"That fatal day, had I resign'd my breath,

66

My woes forgotten in the sleep of death,

"Thy hands belov'd had clos'd my glazing eyes,
"Thy duteous care perform'd my obsequies:
"Such filial office I could claim alone,

"For thou all other proofs of love hast shown,
"All the returns that prompt affection pays
"To a fond parent in life's waning days.
"Now I (august mid Grecian dames who mov'd,
"My son the cause of the respect I prov'd)
"Must pine, all slave-like, in my dreary home,

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My joy, my boast, condemn'd afar to roam, "For whom, both first and last, my zone I loos'd, "Since grudging Juno other births refus'd. "Wretch that I am! not e'en did dreams foreshow, "From Phryxus' flight, such bitterness of woe." While plain'd Alcimede with many a groan, Th' attendant females answer'd to her moan, But Jason strove to dry his parent's tears And pour'd these words of comfort in her ears; "Mother, this agony of grief restrain, "Nor thus of parting aggravate the pain, "For tears are impotent to stay the course "Of fated evils, but augment their force. "Unthought-of miseries the gods assign; "Though griev'd, endure without complaining thine. "Nor in despair reject all hopes of aid,

"But look for succour to the blue-ey'd maid;

"Think on the oracles from Phoebus' fane,

"Think on the valour of our youthful train.

"And now, lov'd parent, to thy chamber go,
"And mid thy virgins sit in quiet woe,
"Nor, like a bird ill-omen'd, hover near
"The gallant ship, to strike her crew with fear;

My comrades will attend me to the bay”

He said, and thro' the portal strode in haste away.

Majestic thus, from his odorous shrine,
Apollo moves, in Delos the divine,

Delphi, or Claros, or where Xanthus laves

The meads of Lycia with transparent waves.

But when the bright-ey'd morn her radiance shed,
Scatt'ring the mist from Pelion's tow'ry head,
When, by the pinions of the breeze impell'd,
O'er the smooth main the curling waters swell'd,
Then Tiphys call'd his comrades from the shores,
To mount the vessel, and to man their oars.
With murmurous sound, in Pagasæ's fam❜d bay,
The billows dash'd, as chiding their delay,
And loudly heaving on the restless surge,
Did Pelian Argo their departure urge,
Her sacred keel with human voice endu'd,
The gift of Pallas, from Dodona's wood.
Then to the benches all the chiefs repair,
And take their lot-appointed stations there,
And lay their arms aside, and for the toil
The central seat is by Ancæus grac'd:
With him the might of Hercules is plac'd;
His club lies near; the ship's strong timbers feel
The hero's weight, and deeper dips the keel.
The cables now were haul'd on board, and wine
In rich libations dy'd the tossing brine;
But Eson's sorrowing son his eyes withdrew
From his lov'd home, while tears obscured his view.
As youths, where Delphi rears its holy pile,
Or in Ortygia, blest Ægean isle,

prepare.

Or where Ismenus' lucid waters glance,-
Round Phoebus' altar weave the graceful dance,
In cadence moving, while the lyre rings sweet,
And beat the ground with many-twinkling feet;
Accordant thus to Orpheus' shell, the train
With oars wide-sweeping smote the sounding main,

Whose dark-blue billows boil'd to snowy white,
Around the vessel, by the rowers' might.
Their arms, as fast she cut the liquid way,
With fiery glare flash'd back the sunny ray,
And still behind a foamy line was seen,
Like pathway opening thro' the meadows green.
On that eventful day th' immortal powers
Leant all, delighted, from their radiant bowers,
To mark the vessel o'er the waters glide,
Her crew undaunted by the surging tide.
Then too, with eager wonderment look'd down
The nymphs of Pelion from his piny crown,
At the huge fabric of Minerva's skill*,
While ply'd the chiefs their oars, unwearied still.
And Chiron now, to view the parting band,
Forsook his mountain-dwelling for the strand;
The hoary breakers bath'd his feet, while oft
The Centaur wav'd his giant hand aloft,
To hail the crew, and wish'd that they once more,
Their labours done, might see their native shore:
His wife stood near, and in her arms on high
The babe Achilles held, to glad a parent's † eye.

D

THE BATH MAN.

WHAT a world of contempt is conveyed in that little word
Bath, when applied to some unfortunate, by one who
claims any kindred or connexion with the great city.
The Cockney, born within the sound of Bow bells; the

* Minerva gave her assistance in the building of Argo.
Peleus, the father of Achilles, was one of the Argonauts.

Yorkshireman, who would steal a horse; the Wiltshireman, who rakes for the moon in a pond; or the Somersetshireman, who does something equally wise (I forget what); the Irishman, who knocks down his friend; the Scotchman, who sold his king; the Welshman, who eats toasted cheese,—are all bearable, nay, desirable appellations, in comparison with the slight and opprobrium which is attached to the name of Bath Man. I am a Bath man, and I shall have reason all my life to curse the place in which I was born. I have for some time ceased to live there; but the stain of the place is yet on me, and I cannot wash it out. I am for ever meeting with some kind of attributable to no other cause. annoyance, In vain have I tried to get a footing in some of the literary circles of London. Alas! the question of "where does he come from?" is soon answered, and immediately followed up by "Can any good come out of Bath?" It is immediately found out that I look like a Bath man, and speak like a Bath man; and a Blue trembles for the credit of a party at which an animal of my description has been admitted and listened to.

This might be borne, if the same cause did not exclude me from circles I am much more ambitious of joining. I mean those of fashion. Knowing the holy horror with which every man and woman of fashion in town regards a Bath man, I have, of course, been most anxious to conceal the fatal truth; but, some how or other, have too frequently been detected and exposed. Some pert peculiarity of manner has carried Bath upon the very face of it; some half-awkward, half-impudent speech betrays the elegant city, or some ultra compliment or extravagant flattery has drawn forth the contemptuous observations of "how Bathish." For the life of me I cannot help these things. I try to keep them down, and sometimes succeed;

but really it has happened, that even when I do not say a word I am found out. One would think I actually smelt of the rooms, and-carried Milsom-street written on my forehead.

But in order that it may be seen, whether the contempt of the London world towards a Bath man is justifiable or not, that it may be discovered what a Bath man is exactly, I will relate somewhat of my own history, which may, perhaps, elucidate the subject.

If the reader has ever been at Bath, he will remember the Circus. The right hand corner house, as you enter it from the perpendicular street of Gay, was where I first saw the light. My father had bought the house about a year before that time, and had come to live entirely at Bath for the same reason that most people do→ because they cannot afford to live in London or the country. He was a man of very tolerable fortune, and used to live in good style at a very pretty place of his own in Norfolk; but the dear times during the war, and the consideration of a large family, induced him, being a prudent man, to quit his house in the country together with its extensive, consequently expensive, neighbourhood; discharge several servants, sell his horses and carriage, and come to live in a place where provisions were comparatively cheap, where fewer servants were necessary than any where else, and where his wife and daughters could go about in chairs. Alas! I wish he had lost three parts of his fortune, and gone to live cheap upon the other in some cottage at the Land's End, rather than have settled with all his comforts at that fatal place.

When I say that I was the only boy among a parcel of girls, that I was the last child, and, moreover, a sort of patriarchal production, being born when both parents were rather stricken in years, I need not add thereto, that