Gazette Of The United States

For the GAZETTE of the UNITED STATES.

O
D
-E
S.

ODE I.
HINTS TO REVIEWERS.

YE MEN in whom all Science dwelleth;
Whose Wisdom far the world's excelleth;
Who mete out blame in plenteous measure,
Or give, of praise, the precious treasure;
Reigning triumphant o'er the field of fame,
With power unquestion'd, and with right divine;
Renown'd alike for what you praise or blame:
Accept this humble offering at your shrine.

Great men, full well you know,
With all their knowledge, sometimes err.
A fool may sage advice bestow:
And oft the mad will virtue show;
And good to wickedness prefer.

Then, tho your learning were as great
As swells the Owl's projecting pate;
Tho' your opinions ne'er were wrong;
Your virtue like the harden'd steel;
Your souls as tender, and as strong;
And thoughts in beauteous order strung,
Like tickets in a lottery wheel;

Yet, without judgment to conduct these powers,
Vainly you strew rhetoric flowers,
And all the world astonish with your sense:

Then, kindly, from your thrones sublime,
Bestow attention to the rhyme;
And mark the important rules which I dispense.

Loud groans the Press, the Workmen fly,
Sheet after sheet appears;
The Binder plies the crew and shears,
And a new Work salutes the eye.

Five hundred pages! how much toil to read!
O! mind it not—you do not wish
To con each sentence, groan, and pish:
'Tis not required, in Critics to succeed.

And never take a general view—
There's nothing, now that's publish'd—new.

'Tis needful only to select,
From all the book, a passage here and there,
To shew how candid, and how smart you are;

A few old rules in criticism collect:
With a grave face, press-errors vile, detect;
Then deal of praise the proper share,
And suit damnation to a hair.

No matter tho' you chance to blame
A part which, in relation to the whole,
Glows with a spirit worthy endless fame,
And wakes new virtue in the human soul.

And be not troubled should you praise bestow
On what, if measured by the extended plan,
The traits of fell deformity should show,
And plant new vileness in the heart of man.

Is't not enough, a passage to disgrace,
That a poor zigzag Z supplies an S's place?

Is't not enough, the breath of praise to claim,
That titles dangle to an Author's name?

I can't help laughing, for my soul,
To think how great a fool that Dr. Blair must be,
Who is so anxious, in Reviews, to see
A part considered as't respects the whole.

If this were right, how wise the Ostrich is,
Who, close pursued, in hollow log or tree
Thrusts his poor head, and with a joyous hiss,
His body sticking out, exclaims in glee—
"If 'twill not work both ways, a poor rule this—
I can't see you; you can't discover me."

Ye who, sublime, o'er Fame's dominion reign,
Here let me close this monitory strain;
Help'd by the Muses, at another time,
New thoughts, for you, may bless the Man of Rhyme.

JOHN.