1 Illustrious objects strike the gazer's mind As from the cliff, that o'er his cavern hangs, Of sunk magnificence! a blended scene With toys of wanton mirth my fixed mind, Then ever, beauteous Contemplation, hail! WILLIAM MASON. WILLIAM MASON, a poet of some distinction, verse, made its appearance, of which the fourth and born in 1725, was the son of a clergyman, who held concluding book was printed in 1781. Its purthe living of Hull. He was admitted first of pose was to recommend the modern system of St. John's College, and afterwards of Pembroke natural or landscape gardening, to which the author College, Cambridge, of the latter of which he was adheres with the rigour of exclusive taste. The elected Fellow in 1747. He entered into holy versification is formed upon the best models, and orders in 1754, and, by the favour of the Earl of the description, in many parts, is rich and vivid; Holderness, was presented to the valuable rectory but a general air of stiffness prevented it from atof Aston, Yorkshire, and became Chaplain to taining any considerable share of popularity. Some His Majesty. Some poems which he printed gave of his following poetic pieces express his liberal him reputation, which received a great accession sentiments on political subjects; and when the from his dramatic poem of "Elfrida.' By this late Mr. Pitt came into power, being then the piece, and his "Caractacus," which followed, it friend of a free constitution, Mason addressed him was his aim to attempt the restoration of the ancient in an "Ode," containing many patriotic and Greek chorus in tragedy; but this is so evidently manly ideas. But being struck with alarm at the an appendage of the infant and imperfect state of unhappy events of the French revolution, one of the drama, that a pedantic attachment to the ancients his latest pieces was a "Palinody to Liberty.” could alone suggest its revival. In 1756, he pub- He likewise revived, in an improved form, and lished a small collection of "Odes," which were published, Du Fresnoy's Latin poem on the Art generally considered as displaying more of the of Painting, enriching it with additions furnished artificial mechanism of poetry, than of its genuine by Sir Joshua Reynolds, and with a metrical verspirit. This was not the case with his "Elegies," | sion. Few have been better executed than this, published in 1763, which, abating some superfluity of ornament, are in general marked with the simplicity of language proper to this species of composition, and breathe noble sentiments of freedom and virtue. A collection of all his poems which he thought worthy of preserving, was published in Mason died in April, 1797, at the age of seventy1764, and afterwards went through several editions. two, in consequence of a mortification produced by He had married an amiable lady, who died of aa hurt in his leg. A tablet has been placed to his consumption in 1767, and was buried in the cathe-memory in Poets' Corner, in Westminster Abbey. dral of Bristol, under a monument, on which are His character in private life was exemplary for inscribed some very tender and beautiful lines, by worth and active benevolence, though not without her husband. a degree of stateliness and assumed superiority of manner. In 1772, the first book of Mason's "English Garden," a didactic and descriptive poem, in blank which unites to great beauties of language a correct representation of the original. His tribute to the memory of Gray, being an edition of his poems, with some additions, and Memoirs of his Life and Writings, was favourably received by the public. ODE TO MEMORY. MOTHER of Wisdom! thou, whose sway отн The throng'd ideal hosts obey; Who bidd'st their ranks, now vanish, now appear, Accept this votive verse. Thy reign That wake, and thrill through ev'ry nerve. Else vainly sweet yon woodbine shade Vainly, the cygnet spread her downy plume, While every flower in Fancy's clime, Cull'd by the hand of the industrious Muse, Hail, Mem'ry! hail. Behold, I lead She comes, and lo, thy realms expand! Full in the midst, and o'er thy num'rous train Displays the aweful wonders of her reign. There thron'd supreme in native state, If Sirius flame with fainting heat, She calls; ideal groves their shade extend, The cool gale breathes, the silent show'rs descend. Or, if bleak Winter, frowning round, Disrobe the trees, and chill the ground, She, mild magician, waves her potent wand, And ready summers wake at her command. See, visionary suns arise Through silver clouds and azure skies; See, sportive zephyrs fan the crisped streams; Through shadowy brakes light glance the sparkling beams": While, near the secret moss-grown cave, That stands beside the crystal wave, Sweet Echo, rising from her rocky bed, Mimics the feather'd chorus o'er her head. Rise, hallow'd Milton! rise, and say, How, at thy gloomy close of day, How, when "deprest by age, beset with wrongs:" When "fall'n on evil days and evil tongues ;" When darkness, brooding on thy sight, Exil'd the sov'reign lamp of light; Say, what could then one cheering hope diffuse? What friends were thine, save Mem'ry and the Muse? Hence the rich spoils, thy studious youth Caught from the stores of ancient truth: Hence all thy classic wand'rings could explore, When rapture led thee to the Latian shore; Each scene, that Tyber's banks supply'd; Each grace, that play'd on Arno's side; The tepid gales, through Tuscan glades that fly : The blue serene, that spreads Hesperia's sky; Were still thine own; thy ample mind Each charm receiv'd, retain'd, combin'd. And thence "the nightly visitant," that came To touch thy bosom with her sacred flame, Recall'd the long-lost beams of grace, That whilom shot from Nature's face, When God, in Eden, o'er her youthful breast Spread with his own right hand Perfection's gorgeous vest. I ODE TO INDEPENDENCY. HERE, on my native shore reclin'd, I woo thee, Goddess! On my musing mind And bid these ruffling gales of grief subside: Come to thy vot'ry's ardent prayer, As now o'er this lone beach I stray, Thou heard'st him, goddess, strike the tender string, And led the war 'gainst thine, and Freedom's foes. He scorns them both, and, arm'd with truth alone, Behold, like him, immortal maid, And fan them to that dazzling blaze of song, In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide ; "Fond youth! to Marvell's patriot fame, "'Tis he, my son, alone shall cheer At that sad hour, when all thy hopes decline; "This fragrant wreath, the Muses' meed, Or interest's servile throng; Receive, thou favour'd son, at my command, • Andrew Marvell, born at Kingston-upon-Hull in the year 1620. + See The Rehearsal transprosed, and an account of the effect of that satire, in the Biographia Britannica, art. Marvell. Know, ye were form'd to range yon azure field, In yon ethereal founts of bliss to lave: ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF A LADY. Force then, secure in Faith's protecting shield, THE midnight clock has toll'd; and hark, the bell Of death beats slow! heard ye the note profound? It pauses now; and now, with rising knell, Flings to the hollow gale its sullen sound. Yes*** is dead. Attend the strain, Daughters of Albion! Ye that, light as air, So oft have tript in her fantastic train, With hearts as gay, and faces half as fair: For she was fair beyond your brightest bloom; (This envy owns, since now her bloom is fled;) Fair as the forms, that, wove in fancy's loom, Float in light vision round the poet's head. Whene'er with soft serenity she smil'd, Or caught the orient blush of quick surprise, How sweetly mutable, how brightly wild, The liquid lustre darted from her eyes! On what she was no more the strain prolong : Where cold and wan the slumberer rests her head; In still small whispers to reflection's ear, She breathes the solemn dictates of the dead. Oh catch the aweful notes, and lift them loud; Proclaim the theme, by sage, by fool rever'd: Hear it, ye young, ye vain, ye great, ye proud! 'Tis Nature speaks, and Nature will be heard. Yes, ye shall hear, and tremble as ye hear, While, high with health, your hearts exulting leap; Ev'n in the midst of Pleasure's mad career, The mental monitor shall wake and weep. What brighter planet on your births arose : Ye sip the nectar of each varying bloom : That led her hence, though soon, by steps so slow: Long at her couch Death took his patient stand, And menac'd oft, and oft withheld the blow: Each fond delusion from her soul to steal; To you so long a span? Alas, ye sigh: Heirs as ye are of Heav'n's eternal day; Would bid you boldly to that Heav'n aspire, Not sink and slumber in your cells of clay. The sting from Death, the vict'ry from the Grave, Is this the bigot's rant? Away, ye vain, Your hopes, your fears, in doubt, in dulness steep; Go soothe your souls in sickness, grief, or pain, With the sad solace of eternal sleep. Yet will I praise you, triflers as ye are, More than those preachers of your fav'rite creed, Who proudly swell the brazen throat of war, Who form the phalanx, bid the battle bleed; Nor wish for more: who conquer, but to die. Hear, Folly, hear, and triumph in the tale: Like you, they reason; not, like you, enjoy The breeze of bliss, that fills your silken sail : On Pleasure's glitt'ring stream ye gaily steer Your little course to cold oblivion's shore: They dare the storm, and, through th' inclement year, Stem the rough surge, and brave the torrent's roar. Is it for glory? that just Fate denies. Long must the warrior moulder in his shroud, Ere from her trump the heav'n-breath'd accents rise, That lift the hero from the fighting crowd. Is it his grasp of empire to extend? To curb the fury of insulting foes? Ambition, cease: the idle contest end: 'Tis but a kingdom thou canst win or lose. And why must murder'd myriads lose their all, (If life be all,) why desolation lour, With famish'd frown, on this affrighted ball, That thou may'st flame the meteor of an hour? Go wiser ye, that flutter life away, Crown with the mantling juice the goblet high; By vain philosophy be e'er destroy'd: EPITAPH ON MRS. MASON. IN THE CATHEDRAL OF BRISTOL. TAKE, holy earth! all that my soul holds dear: Take that best gift which Heav'n so lately gave: To Bristol's fount I bore with trembling care Her faded form; she bow'd to taste the wave, And died. Does youth, does beauty, read the line? Does sympathetic fear their breasts alarm? Speak, dead Maria! breathe a strain divine: Ev'n from the grave thou shalt have power to charm. Bid them be chaste, be innocent, like thee; Bid them in duty's sphere as meekly move; And if so fair, from vanity as free; As firm in friendship, and as fond in love. Tell them, though 't is an aweful thing to die, ('T was ev'n to thee) yet the dread path once trod, Heav'n lifts its everlasting portals high, And bids" the pure in heart behold their God." WILLIAM COWPER. WILLIAM COWPER, a poet of distinguished and original genius, was born in 1731, at Great Berkhampstead in Hertfordshire. His father, the rector of the parish, was John Cowper, D. D., nephew of Lord-Chancellor Cowper. The subject of this memorial was educated at Westminster school, where he acquired the classical knowledge and correctness of taste for which it is celebrated, but with. out any portion of the confident and undaunted spirit which is supposed to be one of the most valuable acquisitions derived from the great schools, to those who are to push their way in the world. On the contrary, it appears from his poem entitled "Tirocinium," that the impressions made upon his mind from what he witnessed in this place, were such as gave him a permanent dislike to the system of public education. Soon after his leaving Westminster, he was articled to a solicitor in London for three years; but so far from studying the law, he spent the greatest part of his time with a relation, where he and the future Lord Chancellor (Lord Thurlow) spent their time, according to his own expression," in giggling, and making giggle." At the expiration of his time with the solicitor, he took chambers in the Temple, but his time was still little employed on the law, and was rather engaged in classical pursuits, in which Coleman, Bonnel Thornton, and Lloyd, seem to have been his principal associates. to Olney in Buckinghamshire, which was thence forth the principal place of Cowper's residence. At If this volume excited but little of the public attention, his next volume, published in 1785, introduced his name to all the lovers of poetry, and gave him at least an equality of reputation with any of his contemporaries. It consists of a poem in six books, entitled "The Task," alluding to the injunction of a lady, to write a piece in blank verse, for the subject of which she gave him The Sofa. It sets out, indeed, with some sportive discussion of this topic; but soon falls into a serious strain of rural description, intermixed with moral sentiments and portraitures, which is preserved through the six books, freely ranging from thought to thought with no perceptible method. But as the whole poem will here be found, it is unnecessary to enter into particulars. Another piece, entitled " Tirocinium, or a Review of Schools," a work replete with striking observation, is added to the preceding; and several other pieces gleaned from his various writings will be found in the collection. Cowper's spirits were naturally weak; and when his friends had procured him a nomination to the offices of reading-clerk and clerk of the Private Committees in the House of Lords, he shrunk with such terrour from the idea of making his appearance before the most august assembly in the nation, that after a violent struggle with himself, he resigned his intended employment, and with it all his prospects in life. In fact, he became completely deranged; and in this situation was placed, in December, 1763, about the 32d year of his age, with Dr. Cotton, an amiable and worthy physician at St. Alban's. This agitation of his mind is placed by some who have mentioned it to the account of a deep consideration of his state in a religious view, in which the terrours For the purpose of losing in employment the of eternal judgment so much overpowered his distressing ideas which were ever apt to recur, he faculties, that he remained seven months in moment-next undertook the real task of translating into ary expectation of being plunged into final misery. Mr. Johnson, however, a near relation, has taken pains to prove to demonstration, that these views of his condition were so far from producing such an effect, that they ought to be regarded as his sole consolation. It appears, however, that his mind had acquired such an indelible tinge of melancholy, that his whole successive life was passed with little more than intervals of comfort between long paroxysms of settled despondency. blank verse the whole of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey. This work has much merit of execution, and is certainly a far more exact representation of the ancient poet than Pope's ornamental version; but where simplicity of matter in the original is not relieved by the force of sonorous diction, the poverty of English blank-verse has scarcely been able to prevent it from sinking into mere prose. Various other translations denoted his necessity of seeking employment; but nothing was capable of durably After a residence of a year and a half with relieving his mind from the horrible impressions it Dr. Cotton, he spent part of his time at the house had undergone. He passed some of his latter of his relation, Earl Cowper, and part at Hunting-years under the affectionate care of a relation at don, with his intimate friend, the Rev. Mr. Unwin. East Dereham in Norfolk, where he died on The death of the latter caused his widow to remove April 25th, 1800. |