Page:Hazlitt, Political Essays (1819).djvu/395

 That deadliest curse that on the conquered waits— A Conqueror's satrap, thron'd within her gates! True, he was false, despotic—all you please— Had trampled down man's holiest liberties— Had, by a genius form'd for nobler things Than lie within the grasp of vulgar Kings, "But rais'd the hopes of men—as eaglets fly With tortoises aloft into the sky— To dash them down again more shatteringly! All this I own—but still * * * * * * * * * * * *

All is not in this high-wrought strain, which we like as well as the War Eclogues of Tyrtæus, or the Birth-day Odes (which seem also to have broke off in the middle) of Mr. Southey. Mr. Thomas Brown the Younger, is a man of humanity, as Mr. Southey formerly was: he is also a man of wit, which Mr. Southey is not. For instance, Miss Biddy Fudge, in her first letter, writes as follows:—

"By the bye though at Calais, Papa had a touch Of romance on the pier, which affected me much. At the sight of that spot, where our darling Dixhuit, Set the first of his own dear legitimate feet, (Modell'd out so exactly, and—God bless the mark! 'Tis a foot, Dolly, worthy so Grand a Monarque) He exclaim'd, 'Oh mon Roi!' and, with tear-dropping eye, Stood to gaze on the spot—while some Jacobin nigh, Mutter'd out with a shrug (what an insolent thing!) 'Ma foi, he be right—'tis de Englishman's King;"