Chapter II: Introduction: Nov. 20, 1797 (1)

In our anxiety to provide for the amusement as well as information of our readers, we have not omitted to make all the inquiries in our power for ascertaining the means of procuring poetical assistance. And it would give us no small satisfaction to be able to report that we had succeeded in this point precisely in the manner which would best have suited our own taste and feelings, as well as those which we wish to cultivate in our readers.

But whether it be that good Morals, and what we should call good Politics, are inconsistent with the spirit of true Poetry—whether “_the Muses still with freedom found_” have an aversion to _regular_ governments, and require a frame and system of protection less complicated than king, lords, and commons:—

“Whether primordial _nonsense_ springs to life[7]
In the wild war of _democratic_ strife,”

and there only—or for whatever other reason it may be, whether physical, or moral, or philosophical (which last is understood to mean something more than the other two, though exactly _what_, it is difficult to say), we have not been able to find one good and true Poet, of sound principles and sober practice, upon whom we could rely for furnishing us with a handsome quantity of sufficient and approved verse—such verse as our readers might be expected to get by heart, and to sing; as the worthy philosopher MONGE describes the little children of Sparta and Athens singing the songs of Freedom, in expectation of the coming of _the Great Nation_.

In this difficulty we have had no choice but either to provide no poetry at all—a shabby expedient—or to go to the only market where it is to be had good and ready made, that of the _Jacobins_—an expedient full of danger, and not to be used but with the utmost caution and delicacy.

To this latter expedient, however, after mature deliberation, we have determined to have recourse; qualifying it at the same time with such precautions as may conduce at once to the safety of our readers’ principles, and to the improvement of our own poetry.

For this double purpose, we shall select from time to time from among those effusions of the _Jacobin_ Muse which happen to fall in our way, such pieces as may serve to illustrate some one of the principles on which the poetical as well as the political doctrine of the NEW SCHOOL is established—prefacing each of them, for our readers’ sake, with a short disquisition on the particular tenet intended to be enforced or insinuated in the production before them—and accompanying it with an humble effort of our own, in imitation of the poem itself, and in further illustration of its principle.

By these means, though we cannot hope to catch “_the wood-notes wild_” of the Bards of Freedom, we may yet acquire, by dint of repeating after them, a more complete knowledge of the secret in which their greatness lies than we could by mere prosaic admiration; and if we cannot become poets ourselves, we at least shall have collected the elements of a _Jacobin_ Art of Poetry for the use of those whose genius may be more capable of turning them to advantage.

It might not be unamusing to trace the springs and principles of this species of poetry, which are to be found, some in the exaggeration, and others in the direct inversion of the sentiments and passions which have in all ages animated the breast of the favourite of the Muses, and distinguished him from the “vulgar throng”.

The poet in all ages has despised riches and grandeur.

The _Jacobin_ poet improves this sentiment into a hatred of the rich and the great.

The poet of other times has been an enthusiast in the love of his native soil.

The _Jacobin_ poet rejects all restriction in his feelings. _His_ love is enlarged and expanded so as to comprehend all human kind. The love of all human kind is without doubt a noble passion: it can hardly be necessary to mention that its operation extends to _freemen_, and them only, all over the world.

The old poet was a warrior, at least in imagination; and sung the actions of the heroes of his country in strains which “made Ambition Virtue,” and which overwhelmed the horrors of war in its glory.

The _Jacobin_ poet would have no objection to sing battles too—but _he_ would take a distinction. The prowess of Buonaparte, indeed, he might chant in his loftiest strain of exultation. _There_ we should find nothing but trophies and triumphs and branches of laurel and olive, phalanxes of Republicans shouting victory, satellites of despotism biting the ground, and geniuses of Liberty planting standards on mountain-tops.

But let his own country triumph, or her allies obtain an advantage: straightway the “beauteous face of war” is changed; the “pride, pomp, and circumstance” of victory are kept carefully out of sight, and we are presented with nothing but contusions and amputations, plundered peasants, and deserted looms. Our poet points the thunder of his blank verse at the head of the recruiting serjeant, or roars in dithyrambics against the lieutenants of pressgangs.

But it would be endless to chase the coy Muse of _Jacobinism_ through all her characters. _Mille habet ornatus._ The _Mille decenter habet_ is perhaps more questionable. For in whatever disguise she appears, whether of mirth or of melancholy, of piety or of tenderness; under all disguises, like _Sir John Brute_ in woman’s clothes, she is betrayed by her drunken swagger and ruffian tone.

In the poem which we have selected for the edification of our readers and our own imitation this day, the principles which are meant to be inculcated speak so plainly for themselves, that they need no previous introduction.

INSCRIPTION[8]
_For the Apartment in Chepstow Castle, where Henry Marten, the Regicide,
was imprisoned thirty years._

For thirty years secluded from mankind
Here MARTEN lingered. Often have these walls
Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread
He paced around his prison: not to him
Did Nature’s fair varieties exist;
He never saw the sun’s delightful beams,
Save when through yon high bars he pour’d a sad
And broken splendour. Dost thou ask his crime?
He had REBELL’D AGAINST THE KING, AND SAT
IN JUDGMENT ON HIM; for his ardent mind
Shaped goodliest plans of happiness on earth,
And peace and liberty. Wild dreams! but such
As Plato loved; such as with holy zeal
Our Milton worshipp’d. Blessed hopes! awhile
From man withheld, even to the latter days
When Christ shall come, and all things be fulfill’d!

IMITATION.
INSCRIPTION
_For the Door of the Cell in Newgate, where Mrs. Brownrigg, the
’Prentice-cide, was confined previous to her Execution._

For one long term, or e’er her trial came,
Here BROWNRIGG linger’d. Often have these cells
Echoed her blasphemies, as with shrill voice
She screamed for fresh Geneva. Not to her
Did the blithe fields of Tothill, or thy street,
St. Giles, its fair varieties expand;
Till at the last, in slow-drawn cart she went
To execution. Dost thou ask her crime?
SHE WHIPP’D TWO FEMALE ’PRENTICES TO DEATH,
AND HID THEM IN THE COAL-HOLE. For her mind
Shaped strictest plans of discipline. Sage schemes!
Such as Lycurgus taught, when at the shrine
Of the Orthyan goddess he bade flog
The little Spartans; such as erst chastised
Our Milton when at college. For this act
Did Brownrigg swing. Harsh laws! But time shall come
When France shall reign, and laws be all repeal’d!

[HENRY MARTEN was one of the most interesting and remarkable of the
Regicides, not only from his abilities and consistent honesty, but
from the elegance of his manners, his wit, and the fascinating
gaiety of his conversation; and, moreover, from his humane
disposition and generosity to fallen foes. His private life,
however, was disgraced by the most reckless debauchery, which might
seem more appropriate in such libertines as Rochester and Sedley
than in a coadjutor of the strict Puritan party. But from a note in
Grey’s edition of _Hudibras_, pt. ii., ch. i., p. 313, it would
appear that the general opinion at that time was that profligacy of
a pronounced character was indulged in privately by more than a few
of that sanctimonious sect.

He was the son of Sir Henry Marten, LL.D., a loyal Judge of the
Admiralty. After receiving a learned education at Oxford, he entered
one of the Inns of Court, and travelled in France. Having a stake in
Berkshire—for he inherited a property of £3000 a year, besides
several thousand pounds in money—he was elected, 1640, one of the
members for the county in the last two Parliaments of King Charles
I. His chief seat was at Becket, in the parish of Shrivenham. He
afterwards obtained a grant of £1000 a year to him and his heirs out
of the forfeited estates of the Duke of Buckingham. His early
marriage with a rich widow, selected by his father, but not affected
by himself, also benefited his finances.

From the commencement of the Civil Wars he was a violent Republican;
and as early as 1643 openly expressed his opinion of the
desirability of the destruction of the King and his children, for
which rather premature advice he was expelled from the House of
Commons, and underwent a short imprisonment in the Tower. He was
appointed by the House of Commons a Colonel of Horse and Governor of
Reading, but made less mark as a soldier than as a rapacious spoiler
of the adherents of the King, which earned him the opprobrious
nickname of “Plunder-master General”.

Being empowered to dispose of the Regalia and royal trappings, he
once invested GEORGE WITHER—who had been made one of Cromwell’s
Major-Generals—with them, and so accoutred induced the old Poet to
strut up and down Westminster Abbey to the scandal of right-thinking
people.

To him also were referred the alterations in the public arms, the
Great Seal, and the legends upon the money. Upon the latter was a
shield bearing the cross of St. George, encircled by a palm and
olive branch, and inscribed _The Commonwealth of England_, and on
the reverse, _God with us, 1648_; which occasioned the remark “that
God and the Commonwealth were not on the same side”.

Nothing apparently could damp the ill-timed jocosity too often
prevalent in those troublous times, for at MARTEN’S trial, 16th
October, 1660, Ewer, who had been his servant, swore that “at the
signing of the warrant for the King’s execution he did see a pen in
Mr. CROMWELL’S hand, and he marked Mr. MARTEN in the face with it,
and Mr. MARTEN did the like to him”. But many of his excesses were
condoned in the eyes of both his friends and enemies by his generous
and humane spirit.

D’ISRAELI, in his _Commentaries on the life and Reign of Charles
I._, describes the ingenious way in which MARTEN saved the life of
DAVID JENKINS, a loyal and obstinate Welsh judge, who, when brought
to the bar of the House of Commons to answer for imprisoning several
persons for bearing arms against the King, peremptorily disowned
their jurisdiction, and defied them in the following bold terms:
“‘But, Mr. Speaker, since you and this House have renounced your
allegiance to your Sovereign, and are become a den of thieves,
should I bow myself in this House of Rimmon the Lord would not
pardon me’. The whole House were electrified.... He was voted guilty
of high treason without any trial. The day of execution was then
debated. HARRY MARTEN, who had not yet spoken, rose, not to dissent
from the vote of the House, he observed, but he had something to say
about the time of the execution. ‘Mr. Speaker,’ said he, ‘everyone
must believe that this old gentleman here is fully possessed in his
head resolved to die a martyr in his cause, for otherwise he would
never have provoked the House by such biting expressions. If you
execute him, you do precisely that which he hopes for, and his
execution will have a great influence over the people, since he is
condemned without a jury. I therefore move that we should suspend
the day of execution, and in meantime force him to live in spite of
his teeth.’ The drollery of the motion put the House into better
humour, and he was reprieved. After being kept in various prisons
for eleven years, he was released by Cromwell, and died in 1663,
aged eighty-one.”

Another instance may be given of MARTEN’S felicitous humour and
humane temper. When the Commons had rid themselves of the Sovereign,
_they voted the Lords to be dangerous and useless_. But MARTEN
proposed an amendment in their favour; namely, that _they were
useless, but not dangerous_.

His speeches in the House were represented to have been not long,
“but wondrous poynant, pertinent, and witty. He was exceedingly apt
in apt instances; he alone hath sometimes turned the whole House.”

He wrote several tracts on parliamentary subjects, and _Verses on
the Death of his Nephew, Charles Edmonds, 7th July, 1661, æt. 30_.
But the most amusing of the publications bearing his name is one
entitled _Familiar Letters to his Lady of Delight; also her kinde
Returnes: with his Rivall R. Pettingall’s Heroicall Epistles_.
Printed by Edmundus de Speciosâ Villâ [_i.e._, EDMUND GAYTON].
_Bellositi Dobunorum_ [Oxford], 1662 and 1663, 4to. Another edition,
with additions, appeared in 1685. “These epistles,” says D’ISRAELI,
“paint to the life the loose habits and _espiègleries_ of this witty
profligate; and I think they have been referred to by some
inconsiderate writers as a _genuine_ correspondence.” They were
probably altogether concocted by GAYTON. He was severely attacked in
various scurrilous lampoons, some of which are printed among the
_Rump Songs_, 1662.

On his trial he was found guilty and sentenced to death; but the
good feeling created among many who had in his prosperous days
enjoyed his society and hospitality, and even among many of his
former opponents by his generous treatment of them when in danger,
stood him in good stead, and it was by a well-timed and humorous
appeal to the Judges—such as he himself might have used—that his
life was saved. Henry, fourth Viscount FALKLAND, whose virtuous and
heroic father fell at the first Battle of Newbury while fighting for
the King, said to the Judges: “Gentlemen, ye talk here of making a
_sacrifice_: it was old law that all sacrifices were to be without
spot or blemish; and now you are going to make an old rotten rascal
a sacrifice”. This piece of wit pleased his Judges, and his sentence
was commuted to imprisonment for life. He was confined in Chepstow
Castle, Monmouthshire, for twenty years, and died in September,
1680, aged seventy-eight.

He must have felt some contrition for his vicious life, for some
time before his death he made this epitaph, by way of _acrostic_, on
himself:

H ere, or elsewhere (all’s one to you, to me),
E arth, air, or water gripes my ghostly dust,
N one knowing when brave fire shall set it free.
R eader, if you an oft tryed rule will trust,
Y ou’ll gladly do and suffer what you must.

M y life was worn with serving you and you,
A nd now death’s my pay, it seems, and welcome too.
R evenge destroying but itself, while I
T o birds of prey leave my old cage, and fly.
E xamples preach to the eye, care (then mine says)
N ot how you end, but how you spend your days.

“In Cromwell’s time CHEPSTOW CASTLE served as a place of
imprisonment for Jeremy Taylor; and, after the Restoration, it
received a less illustrious occupant in the person of HARRY MARTEN,
the Regicide, whose imprisonment here has attracted more than its
share of notice in consequence of the foolish lines written by
SOUTHEY in his days of republicanism and pantisocracy, but which are
as untrue in _fact_ as they are mischievous in _sentiment_. As to
the _fact_, it is notorious that MARTEN—at all events after the
first few years of his imprisonment—was little more than a prisoner
on parole; allowed to visit the neighbouring gentry, and occupying
at Chepstow Castle, with his family and servants, spacious and
comfortable apartments in the tower which still bears his name. As
to the _sentiment_, the lines received their best antidote in the
clever parody of Canning and Frere in _The Anti-Jacobin_.”—_Annals
of Chepstow Castle_, by J. F. Marsh, 1883; 4to.]

[Mrs. Elizabeth Brownrigg was executed at Tyburn on Monday, 14th
Sept., 1767, for murdering one of her apprentices, Mary
Clifford.—ED.]

No. II.

Nov. 27, 1797.

In the specimen of JACOBIN POETRY which we gave in our last number was developed a principle, perhaps one of the most universally recognised in the Jacobin creed; namely, “that the animadversion of _human law_ upon _human actions_ is for the most part nothing but _gross oppression_; and that, in all cases of the administration of _criminal justice_, the truly benevolent mind will consider only the _severity of the punishment_, without any reference to the _malignity of the crime_”. This principle has of late years been laboured with extraordinary industry, and brought forward in a variety of shapes, for the edification of the public. It has been inculcated in bulky quartos, and illustrated in popular novels. It remained only to fit it with a poetical dress, which had been attempted in the INSCRIPTION for CHEPSTOW CASTLE, and which (we flatter ourselves) was accomplished in that for MRS. BROWNRIGG’S CELL.

Another principle, no less devoutly entertained, and no less sedulously disseminated, is the _natural and eternal warfare of the_ POOR _and the_ RICH. In those orders and gradations of society, which are the natural result of the original difference of talents and of industry among mankind, the Jacobin sees nothing but a graduated scale of violence and cruelty. He considers every rich man as an oppressor, and every person in a lower situation as the victim of avarice, and the slave of aristocratical insolence and contempt. These truths he declares loudly, not to excite compassion, or to soften the consciousness of superiority in the higher, but for the purpose of aggravating discontent in the inferior orders.

A human being, in the lowest state of penury and distress, is a treasure to the reasoner of this cast. He contemplates, he examines, he turns him in every possible light, with a view of extracting from the variety of his wretchedness new topics of invective against the pride of property. He, indeed (if he is a true Jacobin), refrains from _relieving_ the object of his compassionate contemplation; as well knowing that every diminution from the general mass of human misery must proportionably diminish the force of his argument.

This principle is treated at large by many authors. It is versified in sonnets and elegies without end. We trace it particularly in a poem by the same author [SOUTHEY] from whom we borrowed our former illustration of the Jacobin doctrine of crimes and punishments. In this poem, the pathos of the matter is not a little relieved by the absurdity of the metre. We shall not think it necessary to transcribe the whole of it, as our imitation does not pretend to be so literal as in the last instance, but merely aspires to convey some idea of the manner and sentiment of the original. One stanza, however, we must give, lest we should be suspected of painting from fancy, and not from life.

The learned reader will perceive that the metre is SAPPHIC, and affords a fine opportunity for his _scanning_ and _proving_, if he has not forgotten them.

Cōld wăs thē nīght wīnd; drĭftĭng fāst thĕ snōws fĕll;
Wīde wĕre thē dōwns, ānd shĕltĕrlēss ănd nākēd:
Whēn ă poōr wānd’rēr strŭgglĕd ōn hĕr joūrnĕy,
Wēāry ănd wāy-sōre.[9]

This is enough; unless the reader should wish to be informed how

Fāst o’ĕr thē blēāk hēāth răttlĭng drōve ă chārīōt;

Or how, not long after,

Loūd blĕw thē wīnd, ūnhēārd wăs hēr cŏmplāinĭng—
Ōn wĕnt thĕ hōrsemān.

We proceed to give our IMITATION, which is of the _Amœbæan_ or _Collocutory_ kind.

SAPPHICS.
THE FRIEND OF HUMANITY AND THE KNIFE-GRINDER.

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.[10]

“Needy Knife-grinder! whither are you going?
Rough is the road, your wheel is out of order—
Bleak blows the blast; your hat has got a hole in’t,
So have your breeches!

“Weary Knife-grinder! little think the proud ones,
Who in their coaches roll along the turnpike-
-road what hard work ’tis crying all day “Knives and
Scissars to grind O!”

“Tell me, Knife-grinder, how you came to grind knives?
Did some rich man tyrannically use you?
Was it the squire? or parson of the parish?
Or the attorney?

“Was it the squire, for killing of his game? or
Covetous parson, for his tithes distraining?
Or roguish lawyer, made you lose your little
All in a lawsuit?

“(Have you not read the Rights of Man, by Tom Paine?)
Drops of compassion tremble on my eyelids,
Ready to fall, as soon as you have told your
Pitiful story.”

KNIFE-GRINDER.

“Story! God bless you! I have none to tell, sir,
Only last night a-drinking at the Chequers,
This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were
Torn in a scuffle.

“Constables came up for to take me into
Custody; they took me before the justice;
Justice Oldmixon put me in the parish-
-Stocks for a vagrant.

“I should be glad to drink your Honour’s health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle
With politics, sir.”

FRIEND OF HUMANITY.

“_I_ give thee sixpence! I will see thee damned first—
Wretch! whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance—
Sordid, unfeeling, reprobate, degraded,
Spiritless outcast!”

[_Kicks the Knife-grinder, overturns his wheel, and exit in a
transport of Republican enthusiasm and universal philanthropy._]

No. III.

Nov. 30, 1797.

We have received the following from a loyal correspondent, and we shall be very happy at any time to be relieved, by communications of a similar tendency, from the drudgery of Jacobinical imitations.

THE INVASION;[11]
OR, THE BRITISH WAR SONG.

_To the Tune of_ “Whilst happy in my native land”.

I.

Whilst happy in our native land,
So great, so famed in story,
Let’s join, my friends, with heart and hand
To raise our country’s glory:
When Britain calls, her valiant sons
Will rush in crowds to aid her—
Snatch, snatch your muskets, prime your guns,
And crush the fierce invader!
Whilst every Briton’s song shall be,
“O give us Death—or Victory!”

II.

Long had this favour’d isle enjoy’d
True comforts, past expressing,
When _France_ her hellish arts employ’d
To rob us of each blessing:
These from our hearths by force to tear
(Which long we’ve learned to cherish)
Our frantic foes shall vainly dare;
We’ll keep ’em or we’ll perish—
And every day our song shall be,
“O give us Death—or Victory!”

III.

Let France in savage accents sing
Her bloody Revolution;
We prize our country, love our king,
Adore our constitution;
For these we’ll every danger face,
And quit our rustic labours;
Our ploughs to firelocks shall give place;
Our scythes be changed to sabres;
And clad in arms, our song shall be,
“O give us Death—or Victory!”

IV.

Soon shall the proud invaders learn,
When bent on blood and plunder,
That British bosoms nobly burn
To brave their cannon’s thunder:
Low lie those heads, whose wily arts
Have plann’d the world’s undoing!
Our vengeful blades shall reach those hearts
Which seek our country’s ruin;
And night and morn our song shall be,
“O give us Death—or Victory!”

V.

When, with French blood our fields manured,
The glorious struggle’s ended,
We’ll sing the dangers we’ve endured,
The blessings we’ve defended:
O’er the full bowl our feats we’ll tell,
Each gallant deed reciting;
And weep o’er those who nobly fell
Their country’s battle fighting—
And ever thence our song shall be,
“’Tis VALOUR leads to VICTORY”.

* * * * *

[The following Song which furnished the hints for the one above was
written by MILES PETER ANDREWS, M.P. for Bewdley, and a dealer in
gunpowder; but his Plays, Prologues, Verses, &c., by no means
resemble so active a composition. He, with other members of the
“_Della Crusca_,” was savagely attacked and extinguished by W.
Gifford in “_The Baviad_”. His song was set to music by Sir HENRY
BISHOP. He died in 1814.

I.

Whilst happy in my native land
I boast my country’s charter,
I’ll never basely lend my hand
Her liberties to barter.
The noble mind is not at all
By poverty degraded;
’Tis guilt alone can make us fall,
And well am I persuaded,
Each free-born Briton’s song should be,
“Oh! give me Death or Liberty!”

II.

Though small the pow’r which Fortune grants,
And few the gifts she sends us,
The lordly hireling often wants
That freedom which defends us.
By law secur’d from lawless strife,
Our house is our _castellum_;
Thus, blessed with all that’s dear in life,
For lucre shall we sell ’em?
No,—ev’ry Briton’s song should be,
“Oh! give me Death or Liberty!”
ED.]

No. IV.

Dec. 4, 1797.

We have been favoured with the following specimen of Jacobin Poetry, which we give to the world without any comment or imitation. We are informed (we know not how truly) that it will be sung at the meeting of the Friends of Freedom; an account of which is anticipated in our present paper.[12]

LA SAINTE GUILLOTINE.
=A New Song.=
ATTEMPTED FROM THE FRENCH.

_Tune_—“O’er the vine-covered hills and gay regions of France”.

I.

From the blood-bedew’d valleys and mountains of France,
See the Genius of Gallic INVASION advance!
Old ocean shall waft her, unruffled by storm,
While our shores are all lined with the “_Friends of Reform_”.[13]
Confiscation and Murder attend in her train,
With meek-eyed Sedition, the daughter of PAINE;[14]
While her sportive _Poissardes_ with light footsteps are seen
To dance in a ring round the gay _Guillotine_.[15]

II.

To _London_, “the rich, the defenceless”[16] she comes—
Hark! my boys, to the sound of the Jacobin drums!
See Corruption, Prescription, and Privilege fly,
Pierced through by the glance of her blood-darting eye.
While patriots, from prison and prejudice freed,
In soft accents shall lisp the Republican creed,
And with tri-colour’d fillets, and cravats of green,
Shall crowd round the altar of _Saint Guillotine_.

III.

See the level of Freedom sweeps over the land—
The vile Aristocracy’s doom is at hand!
Not a seat shall be left in a House _that we know_,
But for _Earl_ BUONAPARTE and _Baron_ MOREAU.
But the rights of the Commons shall still be respected,
Buonaparte himself shall approve the elected;
And the Speaker shall march with majestical mien,
And make his three bows to the grave _Guillotine_.

IV.

Two heads, says the proverb, are better than one,
But the Jacobin choice is for Five Heads or none.
By Directories only can Liberty thrive;
Then down with the ONE, Boys! and up with the FIVE!
How our bishops and judges will stare with amazement,
When their heads are thrust out at the _National Casement_![17]
When the _National Razor_[17] has shaved them quite clean,
What a handsome oblation to _Saint Guillotine_!

[The following _Lines_ were written by an ardent reformer, W.
ROSCOE, the accomplished author of the “Life of Leo X.,” and other
works, to commemorate the taking of the Bastille (14th July, 1789),
and the publication by the National Assembly (on 20th August
following) of the famous “Declaration of Rights”—a manifesto which
became the creed of the Revolution, and which promulgated, as the
basis of social government, the specious but impracticable doctrines
of _liberty_, _equality_, and _the sovereignty of the people_
exercised by universal suffrage. How the hopes and anticipations of
moderate reformers, as embodied in these lines, were falsified by
the spoliations and massacres which rapidly followed are but too
well known.

When, therefore, the _Anti-Jacobin_ was established to combat the
principles of the Revolution, these _Lines_ were, for party
purposes, maliciously referred to, and significantly recommended to
be “recited on the anniversary of the 14th August”. To make this
allusion more clear, it must be remembered that on the 10th August,
1792, after frightful massacres, the Hotel de Ville was seized and
the Tuileries stormed. On the 13th the king and family were
imprisoned in the Temple. His deposition, the dismissal of the
Ministers, and the formation of a National Convention, on more
popular principles than the Legislative Assembly, were decreed by
the victors. On the 14th Le Brun became Minister for Foreign
Affairs, Danton for Justice, and Monge for Marine; while the
Girondist Ministers, Roland, Servan, and Clavière, resumed their
former functions as Ministers of the Interior, War, and Finance
respectively.

The Song, _La Sainte Guillotine_, was evidently written as a
_Contrast_, and not as a _Parody_—a few lines at the beginning only
excepted, which serve as an introduction to verses on another
promised phase of the Revolution, the invasion of England.—ED.]

LINES.

Written for the purpose of being recited on the Anniversary of the 14th
of August. By WILLIAM ROSCOE, Esq.

O’er the vine-covered hills and gay regions of France,
See the day-star of liberty rise;
Through the clouds of detraction unsullied advance,
And hold its new course through the skies!
An effulgence so mild, with a lustre so bright,
All Europe with wonder surveys;
And, from deserts of darkness and dungeons of night,
Contends for a share of the blaze.

Ah! who ’midst the horrors of night would abide,
That can breathe the pure breezes of morn?
Or who, that has drunk the pure crystalline tide,
To the feculent flood would return?
When the bosom of Beauty the throbbing heart meets,
Ah, who can the transport decline?
Or who, that has tasted of Liberty’s sweets,
The prize but with life would resign?

Let Burke like a bat from its splendour retire,
A splendour too strong for his eyes;
Let pedants and fools his effusions admire,
Entrapt in his cobwebs like flies.
Shall insolent Sophistry hope to prevail
Where Reason opposes her weight,
When the welfare of millions is hung in the scale,
And the balance yet trembles with fate?

But ’tis over—high Heaven the decision approves,
Oppression has struggled in vain,
To the hell she has form’d Superstition removes,
And Tyranny bites his own chain.
In the records of Time a new era unfolds,
All nature exults in its birth;
His creation benign the Creator beholds,
And gives a new charter to earth.

Oh! catch the high import, ye winds, as ye blow;
Oh! hear it, ye waves, as ye roll,
From regions that feel the sun’s vertical glow,
To the farthest extremes of the Pole.
_Equal rights, equal laws_, to the nations around,
Peace and friendship its precepts impart,
And wherever the footsteps of man shall be found,
He shall bind the decree on his heart.

* * * * *

[The Account of what was “anticipated to take place at the _Meeting
of the Friends of Freedom_”—alluded to on page 29—duly appeared in
_The Anti-Jacobin_, but has never hitherto formed a part of the
collection of its Poetry. As it is marked by much ability, and has
been often quoted, it appears to the editor desirable to introduce
some portion of it into the present edition of the _Poetry_.

MEETING OF THE FRIENDS OF FREEDOM.

The _House of Russell_ being given, LORD JOHN and LORD WILLIAM both
rose at once.

LORD JOHN made a very neat, and LORD WILLIAM a very appropriate
speech.

ALDERMAN COOMBE made a very impressive speech.

MR. TIERNEY made a very pointed speech.

MR. GREY made a very fine speech. He described the ministers as
“bold bad men”—their measures he repeatedly declared to be not only
“weak, but wicked”.

MR. BYNG said a few words.

GENERAL TARLETON and the _Electors of Liverpool_ being given, the
General, after an eulogium on Mr. Fox, begged to anticipate their
favourite concluding toast, and to give “_The Cause of Freedom all
over the World_”. This toast unfortunately gave rise to an
altercation which threatened to disturb the harmony of the evening.
Olaudah Equiano, the African, and Henry Yorke, the mulatto, insisted
upon being heard; but as it appeared that they were entering upon a
subject which would have entirely altered the complexion of the
Meeting, they were, though not without some difficulty, withheld
from proceeding further.

MR. ERSKINE rose, in consequence of some allusions which had been
made to Trial by Jury. He professed himself to be highly flattered
by the encomiums which had been lavished upon him; at the same time
he was conscious that he could not, without some degree of reserve,
consent to arrogate to himself those qualities which the partiality
of his friends had attributed to him. He had, on former occasions,
declared himself to be clothed with the infirmities of man’s nature;
and he now begged leave in all humility to reiterate that
confession; he should never cease to consider himself as a feeble,
and with respect to the extent of his faculties in many respects, a
finite being—he had ever borne in mind, and he hoped he should ever
continue to bear in mind, those words of the inspired Penman, “Thou
hast made him less than the angels, to crown him with glory and
honour”. These lines were indeed applicable to the state of man in
general, but of no man more than himself; they appeared to him
pointed and personal, and little less than prophetic; they were
always present to his mind; he could wish to wear them in his breast
as a sort of amulet against the enchantment of public applause, and
the witcheries of vanity and self-delusion; yet if he were indeed
possessed of those superhuman powers—all pretensions to which he
again begged leave most earnestly to disclaim—if he were endowed
with the eloquence of an angel, and with all those other faculties
which we attribute to angelic natures, it would be impossible for
him to do justice to the eloquence with which the Honourable
Gentleman who opened the meeting had defended the Cause of Freedom,
identified as he conceived it to be with the persons and government
of the DIRECTORY. In his present terrestrial state he could only
address it as a prayer to God and as counsel to Man that the words
which they had heard from that Honourable Gentleman might work
inwardly in their hearts, and in due time, produce the fruit of
Liberty and Revolution.

He had not the advantage of being personally acquainted with any of
the Gentlemen of the DIRECTORY; he understood, however, that one of
them (MR. MERLIN) previous to the last change, had stood in a
situation similar to his own—he was, in fact, nothing less than a
leading Advocate and Barrister in the midst of a free, powerful and
enlightened people.

The conduct of the DIRECTORY with regard to the exiled Deputies had
been objected to by some persons on the score of a pretended rigour.
For his part he should only say that having been, as he had been,
both a Soldier and a Sailor, if it had been his fortune to have
stood in either of those two relations to the DIRECTORY—as a Man and
as a Major-General he should not have scrupled to direct his
artillery against the National Representation:—as a Naval Officer he
would undoubtedly have undertaken for the removal of the Exiled
Deputies; admitting the exigency, under all its relations, as it
appeared to him to exist, and the then circumstances of the times,
with all their bearings and dependencies, branching out into an
infinity of collateral considerations, and involving in each a
variety of objects political, physical, and moral; and these again
under their distinct and separate heads, ramifying into endless
subdivisions which it was foreign to his purpose to consider.

Having thus disposed of this part of his subject, MR. ERSKINE passed
in a strain of rapid and brilliant allusions over a variety of
points characteristic of the conduct and disposition of the present
Ministry; Mr. Burke’s metaphor of “the Swinish Multitude,” Mr.
Reeves’ metaphor of the “Tree of Monarchy,” “the Battle of Tranent,”
“the March to Paris,” the phrase of “Acquitted Felons,” and the
exclamation of “Perish Commerce”—which last expression he declared
he should never cease to attribute to Mr. Windham; so long, at
least, as it should please the Sovereign Dispenser to continue to
him the power of utterance and the enjoyment of his present
faculties. He condemned the expedition to Quiberon, he regretted the
“Fate of Messrs. Muir and Palmer,” he exulted in the “Acquittal of
Citizens Tooke, Hardy, Thelwall, Holcroft and others,” and he
blessed that Providence to which (as it had been originally allotted
to him (Mr. Erskine) the talents which had been exerted in their
defence) the preservation of those Citizens might perhaps be
indirectly attributed. He then descanted on the captivity of La
Fayette, and the Dividend on the Imperial Loan.

After fully exhausting these subjects, MR. ERSKINE resumed a topic
on which he had only slightly glanced before. In a most delicate and
sportive vein of humour he contended, that if the people were a
Swinish Multitude, those who represented them must necessarily be a
Swinish Representation. It would be in vain to attempt to do justice
to the polite and easy pleasantry which pervaded this part of MR.
ERSKINE’S speech. Suffice it to say that the taste of the Audience
showed itself in complete unison with the genius of the Orator, and
the whole of this passage was crowned with loud and reiterated
plaudits. After a speech of unexampled exertion, MR. ERSKINE now
began to enter much at length into a recital of select passages from
our most approved English authors, concluding with a copious extract
from the several Publications of the late MR. BURKE; but such were
the variety and richness of his quotations which he continued to an
extent far exceeding the limits of this paper, that we found
ourselves under the necessity, either of considerably abridging our
original matter, or omitting them altogether, which latter
alternative we adopted the more readily as the greater part of these
brilliant citations have already passed through the ordeal of a
public and patriotic auditory; and as there is every probability
that the circumstances of the times will again call them forth on
some future emergency.

MR. ERSKINE concluded by recapitulating, in a strain of agonizing
and impressive eloquence, the several more prominent heads of his
speech:—He had been a Soldier and a Sailor, and had a son at
Winchester school—He had been called by Special Retainers, during
the summer, into many different and distant parts of the
country—travelling chiefly in Post-chaises—He felt himself called
upon to declare that his poor faculties were at the service of his
Country—of the free and enlightened part of it at least—He stood
here as a Man—He stood in the Eye, indeed in the Hand of GOD—to whom
(in the presence of the Company and Waiters) he solemnly appealed—He
was of Noble, perhaps, Royal Blood—He had a house at Hampstead—was
convinced of the necessity of a thorough and radical Reform—His
Pamphlet had gone through Thirty Editions—skipping alternately the
odd and even numbers—He loved the Constitution, to which he would
cling and grapple—And he was clothed with the infirmities of man’s
nature—He would apply to the present French Rulers (particularly
BARRAS and REUBEL) the words of the poet:—

“Be to their Faults a little blind;
“Be to their Virtues very kind,
“Let all their ways be unconfin’d,
“And clap the Padlock on their mind!”

And for these reasons, thanking the Gentlemen who had done him the
honour to drink his Health, he should propose “MERLIN, _the late
Minister of Justice, and Trial by Jury!_” MR. ERSKINE here concluded
a speech which had occupied the attention and excited the applause
of his Audience during a space of little less than three hours,
allowing for about three quarters of an hour, which were occupied by
successive fits of fainting, between the principal subdivisions of
his discourse.—MR. ERSKINE descended from the Table, and was
conveyed down stairs by the assistance of his friends. On arriving
at the corner of the Piazzas, they were surprized by a very
unexpected embarrassment. MR. ERSKINE’S horses had been taken from
the carriage, and a number of able Chairmen engaged to supply their
place; but these fellows having contrived to intoxicate themselves
with the money which the Coachman had advanced to them on account,
were become so restive and unruly, so exorbitant in their demands
(positively refusing to abide by their former engagement) that MR.
ERSKINE deemed it unsafe to trust himself in their hands, and
determined to wait the return of his own more tractable and less
chargeable animals. This unpleasant scene continued for above an
hour.

MR. SHERIDAN’S health was now drunk in his absence and received with
an appearance of general approbation;—when in the midst of the
applause MR. FOX arose, in apparent agitation, and directed the
attention of the Company to the rising, manly virtues of MR.
MACFUNGUS.

MR. MACFUNGUS declared that to pretend he was not elated by the
encomiums with which MR. FOX had honoured him was an affectation
which he disdained;—such encomiums would ever form the proudest
recompense of his patriotic labours—he confessed they were cheering
to him—he felt them warm at his heart—and while a single fibre of
his frame preserved its vibration, it would throb in unison to the
approbation of that Honourable Gentleman. The applause of the
Company was no less flattering to him—he felt his faculties
invigorated by it, and stimulated to the exertion of new energies in
the race of mind. Every other sensation was obliterated and absorbed
by it; for the present, however, he would endeavour to suppress his
feelings, and concentre his energies for the purpose of explaining
to the Company why he assisted now for the first time at the
celebration of the Fifth Revolution which had been effected in
regenerated France. The various and extraordinary talents of the
Right Hon. Gentleman—his vehement and overpowering perception, his
vigorous and splendid intuition would for ever attract the
admiration of all those who were in any degree endowed with those
faculties themselves or capable of estimating them in others; as
such, he had ever been among the most ardent admirers, and on many
occasions, among the most ardent supporters of the Right Hon.
Gentleman—he agreed with him in many points—in his general love of
Liberty and Revolution; in his execration of the War; in his
detestation of Ministers; but he entertained his doubts, and till
those doubts were cleared up, he could not, consistently with his
principles, attend at the celebration of any Revolution whatever.

These doubts, however, were now satisfactorily done away. A pledge
had been entered into for accomplishing an effectual radical
Revolution; not for the mere overthrow of the present System, nor
for the establishment of any other in its place; but for the
effecting such a series of Revolutions as might be sufficient for
the establishment of a Free System.

MR. MACFUNGUS continued he was incapable of compromising with first
principles, of acquiescing in short-sighted temporary palliative
expedients: if such had been his temper he should assuredly have
rested satisfied with the pledge which that Right Hon. Gentleman had
entered into about six months ago on the subject of Parliamentary
Reform, in which pledge he considered the promise of that previous
and preliminary Revolution, to which he had before alluded, as
essentially implicated.

“Whenever this Reform takes place,” exclaimed MR. MACFUNGUS, “the
present degraded and degrading system must fall into dissolution; it
must sink and perish with the corruptions which have supported it.
The national energies will awake, and shaking off their lethargy as
their fetters drop from them, they will follow the Angel of their
Revolution, while the Genius of Freedom soaring aloft beneath the
orb of Gallic Illumination will brush away as with the wing of an
Eagle all the cobwebs of Aristocracy. But before the Temple of
Freedom can be erected in their place, the surface which they have
occupied must be smoothed and levelled—it must be cleared by
repeated Revolutionary Explosions from all the lumber and rubbish
with which Aristocracy and Fanaticism will endeavour to encumber it,
and to impede the progress of the holy work.—The sacred level, the
symbol of Fraternal Equality, must be passed over the whole.—The
completion of the Edifice will indeed be the more tardy, but it will
not be the less durable for having been longer delayed—Cemented with
the blood of tyrants, and the tears of the Aristocracy, it will rise
a monument for the astonishment and veneration of future ages. The
remotest posterity, with our children yet unborn, and the most
distant portions of the Globe, will crowd around its Gates and
demand admission into its Sanctuary.—The Tree of Liberty will be
planted in the midst of it, and its branches will extend to the ends
of the Earth, while the Friends of Freedom meet and fraternize and
amalgamate under its consolatory shade. There our Infants shall be
taught to lisp in tender accents the Revolutionary Hymn—there with
wreaths of myrtle, and oak, and poplar, and vine and olive and
cypress and ivy; with violets and roses and daffodils and dandelions
in our hands we will swear respect to childhood and manhood and old
age, and virginity and womanhood and widowhood; but above all to the
Supreme Being.—There we will decree and sanction the Immortality of
the Soul.—There pillars and obelisks, and arches and pyramids, will
awaken the love of Glory and of our Country.—There Painters and
Statuaries, with their chisels and colours, and Engravers with their
engraving tools will perpetuate the interesting features of our
Revolutionary Heroes; while our Poets and Musicians, with an
honourable emulation, strive to immortalize their memory. Their
bones will be entombed in the Vault below, while their sacred Shades
continue hovering over our Heads—those venerated Manes which from
time to time will require to be appeased by the blood of the
remaining Aristocrats.—Then Peace and Freedom, and Fraternity and
Equality will pervade the whole Earth—while the Vows of
Republicanism, the Alter of Patriotism, and the Revolutionary
Pontiff, with the thrilling volcanic Sympathies, whether of Holy
Fury or of ardent Fraternal Civism, uniting and identifying, produce
as it were an electric Energy.”

MR. MACFUNGUS here paused for a few moments, seemingly overpowered
by the excess of Sensibility, and the force of the ideas which he
was labouring to convey.—The whole Company appeared to sympathize
with his unaffected emotions. After a short interval, he recovered
himself from a very impressive silence, and continued as follows:

“These prospects, Fellow-Citizens, may possibly be deferred. The
Machiavelism of Governments may for the time prevail, and this
unnatural and execrable contest may yet be prolonged; but the hour
is not far distant; Persecution will only serve to accelerate it,
and the blood of Patriotism streaming from the severing axe will
call down vengeance on our oppressors in a voice of Thunder. I
expect the contest, and I am prepared for it.—I hope I shall never
shrink nor swerve nor start aside wherever duty and inclination may
place me. My services, my life itself, are at your disposal—Whether
to act or to suffer, I am yours—With HAMPDEN in the field, or with
SIDNEY on the scaffold. My example may be more useful to you than my
talents: and this head may perhaps serve your cause more
effectually, if placed on a pole on Temple Bar, than if it was
occupied in organizing your Committees, in preparing your
Revolutionary Explosions, and conducting your Correspondence.”

MR. MACFUNGUS said he should give, as an unequivocal test of his
sentiments, “BUONAPARTE AND A RADICAL REFORM”.

The conclusion of MR. MACFUNGUS’S speech was followed by a
simultaneous burst of rapturous approbation from every part of the
room. The applause continued for several minutes, during which MR.
MACFUNGUS repeatedly rose to express his feelings.

The conversation now became more mixed and animated; several
excellent Songs were sung, and Toasts drank, while the progressive
and patriotic festivity of the evening was heightened by the vocal
powers of several of the most popular Singers. A new Song written by
Captain MORRIS received its sanction in the warmest expression of
applause. The whole company joined with enthusiasm in their old
favourite Chorus of Bow! Wow!! Wow!!!]

* * * * *

[MACFUNGUS stands for SIR JAMES MACKINTOSH, who, after studying
medicine in Edinburgh, settled in London, and wrote for the
opposition newspapers, particularly the _Morning Post_, Daniel
Stuart, the proprietor, being his father-in-law. The first work that
brought him into notice was his _Vindiciæ Gallicæ_ (1791), in reply
to Burke’s _Reflections_ on the French Revolution, which splendid
philippic it greatly surpassed in philosophic thought, sound
feeling, and common sense. It was enthusiastically received by the
Liberal party, whose leaders eagerly sought his acquaintance and
co-operation; and when the _Association of the Friends of the
People_ was formed, he was appointed Secretary. His subsequent
successful career as an Advocate, Indian Judge, Member of
Parliament, Minister under Lord Grey, and as an English historian,
bore out the promise of his youth. He was born in 1765 and died in
1832.—ED.]

No. V.

Dec. 11, 1797.

We have already hinted at the principle by which the followers of the Jacobinical sect are restrained from the exercise of their own favourite virtue of charity. The force of this prohibition, and the strictness with which it is observed, are strongly exemplified in the following poem. It is the production of the same author [SOUTHEY] whose happy effort in English Sapphics we presumed to imitate; the present effusion is in Dactylics, and equally subject to the laws of Latin Prosody.

THE SOLDIER’S WIFE.

Wēāry̆ wăy-wāndĕrĕr, lānguĭd ănd sĭck ăt hĕart,
Trāvĕllĭng pāinfŭlly̆ ōvĕr thĕ rūggĕd roăd;
Wīld vĭsăg’d wāndĕrĕr—āh fŏr thy̆ hēavy̆ chănce.

We think that we see him fumbling in the pocket of his blue pantaloons; that the splendid shilling is about to make its appearance, and to glitter in the eyes, and glad the heart of the poor sufferer. But no such thing—the bard very calmly contemplates her situation, which he describes in a pair of very pathetical stanzas; and after the following well-imagined topic of consolation, concludes by leaving her to Providence.

Thy husband will never return from the war again;
Cold is thy hopeless heart, _even as charity_;
Cold are thy famished babes—_God help thee_, widow’d one!

We conceived that it would be necessary to follow up this general rule with the particular exception, and to point out one of those cases in which the embargo upon Jacobin bounty is sometimes suspended;[18] with this view we have subjoined the poem of

THE SOLDIER’S FRIEND.
DACTYLICS.

Come, little Drummer Boy, lay down your knapsack here:
I am the soldier’s friend—here are some books for you;
Nice clever books by TOM PAINE, the philanthropist.[19]
Here’s half-a-crown for you—here are some handbills too—
Go to the barracks, and give all the soldiers some.
Tell them the sailors are all in a mutiny.

_Exit Drummer Boy, with handbills and half-a-crown.—Manet Soldier’s Friend._

Liberty’s friends thus all learn to amalgamate,
Freedom’s volcanic explosion prepares itself,
Despots shall bow to the fasces of liberty.
Reason, philosophy, “fiddledum diddledum,”
Peace and fraternity, higgledy, piggledy,
Higgledy, piggledy, “fiddledum diddledum”.

_Et cetera, et cetera, et cetera._

SONNET.—TO LIBERTY.

Just Guardian of man’s social bliss! for thee
The paths of danger gladly would I tread:
For thee! contented, join the glorious dead,
Who nobly scorn’d a life that was not free!

But worse than death it pains my soul to see
The Lord of Ruin, by wild Uproar led,
Hell’s first-born, ANARCHY, exalt his head,
And seize thy throne, and bid us bow the knee!

What though his iron sceptre, blood-imbrued,
Crush half the nations with resistless might;
Never shall this firm spirit be subdued:
In chains, in exile, still the chanted rite,
O LIBERTY! to thee shall be renew’d:
O still be sea-girt ALBION thy delight! D.

No. VI.

Dec. 18, 1797.

We cannot enough congratulate ourselves on having been so fortunate as to fall upon the curious specimens of classical metre and correct sentiment which we have made the subject of our late Jacobinical imitations.

The fashion of admiring and imitating these productions has spread in a surprising degree. Even those who sympathise with the principles of the writer selected as our model, seem to have been struck with the ridicule of his poetry.

There appeared in the _Morning Chronicle_ of Monday a _Sapphic Ode_, apparently written by a friend and associate of our author, in which he is however travestied most unmercifully. And to make the joke the more pointed, the learned and judicious editor contrived to print the ode _en masse_, without any order of lines, or division of stanza; so that it was not discovered to be _verse_ till the next day, when it was explained in a hobbling _erratum_.

We hardly know which to consider as the greater object of compassion in this case—the original _Odist_, thus parodied by his friend, or the mortified _Parodist_ thus mutilated by his printer. “_Et tu, Brute!_” has probably been echoed from each of these worthies to his murderer, in a tone that might melt the hardest heart to pity.

We cordially wish them joy of each other, and we resign the modern _Lesbian lyre_ into their hands without envy or repining.

Our author’s DACTYLICS have produced a second imitation (conveyed to us from an unknown hand), with which we take our leave of this species of poetry also.

THE SOLDIER’S WIFE.[20]

DACTYLICS.

“Wēāry̆ wăy-wāndĕrĕr,” &c. &c.

IMITATION.

DACTYLICS.

_Being the quintessence of all the Dactylics that ever were, or ever
will be written._