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Exegi monumentum ære per

" ennius” quoth Horace ;---but "how hard to climb " The steep, where Fame's proud temple shines afar"

And raise a monument to last with time! Haud fucile emergunt quorum vir

tutibus obstat res” (I want a rhyme).-

Angusta domi"---s0 exclaimed the poet
And scourger of Rome's vices; and I know it.
Yet think not, gentle reader, that by “ domi"

I mean its literal translation ; no:
In search of happiness let others roam, I

Will ne'er my dear domestic hearth forego,
Where blest with every bliss of “ home sweet home;" I

Drink the rich draughts that from the fountain flow Of filial tenderness, and wedded love, And crown'd with health's great blessing from above,

But 'tis the care, the vile plebean care

Of business, that impedes the Muse's flight. The fetter'd eagle cannot cleave the air,

Nor soar majestic to the realms of light.
So doom'd to "strut and fret” like the poor player"

My“ hour upon the stage" from morn to night,
How can the Muse, thus chain'd in slavery,
Burst from her galling fetters and be free?
Suppose--. of course 'tis supposition, not

Reality---suppose me an attorney---
(You smile, kind reader at my blessed lot.)

Who could, like Frazer, write an Eastem Journey. Letters like Junius --" Waverleys” like Scutt,---

Poems like Byron ---Novels like Miss Burney,--History like Hume ---Philosophy like Stewart,... Essays like Worcestor, on each old and new art.

Yet 'midst the babel jargon of the laws,

Their dull insipid phraseology,
The cumbrous lumber of a Chancery cause,

Deeds, pleadings, proofs, one mass of vile tautology, The din of clients, and the fear of flaws--

How---Oye mighty masters of phrenology, Can fancy fix within the mind her dwelling, Where thus she meets with objects so repeliing?

First, an old lady wants to make laer ill--,

I wish shed leave her agent some bequest.-Next, an old landlord calls os me to fill

A pair of leases---then I'm closely prest By some dry client, to curtail


Of costs---I hate this last anjust request---
Then come---ways, casements and appurtenances,
Which fright the Muse---so off at once she dances.

And then the smile, half curling to a sheer,

That chills the very soul, like Alpine svows ; The language of dunb Critics---then the fear

Of failure ; and the kind advice of those Good friends, who wonld not for the world appear.

Averse to verse---yet whisper in plain prose, That " business must be minded".--and “' ne sutor: Et cetera".--of which I'm no disputer.

But vain each effort to exclude the day,

When even a pin-hole will admit the light; Thro' the deep darkness bursts the brilliant raj,

As the red liyht'ning in the pitchy niglit.
So thro' life's gloomy cares I break my way.

And catch a transient moment to indite
Not an indictment, or a deed or boud,
Or case or lease, but something far beyoud ?

Oh! then, ye sage law, physic and divinity,

Doom not to death, the writer and his rhymes; When of the live long day there's scarce a minute be

Dare call his own,---and tho', perhaps, at times Chance yields an idle hous, how often in it he

Finds inspiration will not yield her chines. Such is so frequently the fate of those Who aim at verse ;--- it is not so with prose, Where left we our good barque ? Where opening wide

Expands the beauteous bosom of the Lee ; Majestic stream! our City's boasted pride,

Her health, her wealth, ler great prosperity.
With filial fondness let me turn aside,

And pour the tribute of my heart to thce,
As to a parent---and in sweetest strain
Trace out thy rise and progress to the main.

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Here in his holy hermitage of stone,

Tlie pious Finbar“ trembled, wept and pray'd," But if, like St. Senanus, quite alone,

Or in conjunction with some“ sainted maid,"
Is not in Smith's historic pages shewn;

Perbaps 'twere better sleep beneath the shado.
And yet to judge of him by each successor,
We could not even suppose him a transgressor,
For on each anniversary of Saint John,

Io June's warm glowing month, the devoteer.
Flock'd to his shrine, and with loud orison

Besought his holy cure for each disease,
And when they found the loath'd disorder gone,

They prostrate pass'd the night upon their kneen!
But latterly the pilgrims from this spot
Have banish'd been---I marvel much for what.


In this lone solitude, this mountain bed

The silvery water first displays its source ; Thedce is its stream thro' Roscalougher led,

And round by high Droumanning winds its course ; Tilt in the far extended plains o'erspread

Near Inchageelah, it collects its force; There bounding off, a bolder effort makes, And proudly glories in its beauteous lakes. Here, in October nights, the rosy char,

Rare and rich fish, by epicures renown'd, And only in these lakes, and one more, far

To northward, in our lovely island found,
Are taken ---and as greatest rareties are

Esteem'd in London, ---two will cost a pound
When potted and preserv'd. It may be erring,
But to my taste, far sweeter is a herring !
From Inchageelah to Broumcarrow flows

The rich majestic stream---and at Coolcour
Embraces the Sullane---and winding goes

Round Mashanaylish, to Shandangan's bower,
By Forest and Nadrid---'till Dripsey shews

Her stream immortalized by Spenser's power,
And Jemmy Bat O'Sullivan's mad caper,
For few cut greuter figures upon paper !!
Thro' Inniscarra's deep romantic glen

The sweet prolific waters gently glide,
And kiss the richly planted glebe---and then

Salute the lovely blushes of the Bride,
And blending with her fruitful streams, again

Proceed---'till Carrigrahan's Castle-pride
Looks, like some skeleton, upon the borders
Of Leemount, and its neighbour, the Recorder').

Now by Mountdesart slowly moves the stream,

Rich, bounteous, blessing wheresoe'er it flows, Heaven with abundance bade the waters teem,

But man would mar the blessing Heaven bestows; And frenzied by ambition's mad’ning dream,

Across the river's course a barrier throws,
Confining what should wander unconfin'd,
Not for one only---but for all mankind.
Check'd in their peaceful progress to the shore,

The fretted waters burst a passage through
The hateful barrier---or now bounding o'er

The steepy precipice, their way pursue,
Dashing and headlong---and with angry roar

The deep surge curls its white tops to the view
Like ocean foam : but soon its passions wild
Are calm'd and lull’d to slumber, as child,

But the sweet river must at last divide,

Forming two sister streams to meet again, Along the south the parted waters glide

With silent course to Bellville's sallowy plain; Thence passing Cottage, and Gillabbey's side--

Where once religion rear'd her sacred fane--Its rural freshness fades within the city--Fould by its vile pollutions---ah what pity!

Now turn we northward, where the stream supplies

The basin with its pure and copious flow; By Sunday's-well its current gently flies

Unruffled, save when wintry breezes blow. Hither the child of nature fondly hies

In the clear stream to cool the burning glow; Whilst modest manhood secretly repairs To Blease by's bathing house---near Hayes's wears,

I wonder who first thought of making wears,

For nothing with this great contrivance matches, Which such a vast expense of labour spares,

And the poor salmon in such plenty catches. Anglers are fools !---and Johnson so declares--

For by a wear, a net so quickly snatches Whole hundreds, and when any slip through latches, The spear dispatches batches in the hatches !!! This fills the pocket of the wise proprietor,

And fills the craving stomach of John Bull; But makes each country gentleman a rioter

Who vi et armis threatens he will pull Down this impediment. I wish he'd try it, or

Open the hatches, and thus give a full And free scope to the fish---by not entangling The spawning uribe---wbich spoils the sport of anglior

A a

Now onward thro' the busy haunts of men

Proceeds the currenz, solitary, slow, 'Till passing by the Island, it again

Kisses its long lost sister-stream, and oh! What bliss to mingle into one !---and wben

The beauteous river winds on gently, lo! The young Atlantic on his swelling tide Salutes and woo's the virgin for his bride! Unable to resist his brilliant charms...

The bright beam dancing on his glowing face, She yields her blushing beauties to his arms,

And soon dissolves within his fond embrace.
Calming her fears, subduing her alarms,

He proudly joys her timid course to trace,
To join his ocean-parent once again,
And share his empire in the boundless main.
I've done---and humbly hope I'm not to blame

For joining rivers in the happy state
Of matrimony. Spencer did the same,

And Prior---where his tuneful lines relate Of Silver Isis and her husband Tame,'

And Buonaparte who once conceiv'd the great Design of marrying (a fact that true is) The Mediterranean and Red sea in Suez.

But oh! my pretty barque, excuse me if

I've kept thee waiting opposite Wood-hill That sweet and happy spot ! I'll steer my skiff —

In which I've traced the Lee from its first rill, On board thee once again. It blows a stiff

Breeze---but not too much, just enongh to fill The spreading mainsail. Thus the boat we find Propell’d by steam---the current---and the wind.

Now pass we wood-crown'd Tivoli---and sec

Nature assisted by the hand of taste, Grand in magnificence of scenery,

Enrich'd by art, pure, classical and chaste. Thence with reluctance turning on our lee,

We view three beanty spots together plac'd ; Half namesakes, made the following line to fill, Lindville, and Maryville and Templeville. Clifton---thy picturesque and sloping side

Attracts our admiration---bending low With rich luxuriance to salute the tide.

Whilst opposite Fortwlliam's shades bestow Their soft and mellow lustre on the pride

And beauty of our city---and with glow Warm as in India's ripe and sultry clima The towering forest lifts its head sublime !

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