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POETS.

MATTHEW PRIOR.

ENGLISH LITERATURE.

Matthew was brought up by his uncle, a vintner at Charing Cross, who sent him to Westminster school. It was in some respects a disadvantage to the poets He was afterwards taken home to assist in the busiof this period that most of them enjoyed a consider-ness of the inn; and whilst there, was one day seen able degree of worldly prosperity and importance, such by the Earl of Dorset reading Horace. The earl geneas has too rarely blessed the community of authors. rously undertook the care of his education; and in Some filled high diplomatic and official situations, his eighteenth year, Prior was entered of St John's and others were engaged in schemes of politics and college, Cambridge. He distinguished himself during ambition, where offices of state and the ascendency his academical career, and amongst other copies of of rival parties, not poetical or literary laurels, were verses, produced, in conjunction with the Honourable the prizes contended for. Familiar and constant in- Charles Montagu, the City Mouse and Country Mouse, in ridicule of Dryden's Hind and Panther.' The Earl of Dorset did not forget the poet he had snatched from obscurity. He invited him to London, and obtained for him an appointment as secretary to the Earl of Berkeley, ambassador to the Hague. In this capacity Prior obtained the approbation of King William, who made him one of the gentlemen of his bedchamber. In 1697 he was appointed secretary to the embassy on the treaty of Ryswick, at the conclusion of which he was presented with a considerable sum of money by the lords justices. Next year he was ambassador at the court of Versailles; and after some other temporary honours and appointments, was made a commissioner of trade. In 1701, he entered the House of Commons as representative for the borough of East-Grimstead, and abandoning his former friends, the Whigs, joined the Tories in impeaching Lord Somers. This came with a peculiarly bad grace from Prior, for the charge against Somers was, that he had advised the partition treaty, in which treaty the poet himself had acted as agent. He evinced his patriotism, however, by afterwards celebrating in verse the battles of Blenheim and Ramilies. When the Whig government was at length overturned, Prior became attached to Harley's administration, and went with Bolingbroke to France in 1711, to negotiate a treaty of peace. He lived in splendour in Paris, was a favourite of the French monarch, and enjoyed all the honours of ambassador. He returned to London in 1715; and the Whigs being again in office, he was committed to custody on a The accusation against charge of high-treason. Prior was, that he had held clandestine conferences with the French plenipotentiary, though, as he justly replied, no treaty was ever made without private interviews and preliminaries. The Whigs were indignant at the disgraceful treaty of Utrecht; but Prior only shared in the culpability of the government. The able but profligate Bolingbroke was the masterAfter two years' confinement, the poet was spirit that prompted the humiliating concession to France. released without a trial. He had in the interval written his poem of Alma; and being now left without any other support than his fellowship of St John's college, he continued his studies, and produced his Solomon, the most elaborate of his works. He had also recourse to the publication of a collected edition of his poems, which was sold to subscribers for five guineas, and realised the sum of £4000. An equal sum was presented to Prior by the Earl of Oxford, and thus he had laid up a provision for old age. He was ambitious only of comfort and private enjoyment. These, however, he did not long possess; for he died on the 18th of September 1721, at Lord Oxford's seat at Wimpole, being at the time in the fifty-seventh year of his age.

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tercourse with the great on the part of authors, has
a tendency to fix the mind on the artificial distinc-
tions and pursuits of society, and to induce a tone of
thought and study adapted to such associates. Now,
it is certain that high thoughts and imaginations can
only be nursed in solitude; and though poets may
gain in taste and correctness by mixing in courtly
circles, the native vigour and originality of genius,
and the steady worship of truth and nature, must be
impaired by such a course of refinement. It is evident
that most of the poetry of this period, exquisite as it
is in gaiety, polish, and sprightliness of fancy, pos-
sesses none of the lyrical grandeur and enthusiasm
which redeem so many errors in the elder poets. The
French taste is visible in most of its strains; and
where excellence is attained, it is not in the delinea-
tion of strong passions, or in bold fertility of inven-
tion. Pope was at the head of this school, and was
master even of higher powers. He had access to the
haunted ground of imagination, but it was not his
favourite or ordinary walk. Others were content
with humbler worship, with propitiating a minister
or a mistress, reviving the conceits of classic mytho-
logy, or satirising, without seeking to reform, the
fashionable follies of the day. One of the most agree-
able and accomplished of the number was MATTHEW
PRIOR, born in 1664. Some accounts give the honour
of his birth to Wimborne, in Dorsetshire, and others
to the city of London. His father died early, and

The works of Prior range over a variety of style and subject-odes, songs, epistles, epigrams, and tales. His longest poem, 'Solomon,' is of a serious character, and was considered by its author to be his best production, in which opinion he is supported by Cowper. It is the most moral, and perhaps the most correctly written; but the tales and lighter pieces of Prior are undoubtedly his happiest efforts. In these

535

Dishonour'd did the sparkling goblet stand,
Unless received from gentle Abra's hand;
And, when the virgins form'd the evening choir,
Raising their voices to the master lyre,

Too flat I thought this voice, and that too shrill,
One show'd too much, and one too little skill;
Nor could my soul approve the music's tone,
Till all was hush'd, and Abra sung alone.
Fairer she seem'd distinguish'd from the rest,
And better mien disclos'd, as better drest.
A bright tiara round her forehead tied,
To juster bounds confin'd its rising pride.
The blushing ruby on her snowy breast
Render'd its panting whiteness more confess'd;
Bracelets of pearl gave roundness to her arm,
And every gem augmented every charm.
Her senses pleased, her beauty still improv'd,
And she more lovely grew, as more belov'd.

The Thief and the Cordelier.-A Ballad.

To the tune of 'King John and the Abbot of Canterbury.'

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Then, turning about to the hangman, he said,

Who has e'er been at Paris, must needs know the Despatch me, I prithee, this troublesome blade; Grève,

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The 'squire, whose good grace was to open the scene, Seem'd not in great haste that the show should begin ; Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart; And often took leave, but was loath to depart. Derry down, &c.

What frightens you thus, my good son? says the priest,

You murder'd, are sorry, and have been confess'd.
O father! my sorrow will scarce save my bacon;
For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken.
Derry down, &c.

Pough, prithee ne'er trouble thy head with such fancies;

Rely on the aid you shall have from St Francis ;
If the money you promis'd be brought to the chest,
You have only to die; let the church do the rest.
Derry down, &c.

And what will folks say, if they see you afraid? It reflects upon me, as I knew not my trade; Courage, friend, for to-day is your period of sorrow; And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow. Derry down, &c.

For thy cord and my cord both equally tie,
And we live by the gold for which other men die.
Derry down, &c.

The Cameleon.

As the Cameleon, who is known
To have no colours of his own;
But borrows from his neighbour's hue,
His white or black, his green or blue;
And struts as much in ready light,
Which credit gives him upon sight,
As if the rainbow were in tail,
Settled on him and his heirs male;
So the young squire, when first he comes
From country school to Will's or Tom's,
And equally, in truth, is fit

To be a statesman, or a wit;
Without one notion of his own,
He saunters wildly up and down,
Till some acquaintance, good or bad,
Takes notice of a staring lad,
Admits him in among the gang;
They jest, reply, dispute, harangue;
He acts and talks, as they befriend him,
Smear'd with the colours which they lend him.
Thus, merely as his fortune chances,
His merit or his vice advances.

If haply he the sect pursues,
That read and comment upon news;
He takes up their mysterious face;
He drinks his coffee without lace;
This week his mimic tongue runs o'er
What they have said the week before;
His wisdom sets all Europe right,
And teaches Marlborough when to fight.
Or if it be his fate to meet
With folks who have more wealth than wit,
He loves cheap port, and double bub,
And settles in the Humdrum Club;
He learns how stocks will fall or rise;
Holds poverty the greatest vice;
Thinks wit the bane of conversation;
And says that learning spoils a nation.
But if, at first, he minds his hits,
And drinks champaign among the wits;
Five deep he toasts the towering lasses;
Repeats you verses wrote on glasses;
Is in the chair; prescribes the law;
And 's lov'd by those he never saw.

POETS.

ENGLISH LITERATURE.

That eye dropp'd sense distinct and clear,
As any muse's tongue could speak,
When from its lid a pearly tear
Ran trickling down her beauteous cheek.
Dissembling what I knew too well,
My love, my life, said I, explain
This change of humour; prithee tell-
That falling tear-what does it mean?

She sigh'd, she smil'd; and to the flowers
Pointing, the lovely mor'list said,
See, friend, in some few fleeting hours,
See yonder, what a change is made.

Ah me! the blooming pride of May
And that of beauty are but one;
At morn both flourish bright and gay,
Both fade at evening, pale, and gone.

[Abra's Love for Solomon.]

[From Solomon on the Vanity of the World."]
Another nymph, amongst the many fair,
That made my softer hours their solemn care,
Before the rest affected still to stand,
And watch'd my eye, preventing my command.
Abra, she so was call'd, did soonest haste
To grace my presence; Abra went the last;
Abra was ready ere I call'd her name;
And, though I call'd another, Abra came.
Her equals first observ'd her growing zeal,
And laughing, gloss'd that Abra serv'd so well.
To me her actions did unheeded die,

Or were remark'd but with a common eye;
Till, more appris'd of what the rumour said,
More I observ'd peculiar in the maid.
The sun declin'd had shot his western ray,
When, tir'd with business of the solemn day,
I purpos'd to unbend the evening hours,
And banquet private in the women's bowers.
I call'd before I sat to wash my hands
(For so the precept of the law commands):
Love had ordain'd that it was Abra's turn
To mix the sweets, and minister the urn.
With awful homage, and submissive dread,
The maid approach'd, on my declining head
To pour the oils: she trembled as she pour'd;
With an unguarded look she now devour'd
My nearer face; and now recall'd her eye,
And heav'd, and strove to hide, a sudden sigh.
And whence, said I, canst thou have dread or pain?
What can thy imagery of sorrow mean?
Secluded from the world and all its care,
Hast thou to grieve or joy, to hope or fear?
For sure, I added, sure thy little heart
Ne'er felt love's anger, or receiv'd his dart.
Abash'd she blush'd, and with disorder spoke:
Her rising shame adorn'd the words it broke.
If the great master will descend to hear
The humble series of his handmaid's care;
O! while she tells it, let him not put on

The look that awes the nations from the throne!
O! let not death severe in glory lie
In the king's frown and terror of his eye!
Mine to obey, thy part is to ordain ;
And, though to mention be to suffer pain,
If the king smile whilst I my wo recite,
If weeping, I find favour in his sight,
Flow fast, my tears, full rising his delight.
O! witness earth beneath, and heaven above!
For can I hide it? I am sick of love;
If madness may the name of passion bear,
Or love be call'd what is indeed despair.

Thou Sovereign Power, whose secret will controls
The inward bent and motion of our souls!

Why hast thou plac'd such infinite degrees
Between the cause and cure of my disease?
The mighty object of that raging fire,
In which, unpitied, Abra must expire.
Had he been born some simple shepherd's heir,
The lowing herd or fleecy sheep his care,
At morn with him I o'er the hills had run,
Scornful of winter's frost and summer's sun,
Still asking where he made his flock to rest at noon;
For him at night, the dear expected guest,
I had with hasty joy prepar'd the feast;
And from the cottage, o'er the distant plain,
Sent forth my longing eye to meet the swain,
Wavering, impatient, toss'd by hope and fear,
Till he and joy together should appear,
And the lov'd dog declare his master near.
On my declining neck and open breast
I should have lull'd the lovely youth to rest,
And from beneath his head, at dawning day,
With softest care have stol'n my arm away,
To rise, and from the fold release his sheep,
Fond of his flock, indulgent to his sleep.
Or if kind heaven, propitious to my flame
(For sure from heaven the faithful ardour came),
Had blest my life, and deck'd my natal hour
With height of title, and extent of power;
Without a crime my passion had aspir'd,
Found the lov'd prince, and told what I desir'd.
Then I had come, preventing Sheba's queen,
To see the comeliest of the sons of men,
To hear the charming poet's amorous song,
And gather honey falling from his tongue,
To take the fragrant kisses of his mouth,
Sweeter than breezes of her native south,
Likening his grace, his person, and his mien,
To all that great or beauteous I had seen.
Serene and bright his eyes, as solar beams
Reflecting temper'd light from crystal streams;
Ruddy as gold his cheek; his bosom fair
As silver; the curl'd ringlets of his hair
Black as the raven's wing; his lip more red
Than eastern coral, or the scarlet thread;
Even his teeth, and white like a young flock
Coeval, newly shorn, from the clear brook
Recent, and branching on the sunny rock.
Ivory, with sapphires interspers'd, explains
How white his hands, how blue the manly veins.
Columns of polish'd marble, firmly set
On golden bases, are his legs and feet;
His stature all majestic, all divine,
Straight as the palm-tree, strong as is the pine.
Saffron and myrrh are on his garments shed,
And everlasting sweets bloom round his head.
What utter I? where am I? wretched maid!
Die, Abra, die: too plainly hast thou said
Thy soul's desire to meet his high embrace,
And blessing stamp'd upon thy future race;
To bid attentive nations bless thy womb,
With unborn monarchs charg'd, and Solomons to

come.

Here o'er her speech her flowing eyes prevail.
O foolish maid! and oh, unhappy tale!

I saw her; 'twas humanity; it gave
Some respite to the sorrows of my slave.
Her fond excess proclaim'd her passion true,
And generous pity to that truth was due.
Well I intreated her, who well deserv'd;
I call'd her often, for she alway serv'd.
Use made her person easy to my sight,
And ease insensibly produc'd delight.
Whene'er I revell'd in the women's bowers
(For first I sought her but at looser hours),
The apples she had gather'd smelt most sweet,
The cake she kneaded was the savoury meat:
But fruits their odour lost, and meats their taste,
If gentle Abra had not deck'd the feast.

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I Addison.

son of an English dean, was born at Milston, Wiltshire, in 1672. He distinguished himself at Oxford by his Latin poetry, and appeared first in English verse by an address to Dryden, written in his twenty-second year. It opens thus:

How long, great poet! shall thy sacred lays
Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise!
Can neither injuries of time or age
Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage?
Not so thy Ovid in his exile wrote;

Grief chill'd his breast, and check'd his rising thought;

1 Probably an undertaker.

Pensive and sad, his drooping muse betrays The Roman genius in its last decays.

The youthful poet's praise of his great master is confined to his translations, works which a modern eulogist would scarcely select as the peculiar glory of Dryden. Addison also contributed an Essay on Virgil's Georgics, prefixed to Dryden's translation. His remarks are brief, but finely and clearly written. At the same time, he translated the fourth Georgic, and it was published in Dryden's Miscellany, issued in 1693, with a warm commendation from the aged poet on the most ingenious Mr Addison of Oxford." Next year he ventured on a bolder flight-An Account of the Greatest English Poets, addressed to Mr H. S. (supposed to be the famous Dr Sacheverell). April 3, 1694. This Account is a poem of about 150 lines, containing sketches of Chaucer, Spenser, Cowley, Milton, Waller, &c. We subjoin the lines on the author of the Faery Queen, though, if we are to believe Spence, Addison had not then read the poet he ventured to criticise:

Old Spenser next, warm'd with poetic rage,
In ancient tales amus'd a barbarous age;
An age, that yet uncultivate and rude,
Where'er the poet's fancy led, pursued
Through pathless fields, and unfrequented floods,
To dens of dragons and enchanted woods.
But now the mystic tale, that pleas'd of yore,
Can charm an understanding age no more;
The long-spun allegories fulsome grow,
While the dull moral lies too plain below.
We view well-pleased, at distance, all the sights
Of arms and palfreys, battles, fields, and fights,
And damsels in distress, and courteous knights.
But when we look too near, the shades decay,
And all the pleasing landscape fades away.

This subdued and frigid character of Spenser shows
that Addison wanted both the fire and the fancy of
the poet. His next production is equally tame and
commonplace, but the theme was more congenial to
his style: it is A Poem to His Majesty, Presented to
the Lord Keeper. Lord Somers, then the keeper of
the great seal, was gratified by this compliment, and
became one of the steadiest patrons of Addison. In
1699, he procured for him a pension of £300 a-year,
to enable him to make a tour in Italy. The govern-
ment patronage was never better bestowed. The
poet entered upon his travels, and resided abroad
two years, writing from thence a poetical Letter
from Italy to Charles Lord Halifax, 1701. This is
the most elegant and animated of all his poetical
productions. The classic ruins of Rome, the
heavenly figures' of Raphael, the river Tiber, and
streams immortalised in song,' and all the golden
groves and flowery meadows of Italy, seem, as Pope
has remarked, to have raised his fancy, and
brightened his expressions.' There was also, as
Goldsmith observed, a strain of political thinking
in the Letter, that was then new to our poetry.
He returned to England in 1702. The death of
King William deprived him of his pension, and ap-i
peared to crush his hopes and expectations; but
being afterwards engaged to celebrate in verse the
battle of Blenheim, Addison so gratified the lord-
treasurer, Godolphin, by his ' gazette in rhyme,' that
he was appointed a commissioner of appeals. He
was next made under secretary of state, and went
to Ireland as secretary to the Marquis of Wharton,
lord-lieutenant. The queen also made him keeper
of the records of Ireland. Previous to this (in 1707),
Addison had brought out his opera of Rosamond,
which was not successful on the stage. The story
of fair Rosamond would seem well adapted for

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dramatic representation; and in the bowers and shades of Woodstock, the poet had materials for scenic description and display. The genius of Addison, however, was not adapted to the drama; and his opera being confined in action, and written wholly in rhyme, possesses little to attract either readers or spectators. He wrote also a comedy, The Drummer, or the Haunted House, which Steele brought out after the death of the author. This play contains a fund of quiet natural humour, but has not strength or breadth enough of character or action for the stage. Addison next entered upon his brilliant career as an essayist, and by his papers in the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian, left all his contemporaries far behind in this delightful department of literature. In these papers, he first displayed that chaste and delicate humour, refined observation, and knowledge of the world, which now form his most distinguishing characteristics; and in his Vision of Mirza, his Reflections in Westminster Abbey, and other of his graver essays, he evinced a more poetical imagination and deeper vein of feeling than his previous writings had at all indicated. In 1713, his tragedy of Cato was brought upon the stage. Pope thought the piece deficient in dramatic interest, and the world has confirmed his judgment; but he wrote a prologue for the tragedy in his happiest manner, and it was performed with almost unexampled success. Party spirit ran high: the Whigs applauded the liberal sentiments in the play, and their cheers were echoed back by the Tories, to show that they did not apply them as censures on themselves. After all the Whig enthusiasm, Lord Bolingbroke sent for Booth the actor, who personated the character of Cato, and presented him with fifty guineas, in acknowledgment, as he said, of his defending the cause of liberty so well against a perpetual dictator (a hit at the Duke of Marlborough). Poetical eulogiums were showered upon the author, Steele, Hughes, Young, Tickell, and Ambrose Philips, being among the writers of these encomiastic verses. The queen expressed a wish that the tragedy should be dedicated to her, but Addison had previously designed this honour for his friend Tickell; and to avoid giving offence either to his loyalty or his friendship, he published it without any dedication. It was translated into French, Italian, and German, and was performed by the Jesuits in their college at St Omers. Being,' says Sir Walter Scott, in form and essence rather a French than an English play, it is one of the few English tragedies which foreigners have admired.' The unities of time and place have been preserved, and the action of the play is consequently much restricted. Cato abounds in generous and patriotic sentiments, and contains passages of great dignity and sonorous diction; but the poet fails to unlock the sources of passion and natural emotion. It is a splendid and imposing work of art, with the grace and majesty, and also the lifelessness, of a noble antique statue. Addison was now at the height of his fame. He had long aspired to the hand of the countess-dowager of Warwick, whom he had first known by becoming tutor to her son, and he was united to her in 1716. The poet married discord in a noble wife.' His marriage was as unhappy as Dryden's with Lady Elizabeth Howard. Both ladies awarded to their husbands the heraldry of hands, not hearts,' and the fate of the poets should serve as beacons to warn ambitious literary adventurers. Addison received his highest political honour in 1717, when he was made secretary of state; but he held the office only for a short time. He wanted the physical boldness and ready resources of an effective public speaker, and was unable to defend his measures in parlia

ment. He is also said to have been slow and fastidious in the discharge of the ordinary duties of office. When he held the situation of under secretary, he was employed to send word to Prince George at Hanover of the death of the queen, and the vacancy of the throne; but the critical nicety of the author overpowered his official experience, and Addison was so distracted by the choice of expression, that the task was given to a clerk, who boasted of having done what was too hard for Addison. The love of vulgar wonder may have exaggerated the poet's inaptitude for business, but it is certain he was no orator. He retired from the principal secretaryship with a pension of £1500 per annum, and during his retirement, engaged himself in writing a work on the

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Addison's Walk, Magdalen College, Oxford.

Evidences of the Christian Religion, which he did not live to complete. He was oppressed by asthma and dropsy, and was conscious that he should die at comparatively an early age. Two anecdotes are related of his deathbed. He sent, as Pope relates, a message by the Earl of Warwick to Gay, desiring to see him. Gay obeyed the summons; and Addison begged his forgiveness for an injury he had done him, for which, he said, he would recompense him if he recovered. The nature or extent of the injury he did not explain, but Gay supposed it referred to his having prevented some preferment designed for him by the court. At another time, he requested an interview of the Earl of Warwick, whom he was anxious to reclaim from a dissipated and licentious life. I have sent for you,' he said, that you may see in what peace a Christian can die.' The event thus calmly anticipated took place in Holland house on the 17th of June 1719. A minute or critical review of the daily life of Addison, and his intercourse with his literary associates, is calculated to diminish our reverence and affection. The quarrels of rival wits have long been proverbial, and Addison was also soured by political differences and contention. His temper was jealous and taciturn

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