as the following.

'Mild Charity's glow,
To us mortals below,
Shows the soul from barbarity clear;
Compassion will melt,
Where this virtue is felt,
And its dew is diffus'd in a Tear.

The man doom'd to sail,
With the blast of the gale,
Through billows Atlantic to steer,
As he bends o'er the wave,
Which may soon be his grave,
The green sparkles bright with a Tear.' p. 11.

And so of instances in which former poets had failed. Thus, we do not
think Lord Byron was made for translating, during his non-age, Adrian's
Address to his Soul, when Pope succeeded so indifferently in the
attempt. If our readers, however, are of another opinion, they may look
at it.

'Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring sprite,
Friend and associate of this clay!
To what unknown region borne,
Wilt thou now wing thy distant flight?
No more, with wonted humour gay,
But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.' p. 72.

However, be this as it may, we fear his translations and imitations are
great favourites with Lord Byron. We have them of all kinds, from
Anacreon to Ossian; and, viewing them as school exercises, they may
pass. Only, why print them after they have had their day and served
their turn? And why call the thing in p. 79 a translation, where _two_
words ([Greek: thelo legein]) of the original are expanded into four
lines, and the other thing in p. 81, where [Greek: mesonychtiois poth'
ho rais], is rendered by means of six hobbling verses?--As to his
Ossianic poesy, we are not very good judges, being, in truth, so
moderately skilled in that species of composition, that we should, in
all probability be criticizing some bit of the genuine Macpherson
itself, were we to express our opinion of Lord Byron's rhapsodies. _If_,
then, the following beginning of a 'Song of bards,' is by his Lordship,
we venture to object to it, as far as we can comprehend it. 'What form
rises on the roar of clouds, whose dark ghost gleams on the red stream
of tempests? His voice rolls on the thunder; 'tis Orla, the brown chief
of Otihoma. He was,' &c. After detaining this 'brown chief' some time,
the bards conclude by giving him their advice to 'raise his fair locks;'
then to 'spread them on the arch of the rainbow;' and 'to smile through
the tears of the storm.' Of this kind of thing there are no less than
_nine_ pages; and we can so far venture an opinion in their fa