HORACE WALPOLE, EARL OF ORFORD. 1797. Was the youngest son of Sir Robert Walpole, Earl of Orford. His talents were various and elegant, and, directing them to such objects as writers by profession have neither the means nor the leisure to investigate, he did honour and service to the cause of Literature as a volunteer, at a time when others of his rank were engaged in the transitory politicks of the day. His poems were of course either written for amusement, or as baits for praise, very pleasing to the palates for which they were designed: and his object, which was to be paid in kind, was seldom missed. The scarcity of the copies made them valuable to Collectors: Doctor Johnson's remark upon Lord Chesterfield, however, did not hold good in respect to Lord Orford; but when a man prints at a private press, and distributes his works among friends, he cannot be said to measure his strength fairly with his con temporaries. Pride, or modesty, which are so alike, that they are often mistaken for each other, would have ever prevented this noble authour from such competition.When Chatterton addressed him with the indignation of slighted genius, and the ignorance of rustick youth, he fancied the sacred character of his rank was injured, and he treated the boy with silent contempt. Chatterton's feelings on the subject were those of anger and resentment, not of despair; but to this treatment the world most unjustly imputed the remote cause of Chatterton's death. Lord Orford made a considerable collection of antiquities and curiosities, at his Villa near London; and, differing from most connoisseurs (so called seemingly a non cognosendo) he knew the value, the merit, and the history of all the various articles in his collection, and they served as notes to illustrate his conversation, which was at once lively and instructive. From an Epistle from Florence to Thomas Ashton, Esq. Tutor to the Earl of Plymouth. BUT when your early care shall have design'd When you shall pour upon his tender breast Oh there imprint with strongest deepest dye For her in battles be he taught to bleed. Lead him where Dover's rugged cliff resounds And murders half, to make the rest her prey.' Thus spoke each Spartan Matron, as she drest With the bright cuirass her young soldiers breast On the new Warriour's tender sinew'd thigh, Girt Fear of Shame, and love of Liberty. Steel'd with such precepts, for a cause so good, Before the sons of Greece let Asia tell How fled her monarch, how her millions fell! * THE ENTAIL. A FABLE. IN a fair summer's radiant morn, Whose lineage dated from the mud 1 Long hovering round a perfumed lawn, The palace pleased the lordly guest; Such ample blessings swell'd the Fly. ין Where Mowbrays dwelt, now Grocers dwell, And how Cits buy what Barons sell. 'Great Phebus, Patriarch of my line, • Avert such shame from sons of thine! |