commencement of the Ode is as follows, and it continues throughout much as it begins:—
"In happy hour doth he receive
The Laurel, meed of famous bards of yore,
Which Dryden and diviner Spenser wore,
In happy hour, and well may he rejoice,
Whose earliest task must be
To raise the exultant hymn for victory,
And join a nation's joy with harp and voice,
Pouring the strain of triumph on the wind,
Glory to God, his song—deliverance to mankind!
Wake, lute and harp! &c. &c."
Mr. Southey has not exactly followed the suggestion of an ingenious friend, to begin his poem with the appropriate allusion,
"Awake, my sack-but!"
The following rhymes are the lamest we observed. He says, speaking of the conflict between the Moors and Spaniards,
"Age after age, from sire to son,
The hallowed sword was handed down;
Nor did they from that warfare cease,
And sheath that hallowed sword in peace,
Until the work was done."
Indeed, if Mr. S. can do no better than this, in his drawing-room verses, he should get some contributor to the Lady's Magazine to polish them for him.
We have turned over the Ode again, which extends to twenty pages, in the hope of finding some one vigorous or striking passage for selection, but in vain. The following is the most likely to please in a certain quarter:—
"Open thy gates, O Hanover! display
Thy loyal banners to the day!
Receive thy old illustrious line once more!
Beneath an upstart's yoke oppress'd,
Long has it been thy fortune to deplore
That line, whose fostering and paternal sway
So many an age thy grateful children blest.
