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His talle was delicate, and refined by a careful perusal of the ancient claslics. His admiration of those models of fine writing, led to an imitacion so close, as often to preclude originality. There is little of dovelty in the thoughts, the imagery, or the sentiments of Parnell. But the thoughts are jut; the images, though not great, are beautiful, well selected, and happily applied; the fentinients, though not bold or impallioned, are natural and agreeable. The moral tendency is excellent, the verfification is sweet and harmonious, and the language pure, proper, and corred.
The Rise of Woman was one of his carliest produtions. It is a very fine illustration of a hint from Hefied. The Anacreontic, Wben spring comes on with fresh deligbt, is taken from the French, but superior to the original. The imagery is beautiful, and the sentiments natural and pleasing. Gay Bacebus, &c. is a translation from Augurellus ; but the latter part is purely Parnell's. The Fairy Tale is incontestibly one of the finest pieces in any language. Perhaps none of his performances discover more genius. Wit and virtue, without beauty, becoming amiable in the eyes of a mistress, in preference to beauty without wit and virtue, is finely described. The old diale& is not perfealy well preserved; but that is a very flight defect where all the rest is so excellent. The Pervigilium Veneris, ascribed to Catullus, is very well trantiated. It is replete with natural and impaffioned description, and the versification is easy, flowing, and harmonious. In general, all ParDell's tranlations are excellent. Goldsmith has very properly remarked, that in the Battle of ibe Frogs and Mice, the Greek names have not in English their original effect. The Epiftle ta Pope is one of the finest compliments that was ever paid to any poet. The praise is high, but discriminative and appropriate. That part of it where he dep'ores his being far from wit and learning, as being far from Pope, gave particular offence to his friends at home. The panegyric or Swift is not exceeded by it in discriminacion of character, seledion of imagery, and felïtity of expreffion.
The Bookworm is a tranllation from Beza, with modern applications. The translation of the description of Belinda at her toilet in the Rape of the Lock, into morkish verse, shows what a matter Parnell was of the Latin language. The Eclogue on Hcultb is simple and beautiful. The Elegy an ar Old Beauty has little point or novelty. The Allegory on Mon shows a vigour of genius, and compreffion of thought, superior to what appears in most of Parnell's pieces. The Hymn to Contentment, Dr. Johnson suspecs to have been borrowed from Cleveland. The Night Piece on Death deserves every praise. It is indirectly preferred by Goldsmith to Gray's “ Elegy;" but, in Dr. Johnson's opinion, Gray has the advantage in dignity, variety, and originality of sentiment. The fabulous characters in the Elysium are finely described, and the numbers are exquisitely harmonicas. The Hermit is the most popular of his performances. The object of the poem deferves high praise for its piety and conduciveness to human happiness. It is confpicuous for beautiful descriptive narration. The meeting with a companion, and the houses in which they are fucceflively entertained, of the vain man, the covetous man, and the good man, are pieces of very fine painting. It may be doubted whether the means employed for correcting the two first characters were altogether adequate to the purpose intended. It is not probable that a vain man would abftain from a custo nary gratification of his vanity merely for the loss of an instrument of it, to a man of his wealth so easily supplied. Habitual avarice is not usually removed by unexpected acquisitions. The general do&rine inculcated by the Hermit's companion is founded in the best philosophy. The story is in Howell's Letters and More's Dialogues; and Goldsmith supposes it to have been originally Arabion. Among his posthumous pieces, the Elay on the different Styles of Poetry, and the Vifion of Piety, have some passages which deserve commendation. Few of the Scripture Pieces require particular criticism; and some of them have been made public with very little credit to his reputation.
* Parnell appears to me,” says Goldsmith, “to be the last of that great school that had modelled itself upon the ancients, and taught English poetry to resemble what the generality of mankind have allowed to excel. A studious and correct obferver of antiquity, he fet himself to conlider nature with the light it lent him; and he found that the more aid he borrowed from the Poe, the more delightfully he resembled the other. Parnell is ever happy in the selection of his
images, and fingularly careful in the choice of his subjets. His poetical language is not less correct than his subjects are pleasing. He has considered the language of poetry as the language of life, and conveys the warmest thoughts in the simplest expressions."
“ The general character of Parnell,” says Dr. Johnson, "is, not great extent of comprehension, or fertility of mind ; of the little that appears, still less is his own. His praise must be derived from the easy sweetness of his diction; in his verses there is more happiness than pains; he is sprightly without effort, and always delights though he never ravishes ; every thing is proper, yet every thing seems casual. If there is some appearance of elaboration in the Hermit, the narrative, as it is less airy, is less pleasing. Of his other compositions, it is impossible to say whether they are the produ&ions of nature so excellent as not to want the help of art, or of art sa refined as to resemble nature.
“ This criticism relates only to the pieces published by Pope. Of the large appendages which I found in the last edition, I can only say I know not whence they came, nor have ever inquired whither they are going. They stand upon the faith of the compilers."
Waat ancient times (those times we fancy wise) From that embrace a fine complexion spread, Hare left on long record of woman's rise, Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red, what morals teach it, and what fables hide,
Then in a kiss she breach'd her various arts, what author wrote it, how that author dy'd, Of erilling preccily with wounded hearts; All these I fing. In Greece they fram'd the tale A mind for love, but fill a changing mind; (in Greece 'twas thought a woman might be frail); The lisp affected, and the glance design'd; Ye modern beauties: where the poet drew The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink, His softest pencil, think he dreamt of you ;
The gentle swimming walk, the courteous sink; And, warn's by him, ye wanton pens beware
The stare for strangeness fit, for scorp the frown; How heav'n's concern'd to vindicate the fair. For decent yielding, looks declioing down; 'The case was Hesiod's; he the fable writ ; The practis'd languish, where well feign’d desire Some think with meaning, some with idle wit: Would own its melting in a mutual fire; Perhaps 'tis either, as the ladies please ;
Gay (miles to comfort; April showers to move; I wave the contest, and commence the lays. And all the narure, all the art of love.
lo days of yore (no matter where or when, Gold scepter'd Juno next exalts the fair; 'Twas ere the low creation (warm'd with men) Her touch epdows her with imperious air, That one Prometheus, sprung of heavenly birth, Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride, (Our author's song can witness) liv'd on earth : Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide; He cary'd the turf to mold a manly frame, For which, an eloquence, that aims to vex, And tole from Jove his animating flame.
With native tropes of anger, arms the sex. The fly contrivance o'er Olympus ran,
Minerva, skilful goddess, traind the maid When thus the monarch of the stars began : To twirle the spindle by the twisting thread;
Overs'd in arts! whose daring thoughts aspire, To fix the loom, inftru& the reeds to part, To kindle clay with never-dying fire !
Cross the long weft, and clofe the web with art, Enjoy thy glory palt, that gift was thine; An useful gift; but what profuse expence, The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine : Wha' world of fashions, took its rise from hence! And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd,
Young Hermes next, a close contriving god, As suits the counsel of a god to find;
Her brows encircled with his serpent rod; A pleasing bosom-cheat, a specious ill,
Then plots and fair excuses fill'd her brain, Which felt the curse, yet covets still to feel. The views of breaking amorous vows for gain;
He said, and Vulcan Itrait the Sire commands, The price of favours; the designing arts To temper mortar with ætherial hands;
That aim at riches in contenipe of hearts; In such a shape to mold a rising fair,
And, for a comfort in the marriage life,
The little pilfering temper of a wife.
And fond persuasion tipp'd her easy tongue; 'Twas thus the Sire ordain'd; the power obey'd;
gave her words, where oily fiattery lays And work'd, and wonder'd it the work he made; | The plealing colours of the art of praise ; The faireft, softest, sweetest frame beneath, And wit, to scandal exquisitely prene, Now made to seem, now more than seem to breathe. Which frets another's lpieen to cure its own.
As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms Those sacred virgins whom the bards revere, Clasp'd the ney-panting creature in her arins: Twe'd all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, VOL. VII.
To make her fence with double charms abound, Wich wasting airs the winds obsequious blow, Or make her lively nonsense please by found. And land the thining vengcance fale below.
To drefs the maid the decent graces brought A gold in coffir in her hand the bore, A robe in all the vies of beauty wri ught,
The present treacherous, but the bearer more; And plac'd treir buxcs o'er a rich brocade, 'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above, Where pictur'd loves on every cover play'd; That gold shovid aid, and pants attend on love. Then sprcad those implements that Vulcan's are Her
gay delcent the man perceiv'd afar, Had fram'd to merit Cytherea's hcare ;
Wondering he ran to catch the falling star: The wire to curl, the close indented comb
But so surpris', as nore but he can tell, To call the locks, that lightly wan ler, home; Who lov'd lo quickly, and who lov’d so well. And chief, the mirror, where the ravilh'd niaid O'er all his veins the wandering pallion burns, Beholds and loves her own reflected shade.
He calls her nymph, and every nymph by turns. Fair Flora lent her stores; the purpled hours Her form to lovely Venus he prefers, Confin'd her trciles with a wreath of Aowers; Or swears that Venus' must be such as hers. Within the wreath arose a radiant crown; She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to teaze, A veil pellucil hung depending down ;
Neglects his offers while her airs fire plays, Back rollid her azure veil with serpent fold, Shoots (cornful glances from the bended frown, The purfled horder deck'd the floor with gold. In brisk dilorder trips it up and down; Her robe (which closely by the girdle brac'd Then hums a careieis cune to lay the form, Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist)
And fits, and bluthcs, smiles, and yielus, in form. Flow'd to the feet, to copy Venus' air,
“ Now take what Jove design'd, the softly When Venus' ftatues have a robe to wcar.
The new-sprung creature, finih'd thus fu: harnis, “ This box thy portion, and myself the bride.” Adjusts her habit, pradiles her charms,
Fir'd with the prospect of the double charms, With Lluihes glows, or shines with lively smiles, He snatch'd the bux, and bride, with cager arms. Confirins her will, or recollects her wiles :
Unhappy nian! to whom so bright the thone, Then, conscious of her worth, with easy pace The fatal gift, her tempting leil, unknown! Glides by the glass, and turning views her face. The winds were filent, all the wayes asleep,
A finer flax than what they wrought before, And heaven was trac'd upon the flattering deep; Through time's deep cave, the fiser fates explcre, D:t, whilst he looks unmindful of a storm, Then fix the loom, iheir fingers nimbly weave, And thinks the water wears a tlable form, And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive. What drearilul din around his ears hall rise !
Flow from the rock, my fax! and swiftly flow, What frowns confuse liis picture of the skies! Pursue thy thread; the spindle runs below.
At firft the creature man was fran'd alone, A creature fond and changing, fair and vain, Lord of lumfelf, and all the world his own, The creature woman, rises now to reign.
For him the nymphs in green forf ok the woods, New beauty blooms, a beauty form’d to fly; For him the nymphs in blue forfook the floods; New love begins, a love produc'd to die;
In vain the fatyrs rage, the tritons rave, New parts distress the troubled seenes of life, They bore liim beroes in the secret cave. The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife. No care deltroy'd, 110 lick disorder prey'd,
Men born to labour, all with pains provide; No bending age his Sprightly form decay'd, Women have time to sacrifice to pride :
No wars wire known, no females heard to rage, They want the care of man, their want they know, And, poets tell us, 't was a golden age. Ar.d dress to please with heart-alluring show; When woman came, those ills the box confin'd The how prevailing, for the sway contend, Burst furious out, and poison d all the wind, And make a servant where they meet a friend. From point to point, from prle to pole they few, Thos in a thousand wax-erested forts
Spread as they went, and in the progress grew : A loitering race the painful bee supports;
The nymphs segretting left the portal race, From fun to fun, from bank to bank he flies, And altering nature wore a fickly face : With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs ; New terms of folly role, new states of care; Fly where he will, at home the race remain, New plagues, to suffer, and to please, the fair! Prune the filk dress, and murmuring eat the The days of whining, and of wild intrigues, gain.
Commercd, or finish'ů, with the breach of leagues; Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride, The mean designs of well-dissembled love; Whose teniper betters by the father's sidc; The fordid matches never join'd above; Unlike the rest that double human care,
Abroad the labour, and at honie the noise, Fond to relieve, ir resolute to share :
(Man's double sufferings for domestic joys) Happy the man whom thus his stars advance! The curse of jealouly; expence and frife; The curse is general, but the blessing chance. Divorce, the public brand of foameful life ;
Thus sung the sisters, while the gods admire The rival's sword; the qualm that takes the fair; Their beautcous crcature, nade for man in ire; Disdain for pasion, paffion in despair The young Pandora she, whom all contend These, and a thousand yet unnam'd, we find; To niake too perfcét not to gain her end :
Ah fear the thouíand yet unnam'd behind! Then bid the winds, that fly to breathe the spring, Thus on Parnasius tuntful Henod sung, Reiurt to Lear her on a gentle wing;
The mountain ccheed, ani the valley Tulle
The sacred groves a fix'd attention flow,
And shus, might I grarify both, I would do : The cryital Helicoa forbore to flow,
Still an angel appear to each lover befide, The sky grew brighs, and (if his verse be true)
But still be a woman to you.
THYRSIS, a young and amorcus sivain,
Saw two, the beauties of the plain, The aeighbouring woods a native arbour made,
Who both his heart subdue ; There oft a render pair, for amorous p'ay
Guy Celia's eyes were slazzling fair, Retiring, tayy'd the ravilh'd hours away;
Sabina's easy thape and air
With softer magic drew.
He haunts the stream, he haunts the grove; Betray'd the secrets of the conscious bower;
Lives in a fond roma/ice of love, The dire disgrace her brothers count their own,
And seems for each to die; And track her steps, 'u make its author known.
Till, each a little spiteful grown, It chanc'd one evening,'t was the lover's day,
Sabina Celia's shape ran down,
And she Sabina's eye.
Their enve made the hepherd find
Those eyes which love could only blind; (For Poets ever were a gentle kind),
So set the lover free : But when Evanthe near the passage stood,
No more he haunts the grove or stream,
Or with a truc-love knoi aod namic
Engraves a wounded tree.
Ah, Cælia! ¡y Sabina cry'd, ('Twas all the gods would do) che corple to fhore: Though neither love, we're both deng'd; Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes,
Now to fupport the fox's pride,
Let either fix the dart.
Poor girl, says Cælia, say no more;
For should che lwain but one adore,
That (pite, which broke his chains before,
Would break the other's heart. fit Here Hefiod lies: yc future bards, beware * Huw far your moral tales incense the sair. " Cilov'd, unloving, 't was bis fate to bleed;
Without his quiver, Cupid cans'd the deed : " He julg'd this ruru of malice juftly due,
SONG. " And Hefiod dy'd for joys he never knew."
LOVE AND INNOCENCE.
My day& have been so wondrous free,
The litele birls, thai fly
With careless eale from tree to tree,
Were but as bless'd as I.
Ask gliding waters, if a tear
Ac distance I gaze, and am aw'd by my fears, Or ask the tiying gales, if e'er
I lene one figh to them?
But 110w my former days retire, Your kind thought you impart,
And I'm by beauty caught, When your Inge runs in blushes through every vein; The tender chains of twee delire When it darts from your cyes, when it pants
Are fix'd upon my thought. in your hear:, Then I know you're a woman again.
Ye nightingales, ye twilling pines!
Ye Twains that haunt the grore! There's a a pastics and prido
Ve gentle echoes, breezy vinds ! in our fes, she reply'd,
Ye clofe retreats of love!