Stanza is the best: — " My chief, my king, my friend adieu ! Never did I droop before ; Never to my sovereign sue, As his foes I now implore. All I ask is to divide Every peril he must brave ; Sharing by the hero's side His fall, his exile, and his grave. The two remaining Poems may be despatched m very few words. The t€ Star of the Legion of Ho- nour" can oniv be said to rank with the cc Ode on «/ Waterloo." It vies with it in absurdity and French patriotism. We do not think we could have used a stronger term. " Napoleon's Farewell" is undoubt- edly the best of the translations ; — we subjoin a single Stanza : — 9 " Farewell to thee, France ! — but when Liberty rallies Once more in thy regions, remember me then — The violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys; Though withered, thy tears will unfold it again — Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice — There are links which must break in the chain that has bound ua, Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice !" We know not whether Lord Byron would not have consulted his own fame by suppressing this volume. None of the poems contained in it will contribute to the exaltation of his poetical character ; while many, we are sorry to say it, must operate much to his pre- judice as an Englishman. — We here conclude with expressing our earnest hope, that before we meet him again he may entertain the same opinion with us of the deposed Despot of France and his sanguinary adherents. T. (X POEMS. A Fragment. Written at Culloden. Api% 1816. To . Oh! weep not for them — let no tear-drop be shed For the spirits who sleep with the patriot dead ; Let the voice of affection be mute o'er their grave t Oh ! give not one 9igh to the fate of the brave ; Though unhonoured they lie on the spot where they fell, Though the conqueror's shout was their funeral knell, 10 They died not unwept : — the most pure tear9 are 9hed In the soft dews of heaven on the patriot's head ; And each gale of the morning which murmureth by, O'er the patriot's pale corse breathes the holiest sigh. Then weep not for these, — but weep for their doom, Who found in their own peaceful dwelling — their tomb ; When innocent blood stained the snow on the plain, And the prayer of the orphan and widow was vain. — — Thou merciless Chief — may their spirits who died To feast thee, thou monster of murder and pride, May these when the day of thy judgment be near. In appalling array round thy dark soul appear. A. Macgregor. Lines addressed to *** At the still hour of eve in a sorrowful mood By the willow-fringed borders of Isis I stood ; And I gazed in a moody delight on the shore, Which the steps of my childhood had trodden before. Scarce one brief year hath passed since I stood by its tide. With a gay band of kindred and friends by my side; And now — stranger pardon that beart- uttered groan — I stand by its banks all deserted— alone. The torrents' pure streamlets roll swiftly away, And the scant tide of joy flows as fleetly as they ; But tiie still stagnant waters of joyless despair, Ever linger to taint and to poison the air» STANZAS. i. Oh where fleeting moments of bliss are ye gone. Which o'er my life's morning so lovelily shone, And so brightly illumined my childhood's blithe hour, Is it doomed, is it fated, I view ye no more ? 11 2. And thou too my — , ah ! where art thou Hed ? Alas ! thou redin'st, lowly laid with the dead. The stone nodding over thy weed-entwined tomb, Too surely can teach me thy sorrowful doom. 3. Tis well — I must bow me to fate's stern decree, Though bitter's the draught that she mixes for me. But the memory of pleasures now faded, gone by, Brings a pang to my heart, and a tear to my eye. Anacreon. Ode 5. To the Rose. With roses 'twine the goblet round, With roses be fair Bacchus crowned ; And whilst we hold the gay carouse, Let wreaths of roses deck our browa. Offspring of the balmy spring, Flow'ret of love, to thee I sing. Thee, the rulers of the skies, With the Cyprian goddess prize. With thee the lovely Graces crowned. Lightly trip the mazy round. Haste ; let the rosy chaplet shed Its heavenly fragrance o'er my head. And with my fairest by my side, Fair Chloe form'd in beauty's pride, Gaily o'er the turf I'll tread, And the mazy measure lead. And whilst mirth and wine inspire. To harmony I'll wake the lyre. To And did I weep ?— I deemed that pride The fountain of my tears had dried. O deep indeed must be the pain That oped that bitter fount again! u But I have wept — My Marion, Tu ;is o'er the sad sepulchral stone Tliat marks thy narrow funeral cell. Those drops of useless sorrow fell. Then well I deemed that deep the pain That oped that fount of tears again ► w. s. s. THE MAID OF THE FERRY. Say, lives far or near a damseUso fair, So cheerful, so blithe, or so merry ? On earth 1 can't find A nymph half so kind As Doris, the Maid of the Ferry. My rivals may boast, and coxcombs may toast Her in old port, madeira, or sherry ; To them I can prove They'll ne'er gain the love ( >f Doris, the Maid of the Ferry. She looks up the oars, and the New Tavern scores, And now and then cleans out a wherry ; The sails she can mend, And the parlour attend, For obliging's the Maid of the Ferry. She serves at the bar, and excels all by far In making cold tankard of perry ; How sweet then at eve, With her leave to receive A kiss from the Maid of the Ferry. Both early and late her apparel is neat, Yet for fin'ry she cares not a berry ; She's comely and gay, And now I'll away To Doris, the Maid of the Ferry. H. H. 13 POSTSCRIPT. I cannot permit the present Number of my " Lucu- brations" to go to press without making a few remarks on a paragraph in the fourth number of " II Vaga- bondo/' which was published last Saturday. Most honourable mention is there made of my " Farrago/' and a certain class of persons facetiously termed my " Attic Reviewers." The writers of this notable Miscellany seem to have just escaped from the Con- troul of the nursery : it would appear so at least from the abundant profusion of such phrases as the follow- ing; and which all occur in one short sorry para- graph: "our darling/' "premature birth of the in- fant/' "to nurse the baby/' " dandling the darling," &c. Away with such drivelling pretenders to litera- ture. Childishness, however, forms but a minor ar- ticle in the list of absurdities which I could exhibit against these unknown Quixotes in the field of litera- ture. In page 15/ we find an assertion which it may be well to notice. " Prosecution" (for the libel con- tained in the first edition of the second Number) " never for an instant disturbed the peaceful tran- quillity of our minds : we wrote in unvarnished lan- guage what truth dictated/' &c. In answer to this audacious repetition of that unfounded calumny, which I maintain fear of prosecution alone compelled the authors to withdraw, I, Counsellor Bickerton, Esq. late of Hertford College, do hereby give it as tny opi- 14 nion, that a meeting of the Tradespeople of the good city of Oxford should be immediately convened., to take into consideration the best means of prosecuting the Authors and Propagators of the calumnious Libel contained in the second number of " II Vagabondo." I pledge myself to afford all the legal assistance in my power. Legal assistance ! I will give you more than that.— I feel myself possessed by an irresistible furor — I seize my magic wand. I plunge again into the Hertford Tault. — I open the sublime pages of my favourite Caballistic Writers. — Dr. Dee's unpublished Manu- scripts are before me. — I invoke the spirits that were formerly at his behest. — I dive into the womb of time. — I discover the hidden secrets of nature and art. — I wave my wand. — What a sight appears before me !— The writers of " II Vagabondo" rush from the Chapel of **. **. — with fury they drive onward, shaking their long lanky locks — they stop not until (hey arrive at the Conventicle in New-Inn- Hall lane — one mounts the rostrum, and instead of delighting an academical audience in the language of a Milman or a Macdonnell, he doles out a long snuffling discourse, and admonishes his pure evangelical brethren in the style of a Huntingdon or a Whitfield ! — The sight in- flames my mind, "Richard is not himself again." I must return to my Lamentations and my Woe; for behold another and another mount in their turn. O Alma Mater ! I pity thee ! — I tremble for thee ! Off — Off — Methodistical cant — but what names ap- pear before me in large black characters ? — Yes, Yes, my suspicions are well founded. — The names are 15 hold— the charm is broken.— Excuse me, readers, you have heard before of my sudden flights I now again address you in plain language and return to another topic. The time has now arrived, when, for a season, my labours in the vineyard of literature must be suspended. Before, therefore, I conclude this parting Number, I must return my most sincere thanks to the numerous Purchasers of my Miscellany. Upon its resumption early in next term, I hope for a continuance of their favour and protec- tion : and till that period subscribe myself, their obe- dient grateful servant, COUNSELLOR BICKERTON, Esq. New College Lane, Oxford, June Uth, 1816. TO CORRESPONDENTS. The Essay on the Genius and Writings of Lord Byron shall ap- pear in one of my earliest numbers next term. T. B. C; A. F.; and Zeno, are received. I am obliged to Clericus for his Essay on Regeneration; but as it involves too grave a subject for this Work, I must decline in- serting it. tB — Kri^US - 139.1 2 ivil43167 -g 5 %^ m THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 1