project of throwing a bridge of a single arch over the river Thames. Men of the pen (says a great writer) have seldom very great skill in conquering kingdoms, but they have strong inclination to give advice." The same may be said of speculative men. However inefficient in the actual formation of machinery, they have still a great inclination to instruct the mechanic and architect: but the instructions are generally slighted, and the suggestions treated as mere airy speculations, as the serious triflings of a theorist, claiming rank only among those unsubstantial systems which the pride of calculation is continually erecting, and which time and experience are constantly overthrowing. The appellation speculative men, when thus applied, is intended as a term of reproach, because a neglect of experiment has frequently led theorists into absurdity: but, on the other hand, we may observe that it is on record that many of the great improvements in the arts are due to the investigations of "men of the pen.'

The mathematical conclusions in the present work, whether or not they may be confirmed by the results of experiments, do not appear to us to have any reference to the construction of such a bridge as is now proposed to be thrown over the Thames. If we at all understand the model which has been exhibited to the public, the cast iron bridge will not derive its strength from the same principle which prevails in common arches. As opinion fluctuates, however, perhaps the present plan of the iron bridge may be abandoned; and even if it be adopted, it will still be no unprofitable task to notice Dr. H.'s remarks, since his reasonings and deductions apply to the construction of all bridges that have arches formed in the usual manner.

Proposition 1st, Section 2d, of this tract, is the same with that of Emerson, p. 149. Miscellanies.-Prop. 3d and 4th are likewise nearly the same as those of Emerson.-Section 3d treats on Piers; and the first four propositions are premised in order to establish the general one by which the thickness of the piers necessary to resist the shoot of any given arch is determined. Section 4. relates to the force of the water; and here it is inquired, what form the ends of a pier ought to have, in order to be the least subject to the force of the stream of water. Section 5. gives an explanation of the teams or names of the various parts peculiar to a bridge, and the machines, &c. used about it; disposed in alphabetical order.

We must forbear a particular examination of the contents of the present work; partly because it is only a re-publication, and not (as we think) answering the purpose for which it has been re-published, but chiefly because we defer our criticisms in expectation of a much larger and improved treatise, with which the author (in his advertisement) proposes to indulge us.

POETRY.

Art. 26. Idyls; in two Parts. By Edward Atkyns Bray. Crown 8vo. 43. 6d. Boards. Rivingtons. 1800.

The simplicity essential to a pastoral poem, the necessary absence of variety in its action, and the familiar nature of the objects of its scenery, all contribute to render this species of poetry very difficult to be managed with any degree of merit or excellence. We have, however,

however, read the Idyls of Mr. Bray with pleasure; since, notwithstanding the difficulty of the undertaking, he has accomplished it with some success. His versification is generally harmonious; and, though it may not possess the Doric simplicity of Theocritus, it is not marked by any affected and unappropriate ornaments. We present the reader with the following Idyl:

As aged Lacon, erst a sturdy hind,

Beneath a walnut's cooling shade reclin'd,
He spied a traveller journeying on his way,
Weary and faint, whilst glow'd the solar ray.
With smiles of welcome from the turf he rose,
And there his limbs besought him to repose.
The youthful stranger, whilst the hoary swain
With hasty footsteps hied across the plain,
To bring refreshments from his neighb'ring shed,
Cut in the bark this short inscription read.

"No more, ye gay! my hallow'd trunk surround;
Nor beat with foot profane this sacred ground.
Beneath my shade fair Daphne's ashes lie-
Oh! pay the tribute of a passing sigh!"

Ere long the shepherd, with a plenteous store,
To treat the stranger, left his cottage door.

"Those lines," he cry'd, "that round this walnut wind,
I roughly sculptur'd on the glossy rind,

To tell that Innocence lies buried here!

Alas!" he paused, and sigh'd, and dropp'd a tear,
Alas! that me the will of Heaven should doom,
'Reft of my spouse, to live and point her tomb!
Whilst you your hunger and your thirst assuage,
Oh! deign to hear the oft-told tale of age.
My lips shall tell whose long deplor'd remains
The narrow grave beneath this mound contains.
Born in yon cot, amid a numerous race,
That flew with rapture to a sire's embrace,
I, as the younger, oftenest shar'd the kiss;
Nor were my brothers jealous of my bliss.
In yonder neighbouring hut, beside the hill,
Whence, ever murmuring, flows the foaming rill,
The eyes of Daphne open'd to the day;
Who on the plain oft join'd our infant play.
Whene'er we sang her voice decreed the prize,
Tho' me, they thought, she view'd with partial eyes;
And justly, for than they I surely paid
More kind attentions to the lovely maid.

Once to behold our sports this plain she sought,
And from her cot a few ripe walnuts brought;
For which the generous maid propos'd a race-
Here was the goal, and there the starting-place.
In pairs we ran, and he possess'd the meed
Whose winged feet surpass'd his rival's speed.
The eldest first their better fortune tried,
And next the youngest o'er the meadow hied.

To win the last my every nerve I strain'd;
Kind fortune smil'd, and I the meed obtain'd.
Then I, exulting, thus address'd the fair.

A virgin's gift a youth should guard with care.
If Heaven permit, this nut, a future tree,
Shall stand a monument of victory.

And oft, beneath its spreading shade reclin'd,
The beauteous donor I'll recall to mind.'
The nut I buried in the lap of Earth,
Whose fruitful womb produc'd the living birth.

By love inspir'd, ere long I woo'd the maid,
Who frown'd at first, but soon my sighs repaid.
With frequent feet this conscious spot we sought;
"Refreshing water from the streamlet brought;
Bedew'd the sapling with the genial shower,
And oft beneath it spent the happy hour.
Here first her vows she proffer'd to be mine,
And soon confirm'd them at the nuptial shrine.
A more than mortal's lot I then enjoy'd,
Till envious Fate my bliss, alas! destroy'd:
For soon, too soon!-excuse my tears-my wife,
Clasp'd in my arms, resign'd the breath of life!
The last request the virtuous matron made,
Was here to rest, beneath this walnut's shade;
Where, too, ere long, for soon I hope to die,
Beside my wife's remains my own shall lie."

Thus Lacon spake, and, bending low his head,
Bedew'd with tears the mansion of the dead.
The stranger, rising, thus with ardor cried,
"May years revolve before you join your bride!
To climes remote I speed, and grieve to part;
But ne'er shall absence blot
Where'er I roam I'll send the daily prayer
you from
my heart.

That Heaven may bless you

With lingering pace the Traveller left the spot,

with his guardian care.”

And aged Lacon soon regain'd his cot.'

Art. 27. Leander and Hero, translated from the Heroic Epistles of Ovid. With other Poems, original and translated. Crown 8vo. 2s. 6d. Boards. Rivingtons. 1800.

The author of these poems is intitled to some praise for the harmony of his versification, and for the spirit which he has displayed in his translations. The principal fault, which we have remarked in him, consists in a few unnecessary inversions, which obscure the sense without improving the melody of his numbers. lowing passages from the translation of the epistle of Leander to We select the folHero, as a specimen of the writer's powers:

In these, or terms not much unlike, I spoke;

On through the smiling glass, meanwhile, I broke:
Play'd on the deep the moon's reflected gleam;

The night a rival of the noontide beam

No

No stillest air unsmooth'd the calm profound;
Nor caught my listening ear the gentlest sound;
Save what by fits the parted waves replied;
Or Halcyons, brooding on the peaceful tide,
Were heard to moan,—a sweet and solemn strain,
Their Ceyx sunk beneath the watery plain.
And now these arms, by long fatigue subdued,
With fainter force their oaring sweeps pursued:
Then, ere my spirits yet entirely fled,

my languid head:
Soon as remote the sparkling sign I spied,
"Behold my star!" with new born hope I cried,
"Its beams, as distant round the shore they play,
"Call me to bliss, and I the call obey !"
I said; returning strength my sinews felt;
Appear'd the rigour of the deep to melt:
O Love all-powerful, from thy rising fire
The bosom's frost, the water's cold retire!
Now near and nearer to the coast 1 drew:
Broad o'er the wave it's shade the turret threw
At the blest sight my beating bosom rose,
And seem'd too soon my briny task to close.
But when I see, delighted on the strand,
Thee, dear spectatress of my labours! stand;
My leaping heart redoubled vigour fires,
Redoubled energy my frame inspires;
With bolder strokes I shoot the yielding seas,
And toss my frolic arms, thy sight to please.
Thee can thy nurse, officious, scarce restrain,
Scarce hold thy footsteps eager from the main;
(With secret joy those eager steps I spied;
Nor could thy soul the fond impatience hide!)
Nor, spite of all her struggles, can she save
Thy foot from bathing in the foremost wave.
Next am I welcom'd in thy warm embrace;
Next thy dear kisses wander o'er my face:
My glowing limbs thy ready vest supplies;
Thy clasping hand my briny ringlets dries.'
In the above extract, the line

Slow from the wave I rear'd

and this,

Play'd on the deep the moon's reflected gleam,

• And seçm'd too soon my briny task to close,' are rendered rather equivocal by the inversion.

No stillest air unsmooth'd the calm profound

is a very faulty line; and the expression of a vest supplying a limb is too inaccurate even for the licence of poetry.-The following Elegy affords a favourable specimen of the author's talents for original composition:

Y A

• SOLITUDE.

SOLITUDE.

On the Wish of withdrawing from civilized Life, sometimes expressed by Men of Genius.

"Devenêre locos lætos, et amona vireta
Fortunatorum nemorum, sedesque beatas :'
Largior hic campos æther, et lumine vestit
Purpureo.".

If genial suns, or fragrant glooms can please,
Haste, mount the vessel, guide the flying sail
Where coral-rocks bestud the southern seas,

;

Point the bold prow, and catch the balmy gale!
Where with bright green primæval forests glow,
Where the high arch of glittering mountains bends,
And Nature, in the 'broider'd vales below,

Unstain'd by Art, her peaceful children tends.
Such, OTAHEITEE! such thy golden clime,
Thy blue horizon, and thy laughing skies;
So rove thy sons beneath their palms sublime,
That, in still air, unmov'd, majestic rise.
Happy! for them the cool banana's shade
Its ample roof, and clustering fruit bestows,
For them the coco lifts its spiry head,

In whose full cups a guiltless vintage flows.
Ah bowers of bliss! where oft the glancing sun
Has view'd the sportive theft, the pleasing wile;
And the clear streams, that gently-murmuring run,
Heard many a vow, reflected may a smile.
Sweet, in your shades to slumber life away;
Mark the blue Her'n stalk stately round the cove;
Admire the various gleams of plumage gay;
Or soften at the tale of artless love:

To note the skilful diver smooth descend
In the calm bosom of the glassy deep;
Their flexile limbs the feathery dancers bend;
Or near some lone morai the mourner weep!
Isles of delight! retreats from toiling thought!
How sweet, to lay the weary frame along,
And (what the melancholy CowLEY sought!)
Pour in such glens some tender, serious song!-
And is this all!-for this was being given-
To glades, and glooms, and solitudes to run?
For this hath man receiv'd the seal of heaven-
To sigh in shades, or batten in the sun?
For this (O dead to virtue, genius, fame!)
The polish'd walks of social life resign'd?
Quench'd the deep blushes of indignant shame?
energy, that wakes the manly mind?

Each

• Renounc'd