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P R O SE,

BY

A POET.

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Dwell in some idle brain,
And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess,
As thick and numberless
As the gay motes that people the sun-beams.

IL PENSEROSO.

That strain I heard was of a higher mood.

LYCIDAS.

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LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, BROWN, AND GREEN,

PATERNOSTER-ROW.

1824.

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PROSE, BY A POET.

WAR AND PEACE.

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ABOUT three weeks before the battle of Waterloo, while the writer of these pages was one day turning over some old papers, he was startled by a strange and portentous expression of his own, which he had long forgotten, and the very meaning of which did not immediately strike his comprehension; Peace is only the sleep of war." The phrase had been used on occasion of the failure of Lord Malmesbury's negociation at Lisle in 1797. The recollections of eighteen years of subsequent hostility throughout Europe, in which peace, when we fancied we had it under the Addington administration, was literally only war asleep, rushed upon his mind, and awakened sensations so awful and

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