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be divided into any other number of equal parts, except those above specified; nor can any regular figure, or polygon, be inscribed in a circle, by any known method purely geometrical, excepting a triangle, square, pentagon, and those figures which arise from thence by continual bisections, or taking their differences.' Has Mr. Keith never heard of the celebrated problem of M. Gauss ? who has shewn how a polygon, consisting of any prime number of sides of the form 2"+1, may be geometrically inscribed in a circle ; such as 3, 5; 17, 257, &c. We do not find fault with the author for not entering on that subject, in his elementary treatise, but for not apprizing his readers that such a problem existed, and referring them to those works in which its investigation was to be seen; viz. Gauss, Disquisitiones Arithmetica;" Le Gendré, « Essni sur la Théorie des Nombres," 2d edition; or Barlow's “ Theory of Numbers.” We had some farther remarks to make on the author's notes relative to the 5th book on ratios, in which we find much objectionable matter, particularly his note on def. 3. and the illustration which he has attempted of incommensurable quantities : but we cannot admit additional extracts; and we shall therefore conclude this article by observing that the present treatise will be found to contain a great number of notes on the first six books of Euclid's Elements, more conveniently arranged than in the generality of former editions, some of which are ingenious and instructive, but others very defective and erroneous. We are lso bound in justice to add that, while we easily trace many of the former to preceding writers, as Playfair, Ingram, Bonnycastle, &c., the latter, at least as far as we can judge, are almost exclusively due to the author of this extended edition of Euclid's Elements."



POETRY. Art. 15. A Sketch from Nature. A Rural Poem. Crown 8vo. 35. 6d.


Gale and Co. 1814. Early risers are most struck with the scenery of nature ; and they contemplate it under such peculiar advantages that, if they have any mind, they must feel all its inspiration. Milton has acquainted us with his practice of seeking the fields “ ere the high lawns appeared under the opening eyelids of the morn,” and with the effect of this habit on his muse. The present writer is also alive to the pleasures of the morning, and advises those who wish to enjoy the beauties of the rural landscape to survey them at sun-rise. His sketches plainly

prove that he has availed himself of the practice which he recommends, and that he has regarded nature with a poet's eye. Nominal allusions, he tells us, are omitted: but his descriptions evidently are local ; and, from the mention of the Severn and a great com mmercial city, we conclude that these poetic drawings were taken in the vicinity of Bristol. We have no doubt of the fidelity of the delineations; which, though not remarkably striking, are in general pleasing. One or two natural touches, and the pious complexion of the whole, remind us of Cowper. The most novel sketch is the description of the influx of the tide into the Severn, which we select as a sample of the poetry :

. Now wakes the vernal gale ; and, as it sounds
In various cadence through yon stately grove,
Mimics the liquid music of the Tide
That turns the course of Severn's rapid stream,
On some still ev'ning silver'd by the Moon.
- Mysterious impulse! - from the distant main,
A mighty wave majestic rolls along:-
First, like a breezy murmur from afar,
'Tis heard ; - then dies away:- but, as it gains
With louder swell upon the list’ning ear,
A hoarser rumour agitates the calm ;
Till, bursting into view, the thund'ring Tide,
Fierce as a mountain cataract, descends
In a steep torrent ; — while the silent stream
Gliding along its half-forsaken bed,
Check'd by the opposing deluge, back recoils
In turbulent disorder. Now it foams
Against a craggy mound, and far behind
Heaves in tumultuous surges, darting wide'
With vivid splendour the reflected Moon,
Shot from a thousand points. Nor aught abates
The steady fury, till through half its length
Th' enfeebled current is compellid to yield. -
But now relaxing in its proud career,
Convuls'd, and tremulous, a sullen tone
Announces its defeat; till all its rage
Inone last languid effort, scarce discern'd,
Expires.--A momentary pause succeeds:
But soon prevailing, the suspended stream
Pursues its ancient course, and calmly bears

The unwieldy cumbrance to the Deep again.'* At the end, some additional notes are given : but, as they consist merely of texts of Scripture, they might have been omitted, and refer. ences made to chapters and verses at the bottom of the page.

•* The peculiarities in this description of the Tide apply almost, exclusively to its progress up the river Severn." Rev. JAN. 1815. H


Art. 16. The Battle of Vittoria. By an Officer. Crown 8vo. 15.

Hatchard. A soldier, who unites to the heroism of his profession the enthusiasm of poetry, could not use his sword in the splendid action at Vittoria without afterward employing his pen towards the celebration of the memorable victory gained on that day, On such an occasion, a

vanity is excusable, and w must allow this officer the fole lowing poetical egotism :

« Wellington ! this arm hath sway'd

In thy great cause the battle-blade,
But not more vain its feeble might,
Weigh'd in the balance of the fight,
Than now when thus it dares essay

The harp of thy renown to sway.' In the former part of this little poem, each peasant is represented as leaving his plough, each shepherd his flock, and each lover his maid, to unite in repelling the cruel invader : but, had this been the case, such vast sacrifices of blood and treasure on the part of Great Britain would not have been necessary to drive the French out of Spain. At Vittoria, as in all the previous conflicts, the day was won by British skill and valour ; and our military history, receives everlasting renown from the late Peninsular war.- We cannot place this officer in the first rank of poets : but he sketches his battle-piece with some spirit, and presents (we should suppose) a faithful picture of the bloody

scene :

• Zadora's stream roll'd clear and bright
When morning's dim and dewy light
Reveal’d upon

their mountain post
On either bank the Gallic host :
Brightly the undefiled wave
Standards and arms reflected gave;
Their wings imperial eagles wav'd,
Chieftains beneath for battle ray’d,
And groan'd o'er each encumber'd road
The dark artillery's iron load :
But not more quick the mists which rose
From the blue river's chill repose,
And dy'd in morning's earliest gold,
Had round the purpling mountains rollid,
Vanish'd before intenser day,
Than that proud host was swept away.
What though each mountain pinnacle
Was bound with crest of bristling steel,
Like rebel giants, round whose hair
Burning serpents twist and glare ;
What though, in fame and fate allied,
Murillo bled - Cadogan died ;
That stream which erst so purely flow'd,
When morning radiance o’er it glow'd,


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Now curdling runs with human gore,
Now flashes on its broken shore;
Re-echoing oft the drowning cry,
Deep groan, or soul-departing sigh;
As horse and horseman, found'ring deep,
Together sink to endless sleep.
But see, to brave the rolling storm,
France bids again her legions form ;
On the last verge of Spanish land
Their pale King makes his latest stand;
A desp’rate game: - his crown, his life,
He stakes on this eventful strife,
And, dreaded more than loss of crown'
Or life itself, his brother's frown.
“ Stand, Frenchmen, stand; let yonder sun
Behold this field of glory won,
Or gild, as


down to rest,
Each lifeless soldier's bleeding breast."
* With all the torrent’s might and roar,
Spain, England, Lusitania pour;
On as they come in levellid line,
Their bayonets unsullied shine;
But, woe unto their kindred, woe,
Whose eyes endure the glitt’ring show;
Their blood the plunging points shall steep,

And Gallic wives the contest weep,' Poor King Joseph makes a miserable figure on the canvas, for on this day he lost his crown, his treasure, and his credit, and narrowly escaped with his life.

Poems by Frederick Thornhill, Esq. Crown 8vo. 58.

Boards. Sherwood and Co. 1814. Young poets are always in love, and one smile from the fair compensates

for a thousand frowns from critics : but then it is only while the lady is smiling that they are thus contented. At other times, vanity comes in full play, and they sigh for a little of what is called Fame. This consideration accounts for the publication of their amatory effusions, and for their collecting into printed volumes the scraps and morsels of their Muse. Mr. Thornhill begins with thus addressing Rosa, 'Oh! what's the critic's wrath to me?' but, if the critics were to inform Rosa that his lines were too bad for her to tolerate, he would find their decision operate to his disadvantage. We would only hint to him that the critic's wrath is not so much to be despised as he supposes, and that his mistress will judge of his abilities, as a poet we mean, by the public verdict. , Luckily for him, we are not disposed to make mischief between him and his Rosas, Stellas, and Julias; since, though his amatory effusions may be too glowing for our vale of years, his lively fancy, his easy versification, and his activity in turning every incident which occurs to what may be styled a poetical account, plead so much in his favour that we will not put on our magnifying spectacles to look for little defects. We shall only


Art. 17.

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observe that his love-effusions are rather too monotonous ; and that, if Rosa, Stella, and Julia, are never tired of hearing how ardently he adores them, the reader is not much gratified nor delighted by the frequent repetition of the same thought. We copy one or two samples.

• If e'er a maiden's lips be clos'd,
And Dian's seal


them laid:
I've heard of some who have suppos’d

That nought a suitor's hopes can aid.
I grant that, like a common seal,

We should not break it ope by force ;
But list to me, and I'll reveal

As sure a way, a'sweeter course.
• Let love but breathe a burning sigh,

Around this seal in amorous play;
And Dian's wax, tho' form’d on high,
Like, common wax will melt away.'

« Oh Stella! lovely in thy tears,

Oh come! and tell me all thy fears ;
And I will dry those streaming eyes,
And I will check those bursting sighs,
And I will calm that troubled breast,
And fondly kiss thee to thy rest ;
And then, when sweetly freed from pain,

L’H kiss thee into life again.
« Oh Stella! Stella! come, my dear,
And let these melting scenes appear ;
Oh let me see the god of sleep
Thus gently o'er thy beauties creep!
Then let me see thee wildly gaze,
While frolic pleasure round thee plays !
Till, rushing on from bliss to bliss,
We madly mingle kiss with kiss.'

• Oh! what's the nectar Bacchus sips

Compar'd to Julia's melting lips?
Oh! what the diamonds mortals prize
Compar'd to Julia's sparkling eyes ?
Or roses sweet, tho' steep'd in dew

To blooming Julia's blushing hue ?
• Oh! not dear Venus' pearly vest

Can vie with Julia's snowy breast !
Oh! not the down on Venus' dove
Is half so soft as her I love;
And, oh! for me she
And cries, « These beauties are your own.



cks her zone,

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