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But let us be candid, and speak out our mind;
If duuces applanded, he paid them in kind.

Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls so grave,

What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave!
How did Grub Street re-echo the shouts that you raised,

While he was be-Rosciused, and you were be-praised!

But peace to his spirit, wherever it flies,

To act as an angel, and mix with the skies:

Those poets who owe their best fame to his skill,
Shall still be his flatterers, go where he will:

Old Shakspeare, receive him with praise and with love,
And Beaumonts and Bens be his Kellys above.

...

Here Reynolds is laid; and, to tell you my mind,

He has not left a wiser or better behind.
His pencil was striking, resistless, and grand;
His manners were gentle, complying, and bland.
Still born to improve us in every part,

His pencil our faces, his manners our heart.

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering;

When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing:
When they talked of their Raphaels, Correggios, and stuff;
He shifted his trumpet,* and only took snuff.

By flattery unspoiled.

·

BISHOP PERCY.

DR. THOMAS PERCY (1729–1811), afterwards bishop of Dromore, in 1765 published his Reliques of English Poetry,' in which several excellent old songs and ballads were revived, and a selection made of the best lyrical pieces scattered through the works of dramatic and other authors. The learning and ability with which Percy executed his task, and the sterling value of his materials, recommended his volumes to public favour. They found their way into the hands of poets and poetical readers, and awakened a love of nature, simplicity, and true passion, in contradistinction to that coldly correct and sentimental style which pervaded part of our literature. The influence of Percy's collection was general and extensive. It is evident in many contemporary authors. It gave the first impulse to the genius of Sir Walter Scott; and it may be seen in the writings of Coleridge and Wordsworth. A fresh fountain of poetry was opened up-a spring of sweet, tender, and heroic thoughts and imaginations, which could never be again turned back into the artificial channels in which the genius of poesy had been too long and too closely confined. Percy was himself a poet. His ballad, O Nancy, wilt thou go with Me? the Hermit of Warkworth,' and other detached pieces, evince both taste and talent. We subjoin a cento, the 'Friar of Orders Gray,' which Percy says he compiled from fragments of ancient ballads, to which he added supplemental stanzas to connect them together. The greater part, however, is his own, and it must be admitted that he was too prone to tamper with the old ballads. Dr. Percy was born at Bridgnorth, Shropshire, son of a grocer, and hav

* Sir Joshua was so deaf, as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trumpet in company. Goldsmith was engaged on this portrait when his last illness seized him.

ing taken holy orders, became successively chaplain to the king, dean of Carlisle, and bishop of Dromore: the latter dignity he possessed from 1782 till his death at the advanced age of eighty-two. He enjoyed the friendship of Johnson, Goldsmith, and other distinguished men of his day, and lived long enough to hail the genius of Scott.

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A complete reprint of Bishop Percy's folio MS. was published in 1868, in three volumes, edited by John W. Hales, M A. and F. J. Furnival, M. A. Mr. Furnival describes the MS. as a scrubby, shabby paper book,' which had lost some pages both at the beginning and end. Percy found it lying dirty on the floor under a 'bureau in the parlour of his friend Humphrey Pitt of Shifnall, Shropshire, being used by the maids to light the fire. The date, as appears from the handwriting, was about 1650. As to the text,' says Mr. Furnival, he (Percy) looked on it as a young woman from the country with unkempt locks, whom he had to fit for fashionable society. He puffed out the thirty-nine lines of the "Child of Elle" to two hundred he pomatumed the "Heir of Linne" till it shone again; he stuffed bits of wool into Sir Carline and Sir Aldingar; he powdered everything.' The 'Reliques' contained one hundred and seventy-six pieces and of these forty-five were from the folio MS.

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From Dodsley's Collection printed as a Scottish production.

[friar !

'And how should I know your true love
From many another one?'
Oh! by his cockle hat and staff,
And by his sandal shoon:

'But chiefly by his face and mien,
That were so fair to view,
His flaxen locks that sweetly curled,
And eyes of lovely blue.'

of Poems, 1758. In Johnson's Musical Museum it is It is too barefaced.' says Burns. to take Dr Percy's charming song, and. by means of transposing a few English words into Scots, to offer to

pass it for a Scots song.

"O lady, he is dead and gone!
Lady, he's dead and gone!
At his head a green grass turf,
And at his heels a stone.

"Within these holy cloisters long
He languished, and he died,
Lamenting of a lady's love,

And 'plaining of her pride.

'Here bore him barefaced on his bier
Six proper youths and tall;
And many a tear bedewed his grave
Within yon kirkyard wall.'

And art thou dead, thou gentle youth-
And art thou dead and gone?
And didst thou die for love of me?
Break, cruel heart of stone !'

'O weep not, lady, weep not so,
Some ghostly comfort seek:
Let not vain sorrow rive thy heart,
Nor tears bedew thy cheek.'

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But he is dead, and laid in his grave, Alas! and woe is me.'

'Sigh no more, lady, sigh no more,
Men were deceivers ever;
One foot on sea, and one on land,
To one thing constant never.

'Hadst thou been fond, he had been false, And left thee sad and heavy;

For young men ever were fickle found,
Since summer trees were leafy.'

'Now say not so, thou holy friar,
I pray thee say not so;

My love he had the truest heart-
O he was ever true!

[youth?

'And art thou dead, thou much-loved
And didst thou die for me?
Then farewell home; for evermore
A pilgrim I will be.

But first upon my true-love's grave
My weary limbs I'll lay,

And thrice I'll kiss the green grass turf
That wraps his breathless clay.'

'Yet stay, fair lady, rest a while, Beneath this cloister wall;

The cold wind through the hawthorn
And drizzly rain doth fall.' [blows,

'O stay me not, thou holy friar,
O stay me not, I pray;
No drizzly rain tha falls on me,
Can wash my fault away.'

'Yet stay, fair lady, turn again,
And dry those pearly tears;
For see, beneath this gown of gray,
Thy own true love appears.

'Here, forced by grief and hopeless love,
These holy weeds I sought;
And here, amid these lonely walls,
To end my days I thought.

'But haply, for my year of grace

Is not yet passed away,
Might I still hope to win thy love,
No longer would I stay.'

'Now farewell grief, and welcome joy
Once more unto my heart;
For since I've found thee, lovely youth,
We never more will part.'*

As this ballad resembles Goldsmith's Edwin and Angelina, it is but right to mention that Goldsmith had the priority. For the original story, see Gentle Heardsman' in Percy's Reliques.

RICHARD GLOVER.

RICHARD GLOVER (1712-1785), a London merchant, who sat several years in parliament as member for Weymouth, was distinguished in private life for his spirit and independence. He published two elaborate poems in blank verse, 'Leonidas' and the Athenaid '-the former bearing reference to the memorable defence of Thermoplyæ, and the latter continuing the war betweeen the Greeks and Persians. The length of these poems, their want of sustained interest, and lesser peculiarities not suited to the existing poetical taste, render them next to unknown in the present day. But there is smoothness and even vigour, a calm moral dignity and patriotic elevation in 'Leonidas,' which might even yet find admirers. Thomson is said to have exclaimed, when he heard of the work of Glover: 'He write an epic poem, who never saw a mountain! Yet Thomson himself, familiar as he was in his youth with mountain scenery, was tame and common-place when he ventured on classic or epic subjects. 'Leonidas' first appeared in 1737, and was hailed with acclamations by the Opposition or Prince of Wales's party, of which Glover was an active member. He was eloquent, intrepid, and of incorruptible integrity. In 1739, he published ‘London, or the Progress of Commerce,' a poem written to excite the national spirit against the Spaniards; in 1742, he appeared before the bar of the House of Commons, the chosen delegate of the London merchants, who complained of the neglect of their trade and interests. In 1744, he declined, as already mentioned, to join Mallet in writing a Life of the Duke of Marlborough, though his affairs had become somewhat embarrassed. A fortunate speculation in copper enabled him to retrieve his position, and in 1761 he was returned M P. for Weymouth. He distinguished himself by his advocacy of the mercantile interests, and during his leisure enlarged his poem of' Leonidas,' from nine to twelve books (1770), and wrote as a sequel to it, the 'Athenaid,' which was published after his death (in 1788.) Two tragedies by Glover, Boadecia' (1753), and Medea' (1761), are but indifferent performances. His chief honour is that of having been an eloquent and patriotic city merchant, at the same time that he was eminent as a scholar and man of letters.

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Ye men of Sparta? Does the name of death
Create this fear and wonder? O my friends!
Why do we labour through the arduous paths
Which lead to virtue? Fruitless were the toil.
Above the reach of human feet were placed
The distant summit, if the fear of death
Could intercept our passage. But in vain
His blackest frowns and terrors he assumes
To shake the firmness of the mind which knows
That, wanting virtue, life is pain and woe;
That, wanting liberty, even virtue mourns,
And looks around for happiness in vain.
Then speak, O Sparta! and demand my life;
My heart exulting, answers to thy call,

And smiles on glorious fate. To live with fame
The gods allow to many; but to die

With equal lustre is a blessing Heaven
Selects from all the choicest boons of fate,
And with a sparing hand on few bestows.'
Salvation thus to Sparta he proclaimed.
Joy, wrapt awhile in admiration, paused,
Suspending praise; nor praise at last resounds
In high acclaim to rend the arch of heaven;

A reverential murmur breathes applause.

The nature of the poem affords scope for interesting situations and descriptions of natural objects in a romantic country, which Glover occasionally avails himself of with good effect. There is great beauty and classic elegance in this sketch of the fountain at the dwelling of Oileus:

Beside the public way an oval fount
Of marble sparkled with a silver spray
Of falling rills, collected from above.
The army halted, and their hollow casques
Dipped in the limpid stream. Behind it rose

An edifice, composed of native roots,

And oaken trunks of knotted girth unwrought.
Within were beds of moss. Old battered arms
Hung from the roof. The curious chiefs approach.
These words, engraven on a tablet rude,
Megistias reads; the rest in silence hear:
'Yon marble fountain, by Oileus placed,

To thirsty lips in living water flows:

For weary steps he framed this cool retreat;

A grateful offering here to rural peace,

His dinted shield, his helmet he resigned.

O passenger! if born to noble deeds,

Thou wouldst obtain perpetual grace from Jove,

Devote thy vigour to heroic toils,

And thy decline to hospitable cares.

Rest here; then seek Oileus in his vale.'

In the 'Athenaid' we have a continuation of the same classic story and landscape. The following is an exquisite description of a night

scene:

Silver Phoebe spreads

A light reposing on the quiet lake,
Save where the snowy rival of her hue,

The gliding swan, behind him leaves a trail

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