Poems By Mr. Polwhele. In three volumes |
I. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
II. |
1. |
2. |
3. |
4. |
5. |
6. |
7. |
8. |
9. |
10. |
11. |
12. |
13. |
14. |
15. |
III. |
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2. |
3. |
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2. |
3. |
4. |
Poems | ||
But, in his orb our verse unwilling points
These little spots, that almost disappear
Amidst the fadeless glory. Turn we, next,
To living politicians; where stands forth
Conspicuous in the variegated groupe,
Of rhetoric no mean master—more observ'd,
As with a CHATHAM's traits contrasted rise
His strongly-shaded lineaments. Profuse
Of florid declamation, he hath taste
That, with a relish inexpressive, feels
The finer beauties of the Grecian page—
Say, who, like BURKE, can feel them? All the train
Of classic imag'ry his mind evolves,
And quick into a new creation moulds
The race of fairy fancy!—But too fond
Of erudite allusions—too propense
To draw from antient poesy the tropes,
The figures of his speech, to truth he gives
A fabling air, and buries common sense
Beneath an heap of metaphor. His thoughts
Are methodiz'd by ARISTOTLE's rules;
And (if no rival's irritating sneer
Derange his plan) in regular array
The series of the harangue proceeds—yet stiff
Thro' regularity; and not enough
Savouring of the colloquial—an harangue
That might beseem the academy or school;
Like some inaugural oration, rich
In classic vein, beneath a pedant's eye.
These little spots, that almost disappear
Amidst the fadeless glory. Turn we, next,
To living politicians; where stands forth
Conspicuous in the variegated groupe,
Of rhetoric no mean master—more observ'd,
As with a CHATHAM's traits contrasted rise
His strongly-shaded lineaments. Profuse
Of florid declamation, he hath taste
That, with a relish inexpressive, feels
The finer beauties of the Grecian page—
115
Of classic imag'ry his mind evolves,
And quick into a new creation moulds
The race of fairy fancy!—But too fond
Of erudite allusions—too propense
To draw from antient poesy the tropes,
The figures of his speech, to truth he gives
A fabling air, and buries common sense
Beneath an heap of metaphor. His thoughts
Are methodiz'd by ARISTOTLE's rules;
And (if no rival's irritating sneer
Derange his plan) in regular array
The series of the harangue proceeds—yet stiff
Thro' regularity; and not enough
Savouring of the colloquial—an harangue
That might beseem the academy or school;
Like some inaugural oration, rich
In classic vein, beneath a pedant's eye.
Poems | ||