Part 176 (1/2)

By yon still river's verdant side, My friends his breathless body hide, Close to the gentle surge; Light lay the turf upon his breast, And thou sweet Robin from the nest, Sing his funereal dirge.

And when grey night shall check thy note, Ye bull-frogs strain your hoa.r.s.er throat, Grave songsters of the stream: Let Bun--poor Bun--repeated sound; With Bun, the hills and groves resound, A never dying theme.

But thou curst Cat, unsung shalt lie; For thou, vile murderer, too must die, As well as harmless Bun; Thy worthless bones unburied lay, And thy nine lives but poorly pay For his lamented one.

+A very palatable _RECEIPT_, to soften the hardest _FEMALE HEART_.+

Take a youth that's genteel, 'tis no matter for face, And season him well, with an air, and a grace; One grain of sincerity you may bestow, But enough of a.s.surance fail not to allow; With flatteries, sighs, a.s.siduities, tears, Insignificant smiles, and significant leers, With pa.s.sion and rapture to give it a zest, And impudence sprinkled according to taste; Some pieces of songs too, and sc.r.a.ps of old plays, And fustian, and frolics, and whimsical ways; All mix'd well together with care and design, And drest with great nicety, and garnish'd out fine: This medicine warm as the patient can bear, And when taken each day will soon soften the fair.

Sometimes a few days efficacious will prove, Sometimes a few weeks ere the flint will remove; But seldom an instance can any produce, When this golden prescription has fail'd of its use, Yet though often successful, 'twill ne'er reach that heart, Which, hardened by virtue, will baffle all art.

ON A HASTY MARRIAGE.

Marry'd! 'tis well! a mighty blessing!

But poor's the joy, no coin possessing.

In antient times, when folks did wed, 'Twas to be one at ”board and bed:”

But hard's his case, who can't afford His charmer either bed or board!

_NEW-YORK: +Printed by JOHN TIEBOUT, No. 358, Pearl-Street, for THOMAS BURLING, Jun. & Co.+ +Subscriptions+ for this +Magazine+ (at 6s. per quarter) are taken in at the Printing-Office, and at the Book-Store of Mr. J. FELLOWS, Pine-Street._

THE NEW-YORK WEEKLY MAGAZINE; or, Miscellaneous Repository.

+Vol. II.+] +Wednesday, May 24, 1797.+ [+No. 99.+

ON LITERARY PURSUITS.

In every duty, in every science in which we would wish to arrive at perfection, we should propose for the object of our pursuit some certain station even beyond our abilities; some imaginary excellence, which may amuse and seem to animate our enquiry. In deviating from others in following an unbeaten road, though we perhaps may never arrive at the wished-for object, yet it is possible we may meet several discoveries by the way; and the certainty of small advantages, even while we travel with security, is not so amusing as the hopes of great rewards by which the adventurer is inspired.

This enterprising spirit is, however, by no means the character of the present age; every person who should now have received opinions, who should attempt to be more than a commentator upon philosophers, or an imitator in polite learning, might be regarded as a chimerical projector. Hundreds would be ready not only to point out his errors, but to load him with reproach. Our probable opinions are now regarded as certainties; the difficulties. .h.i.therto undiscovered, as utterly inscrutable; and the writers of the last age inimitable, and therefore the properest models for imitation.

One might be almost induced to deplore the philosophic spirit of the age, which, in proportion as it enlightens the mind, increases its timidity, and represses the vigour of every undertaking. Men are more content with being prudently in the right, which, though not the way to make new acquisitions, it must be owned, is the best method of securing what we have. Yet this is certain, that the writer who never deviates, who never hazards a new thought, or a new expression, though his friends may compliment him upon his sagacity, though Criticism lifts her feeble voice in his praise, will seldom arrive at any degree of perfection. The way to acquire lasting esteem, is not by the fewness of a writer's faults, but the greatness of his beauties, and our n.o.blest works are generally most replete with both.

An author, who would be sublime, often runs his thoughts into burlesque; yet I can readily pardon his mistaking sometimes for once succeeding.

True genius walks along a line, and, perhaps, our greatest pleasure is in seeing it often near falling, without being ever actually down.

Every science has its. .h.i.therto undiscovered mysteries, after which men should travel undiscouraged by the failure of former adventurers. Every new attempt serves, perhaps, to facilitate its future invention. We may not find the philosopher's stone, but we shall, probably, hit upon new inventions in pursuing it. We shall, perhaps, never be able to discover the longitude, yet, perhaps, we may arrive at new truths in the investigation.

Were any of these sagacious minds among us, (and surely no nation, no period could ever compare with us in this particular,) were any of these minds, I say, who now sit down contented with exploring the intricacies of another's system, bravely to shake off admiration, and undazzled with the splendor of another's fame, to chalk out a path to renown for themselves, and boldly to cultivate untried experiments, what might not be the result of their enquiries, should the same study that has made them wise, make them enterprizing also? What could not such qualities, united, produce?