While THOU hast sweetly gurgled down the vale, Though clouds obscured the morning hour, On which we both,--and yet, who knows?— May dwell with pleasure unalloy'd And dread no thorn beneath the rose. We overhung that long-drawn dale, Which richer tables may not know.- Looks up to catch a parting smile, And O! how like a fairy dream, To gaze in silence on the tide, Play'd lightly round the heart, and shed Since this, while Merry and his nurslings die, O, for thy spirit, Pope! Yet why, my lays, Which wake no envy, and invite no praise, So hours like moments wing'd their flight, Well, Anna, many days like this The day we pass'd on Greenwich Hill. THE GRAVE OF ANNA. I wish I was where Anna lies, Go, and partake her humble bier. I wish I could! For when she died, A waste unlovely and unloved.- And weeds that have no business there?' To scatter o'er her hallow'd mould? I did it: and, would fate allow, Should visit still, should still deplore- Thy courage, by no ills dismay'd, Thy gay good-humour-Can they 'fade? Perhaps but sorrow dims my eye: Cold turf, which I no more must view, Dear name, which I no more must sigh, A long, a last, a sad adieu! * Thrill'd, &c. "Bid the streamy lightnings fly In liquid peril from thy eye."-Della Crusca. "Ne'er shalt thou know to sigh, Or on a soft idea die, Ne'er on a recollection grasp Thy arms."-Ohe ! jam satis est.-Anna Matilda. THE MEVIAD. Half creeping and half flying, yet suffice t Burgoyne, perhaps, unchill'd by creeping age, And yet Elfrida's bard, though time has shed Fill with delight the sober ear of taste. But these, and more, I could with honour name, Sick of th' eternal croaks, which, ever near, Burgoyne.-See note*, 2d col. p. 174. And you, too, whole Menander, &c.-O spem fallacem! Our Menander has since "stolen an hour" (it would be injustice to suppose it more) from public pursuits, and prostituted it to the reproduction of a German sooterkin. Check'd his wood-notes wild.-Etwπησavтwv kodolwr, acovтaι KvKVOL. But this is better illustrated in a most elegant fable of Lessing, to which I despair of doing justice in a translation. "Du zürnest, Liebling der Musen," &c. &c. Thou art troubled, darling of the Muses, thou art troubled at the clamorous swarms of insects which infest Parnassus. O hear from me what once the nightingale heard from the shepherd. (Dear to the feeling heart,) in doubt to win The mischief, in its progress, to arrest, And exorcise the soil of such a pest. HENCE! IN THE NAME-I scarce had spoke, when lo! Reams of outrageous sonnets,* thick as snow, indeed, replied the shepherd; but thy silence alone is the cause of it. "There's comfort yet!" * Reams of outrageous sonnets. Of these I have collected a very reasonable quantity, which I purpose to prefix to some future edition of the Mæviad, under the classic head of INSIGNIUM VIRORUM ALIQUOT TESTIMONIA QUI BAV: ET MEV: INCLYTISS: AUCTORIS MEMINERUNT. Meanwhile I shall present the reader with the first two which occur, as a specimen of the collection. SONNET I. "To the anonymous author of the Baviad, occasioned by his scurrilous and most unmerited attack on Mr. Weston. "Demon of darkness! whosoe'er thou art, That darest assume the brighter angel's form, Of imitators vile, intrude not!!! I appeal Tell me, though fair the forms his fancy drew, 1 I was right. Mr. Morley, who, I understand, is a clergyman, and who, like Mr. Parsons, exults in the idea of having first attacked me, has since published a "Tale," the wit, or rather dulness of which, if I recollect right, consists in my being disappointed of a living. Here follow a few of the introductory lines, which for poetry and pleasantry can only be exceeded by those of Mr. Parsons. "What if a little once I did abuse thee? Worse than thou hadst deserved I could not use thee: For when I spied thy satyr's cloven foot, 'Tis very true I took thee for a brute; And, marking more attentively thy manners, I since have wish'd thy hide were at the tanner's. But if a man thou art, as some suppose, O! how my fingers itch to pull thy nose! Till Parkinson had stuff'd thee for a snipe!!!" It is rather singular that this still-born lump of insipidity should be introduced to the bookseller under the auspices of Dr. Parr. If that respectable name was not abused on the occasion, I can only say that politics, like misery, "bring a man acquainted with strange bedfellows!" For the rest, I will present Mr. Morley with a couple of lines, which, if he will get them construed, and seriously reflect upon, before he next puts pen to paper, may be of more service to him than all the instruction, and all the encouragement the Doctor, apparently, ever gave him. Cur ego laborem notus esse tam prave, I find, from a letter which my publisher has received from Dr. Parr, that degree of uneasiness. Sing then, said he to the silent songstress, one lovely this note (which I have left in its original state) has given him some slight evening in the spring, sing then, sweet nightingale! Alas! said the nightingale, the frogs croak so loud, that I have lost all desire to sing: dost thou not hear them? I do, It is satisfactory to me to reflect that this uneasiness is founded on a misapprehension. When I remarked on the "singularity of Mr. Morley's 'Tale' Flew round my head; yet, in my cause secure, No save me from their PRAISE, and I can sit Where taste and sense approve, I feel a joy *PRATT. This gentleman lately put in practice a very notable scheme. Having scribbled himself fairly out of Gent. Mag., ushering his great prototype's doggrel into notice, he found it expedient to retire to the continent for notice, with an importance truly worthy of it. SONNET II. "To the execrable Baviad. "Monster of turpitude! who seem'st inclined Through me to pierce with thy impregnate dart, Shall ring each morn in thy accursed ear I see! I see!-and hurl'd his lightning spear, dome." J. Bell. being introduced under the auspices of Dr. Parr," I merely alluded to a con a few months-to provoke the inquiries of Mr. Lane's indefatigable readers. Mark the ingratitude of the creatures! No inquiries were made, and Mr. Pratt was forgotten before he had crossed the channel. Ibi omnis effusus labor.-But what! "The mouse that is content with one poor hole Can never be a mouse of any soul." Baffled in this expedient, he had recourse to another, and, while we were dreaming of nothing less, came before us in the following paragraph: "A few days since died, at Basle in Switzerland, the ingenious Mr. Pratt. His loss will be severely felt by the literary world, as he joined to the accomplishments of the gentleman the erudition of the scholar." This was inserted in the London papers for several days successively. The country papers, too, "yelled out like syllables of dolour." At length, while our eyes were yet wet for the irreparable loss we had sustained, came a second paragraph: "As no event of late has caused a more general sorrow versation which Mr. Morley himself was said to have had with his bookseller; than the supposed death of the ingenious Mr. Pratt, we --and I then suspected (what I now find, from the Doctor's letter, to be the case) that this respectable name (Dr. Parr's) was abused, i. e. introduced upon the occasion "without his consent, or even knowledge." If my words conveyed the idea (which I now apprehend they may) that Dr. Parr himself had recommended the "Tale," it was far from my inten tion, and I am sorry for it. Indeed, I am sorry that his name was mentioned at all in the Mæviad. It is totally out of its place; and I can only regret, that a juster estimation both of Doctor Farr and of Mr. Morley had not changed my "suspicion" of the latter into certainty, and induced me to attribute his recommendatory story to vanity, and something else not altogether so venial. In conclusion: though Dr. Parr gives up Mr. Morley's poetry, yet he seems to think I have undervalued his other attainments- his Latin, Greek, and Hebrew, and his vigorous and elegant prose."-Of all these I knew nothing. When "there is no occasion for such vanity, I doubt not but Mr. Morley will take care to let them appear;" meanwhile, I must be content to judge him from what I know-his sonnets and his tale. It is bat fair to add, however, that the sound and salutary advice which Dr. Parr gave this poor addle-headed man (to say nothing of the tenderness with which he speaks of him) does no less honour to his friendship, than the reprobation of his poetry does to his taste. 1 Quere, full-bottomed.-Printer's Devil. 2 Grecian Mare.-This has been hitherto, inaccurately enough, named the Trojan horse; and, indeed, I myself had nearly fallen into the unscholarlike error, when my learned friend Greathead convinced me (from Pope's emen. dations of Virgil, under the fantastic name of Scriblerius) that the animal in question was a marc-She being there said to be forta armis, armed with a fatus. Let us hear no more, therefore, of the Trojan horse. The patronymic Trojan is still more absurd. Homer expressly declares the mare to have been produced by Pallas-Palladis arte: now Pallas was a Grecian goddess, as is sufficiently manifest from her name, which is derived from aλAw, vibro.-J. Ball. 3 Godlike; that is Orosions from 910, God, and uns, like. Vide Hom, Translators in general (1 except a late one) are too inattentive to the compound epithets of this great poet. But why does Homer call Alexander god. like, when he appears, from Curtius Quintius's tedious gazette in verse, to have had one shoulder higher than the other? My friend Vaughan thinks it was purely to pay his court to him, in hopes of getting into his will, or rather into his mistress's. It may be so; but 'tis strange the absurdity was never noticed before.-J. Bell. are happy to have it in our power to assure his numerous admirers, that he is as well as they can wish, and (what they will be delighted to hear) busied in preparing his TRAVELS for the press." "Laud we the gods!" Here, on account of its connexion with the person mentioned in the text, I shall take the liberty-extremum hunc mihi concede-of inserting the following "imitation," addressed to him several years since. It was never printed, nor, as far as I know, seen by any one but himself; and I transcribe it for the press with mingled sensations of gratitude and delight, at the favourable change of circumstances which we have both experienced since it was written. TO THE REV. JOHN IRELAND. Near Orkney's boisterous seas; For ease the Turk, ferocious, prays, 1 Now prebendary of Westminster. Thou know'st how soon we felt this influence bland, And sought the brook and coppice, hand in hand, For not the liveried tribes which wait Can keep, my friend, aloof, "O well is he !" to whom kind heaven "O well is he !" for life is lost Then why, dear Jack, should man, Magnanimous ephemera! stretch His eager views beyond the reach Of his contracted span ? Why should he from his country run, Serener hours to find } Was never one in this wild chase, Lo! wing'd with all the lightning's speed, Nor Barca's heat, nor Zembla's cold, He whom no anxious thoughts annoys, Nor seeks the next to know; Something must ever be amiss: We cannot all have all we want Wolfe rush'd on death in manhood's bloom, Here breath, there fame was given; And that wise power, who weighs our lives, By contras and by pros contrives To keep the balance even. To thee she gave two piercing eyes, A judgment sound and clear; A mind with various science fraught, To me, one eye not over good, A coat more bare than thine, a soul In riper years, again together thrown, Our studies, as our sports before, were one. Together we explored the stoic page Of the Ligurian, stern though beardless sage. O, IRELAND! if the verse, which thus essays I only seek, in language void of art, To ope my breast, and pour out all my heart; Since this edition was prepared for the press, the country has been deprived of this distinguished and enlightened artist, whose hard destiny it was to struggle with many difficulties through the intermediate stages of an arduous profession, and to be snatched from the world at the moment when his "greatness was a ripening," and the full reward of his labours and his genius securely within his grasp. His art, by his untimely fate, has sustained a loss which will not easily be repaired; for he was, in all respects, a very eminent man, and, while he lived, most vigorously supported by his precept, as well as by the example of his own productions, those genuine principles of taste and nature which the genius of Reynolds first implanted among us. But though Mr. Hoppner well knew how to appreciate that extraordinary person, and entertained the highest veneration for his professional powers, he was very far from his copyist; occasionally, indeed, he imitated his manner, and formed his pictures on similar principles; but what he thus borrowed he made his own with such playful ingenuity, and adorned and concealed his plagiarism with so many winning and original graces, that his pardon was sealed ere his sentence could be pronounced. The prevailing fashion of the times, together with his own narrow circumstances in early life, necessarily directed his atten tion, almost exclusively, to the study of portrait-painting: in a different situation, the natural bent of his genius, no less than his inclinations, would probably have led him to landscape, and the rural and familiar walks of life; for when he exercised his talents upon subjects of this nature, he did it with so much case and pleasure to himself, and was always so eminently successful, that it furnishes matter for regret, that the severe and harassing duties of his principal occupation did not allow him more frequent opportunities of indulging his fancy in the pursuit of objects so congenial with his feelings and disposi tion. Of his exquisite taste in landscape, the backgrounds which he occasionally introduced in his portraits will alone afford sufficient evidence, without considering the beautiful sketches in chalk, with which he was accustomed to amuse his leisure hours. These are executed with a vigour and felicity peculiar to himself, and discover a knowledge and comprehension of landscape which would do honour to a Gainsborough. Indeed, in several Thou know'st, when indolence possess'd me all, Wast thrown too soon on the world's dangerous To sink or swim, as chance might best decide. respects, there appear to have been many points of similarity between these extraordinary men, not only in particular parts of their art, but also in their conversation, disposition, and character. ME, all too weak to gain the distant land, Kindly upheld, when now with fear unnerved, and distinct, yet so artfully and judiciously broken, that it requires an experienced eye to detect the delicate process by which the effect is accomplished. In the flesh of his best female portraits, in particular, there is a union of airiness with substance, of lustre with refined softness, which has rarely been surpassed, except by that great original hand, which, in the formation of its "last, best The absorbing quality of his principal pursuit seldom allowed Mr. Hoppner to turn his attention practically to the more elevated departments of art, yet he had a sincere respect for the noble productions of the Italian schools, and the writer of these pages still remembers with pleasure the enthusiastic delight which he evinced upon first entering the Louvre, and viewing the wonders of that magnificent collection.-Taste in the arts and elegances of life he possessed in a very uncommon degree. It formed the distinguishing feature of his character, and shone alike conspicuously, whether his talents were exercised upon music or painting, in writing or conver sation. His colloquial powers, indeed, have not often been excelled; for, in his happiest moments, there was a novelty of thought, a playful brilliancy, and a boundless fertility of invention, which affixed to all he uttered the stamp of originality and genius, and delighted every hearer.-Sometimes, indeed, he indulged in a severity of sarcasm, which, to such as are unaccustomed to make allowances for the quick perceptions and irritable feel In portrait, however, Mr. Hoppner was decidedly superior, and so far outstripped Gainsborough in this department of art, that it would be the highest injustice to attempt a comparison of their powers. The distinguish-work," rendered all chance of rivalship hopeless. ing characteristic of Mr. Hoppner's style is an easy and unaffected elegance, which reigns throughout all his works: his naturally refined taste appeared to have given him almost intuitively an aversion from every thing which bordered on affectation and vulgarity; and enabled him to stamp an air of gentility and fashion on the most inveterate awkwardness and deformity. Few men ever sacrificed to the graces more liberally or with greater success: at his transforming touch, harshness and asperity dimpled into smiles, age lost its furrows and its pallid hues, and swelled on the sight in all the splendour of youthful exuberance. This power of improving what was placed before him, without annihilating resemblance, obtained him a decided preference to all the artists of his day among the fairer part of fashionable society, with whom, it is probable, even Sir Joshua himself was never so great a favourite. Reynolds was too apt to be guilty of the sin of painting all he saw, and now and then would maliciously exaggerate any little defect, if he could thereby increase the strength of the character which he was depicting. Mr. Hoppner pursued a different plan: heings of genius, appeared to partake somewhat too much painted his beauties not always exactly as they appeared, but as they wished to appear; and to those whose charms were "falling into the sear, the yellow leaf," his pictures were the most agreeable, and consequently the truest of all mirrors. The same qualities which rendered him so highly successful in his portraits of women, did not, perhaps, afford him equal advantages in those of the other sex, in which strength and character ought to take the lead of almost every other consideration; his portraits of men were generally, if the expression be allowable, too civilized and genteel to be very striking and forcible; and in his constant wish to represent the gentleman, he sometimes failed to delineate the man. To this observa-vity of his mind, that this original defect was visible only tion, however, it must be acknowledged, that many of his best works form very splendid exceptions; and those who have viewed and attentively examined his admirable portraits of the Archbishop of York, Lord Spencer, Dr. Pitcairn, Mr. Pitt, &c., may rather feel inclined to regret that the prevailing fashion of the day should, in this instance, have produced a misapplication of his powers, than to lament their natural deficiency. of bitterness and asperity; possibly, when engaged in mixed society, this notion might not be altogether void of foundation; but they who were accustomed to enjoy his company under different circumstances, amid the tranquil scenes of rural retirement, when his mind was free from the little cares and fretting incidents of the world, and his character and feelings were allowed their full scope, will ever remember, with a sensation of mingled sorrow and delight, the fancy, the enthusiasm, and the sentimental tenderness, which, on such occasions, breathed throughout his discourse. His education had been neglected: such, however, was the energy and acti to the few who were in habits of the closest intimacy with him. He read much, and with discrimination and judgment: the best English authors were familiar to him; and there was scarcely a topic of conversation into which he could not enter with advantage, or a subject, however remote from his ordinary pursuits, which his taste could not embellish, and his knowledge illustrate. He died on the 23d of January, 1810, of a lingering and In his portraits of children he was peculiarly fortunate: doubtful disease, at the age of fifty-one years. In the he entered completely into the infantine character, and early progress of his complaint, he did not appear to arranged his compositions of this species with that unaf- entertain the slightest idea of its fatal termination; but fected ease and playful grace which so pleasingly mark a few months previously to his death, it is evident, from the early periods of human life. One great charm of his the following affecting incident, that he was fully sensipictures arises from the air of negligence and facility ble of his approaching dissolution. Toward the close which pervades them; their production appears to have of autumn, as he was walking on the sunny side of St. cost no effort, and the careless boldness of his handling, James's-square, which, from its warm and sheltered situaequally removed from insipidity and handicraft, stamps tion, he was in the habit of frequenting, he was met by a the hand of a master upon the most trifling of his per- near relation of the writer, who, after accompanying him formances. His colouring is natural, chaste, and power- for a short distance, prepared to quit him. "No; don't ful, and his tones, for the most part, mellow and deep; go yet," said he, "my good fellow; stay and take another the texture of his flesh is uniformly excellent, and his turn or two with me.-I like to walk in the decline of the penciling rich and full; his carnations transparent, fresh, ❘ last summer's sun which I shall ever live to enjoy." |