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His reputation was now so far advanced, that the public began to pay reverence to his name; and he was solicited to prefix a preface to the translation of Boccalini, a writer whose satirical vein cost him his life in Italy, and who never, I believe, found many readers in this country, even though introduced by such powerful recommendation.

He translated Fontenelle's Dialogues of the Dead; and his version was perhaps read at that time, but is now neglected; for by a book not necessary, and owing its reputation wholly to its turn of diction, little notice can be gained but from those who can enjoy the graces of the original. To the Dialogues of Fontenelle he added two composed by himself; and, though not only an honest but a pious man, dedicated his work to the earl of Wharton. He judged skilfully enough of his own interest; for Wharton, when he went lord lieutenant to Ireland, offered to take Hughes with him, and establish him; but Hughes, having hopes or promises, from another man in power, of some provision more suitable to his inclination, declined Wharton's offer, and obtained nothing from the other.

He translated the Miser of Moliere, which he never offered to the stage; and occasionally amused himself with making versions of favourite scenes in other plays. Being now received as a wit among the wits, he paid his contributions to literary undertakings, and assisted the Tatler, Spectator, and Guardian. In 1712 he translated Vertot's History of the Revolution of Portugal; produced an Ode to the Creator of the World, from the Fragments of Orpheus; and brought upon the stage an opera called Calypso and Telemachus, intended to show, that the English language might be very happily adapted to music. This was impudently opposed by those who were employed in the Italian opera; and, what cannot be told without indig nation, the intruders had such interest with the duke of Shrewsbury, then lord chamberlain, who had married an Italian, as to obtain an obstruction of the profits, though not an inhibition of the performance.

There was at this time a project formed by Tonson for a translation of the Pharsalia by several hands; and Hughes englished the tenth book. But this design, as must often happen when the concurrence of many is necessary, fell to the ground; and the whole work was afterwards performed by Rowe.

His acquaintance with the great writers of his time appears to have been very general; but of his intimacy with Addison there is a remarkable proof. It is told on good authority, that Cato was finished and played by his persuasion. It had long wanted the last act, which he was desired by Addison to supply. If the request was sincere, it proceeded from an opinion, whatever it was, that did not last long; for, when Hughes came in a week to show him his first attempt, he found half an act written by Addison himself.

He afterwards published the works of Spenser, with his Life, a Glossary, and a Discourse on Allegorical Poetry; a work for which he was well qualified as a judge of the beauties of writing, but perhaps wanted an antiquary's knowledge of the obsolete words. He did not much revive the curiosity of the public; for near thirty years elapsed before his edition was reprinted. The same year produced his Apollo and Daphne, of which the success was very earnestly promoted by Steele, who, when the rage of party did not misguide him, seems to have been a man of boundless benevolence.

Hughes had hitherto suffered the mortifications of a narrow fortune; but in 1717 the lord chancellor Cowper set him at ease, by making him secretary to the commissions of the peace; in which he afterwards, by a particular request, desired his successor lord Parker to continue him. He had now affluence; but such is human life, that he had it when his declining health could neither allow him long possession, nor quick enjoyment.

His last work was a tragedy, The Siege of Damascus, after which a Siege became a popular title. This play, which still continues on the stage, and of which it is unnecessary to add a private voice to such continuance of approbation, is not acted or printed according to the author's original draught, or his settled intention. He had made Phocyas apostatize from his religion; after which the abhorrence of Eudocia would have been reasonable, his misery would have been just, and the horrours of his repentance exemplary. The players, however, required, that the guilt of Phocyas should terminate in desertion to the enemy: and Hughes, unwilling that his relations should lose the benefit of his work, complied with the alteration.

He was now weak with a lingering consumption, and not able to attend the rehearsal, yet was so vigorous in his faculties, that only ten days before his death he wrote the dedication to his patron lord Cowper. On February 17, 1719-20, the play was represented, and the author died. He lived to hear that it was well received; but paid no regard to the intelligence, being then wholly employed in the meditations of a departing Christian.

A man of his character was undoubtedly regretted; and Steele devoted an essay, in the paper called The Theatre, to the memory of his virtues. His life is written in the Biographia with some degree of favourable partiality: and an account of him is prefixed to his works by his relation the late Mr. Duncombe, a man whose blameless elegance deserved the same respect.

The character of his genius I shall transcribe from the correspondence of Swift and Pope.

I never heard of the man

"A month ago," says Swift, "were sent me over, by a friend of mine, the works of John Hughes, esquire. They are in prose and verse. in my life, yet I find your name as a subscriber.

He is too grave a poet for me;

and I think among the mediocrists in prose as well as verse."

To this Pope returns: "To answer your question as to Mr. Hughes; what he wanted in genius, he made up as an honest man; but he was of the class you think him."

In Spence's Collection, Pope is made to speak of him with still less respect, as having no claim to poetical reputation but from his tragedy.

! This, Dr. Warton asserts, is very unjust censure; and, in a note in his late edition of Pope's Works, asks if "the author of such a tragedy as The siege of Damascus was one of the mediocribus? Swift and Pope scem not to recollect the value and rank of an author who could write such a tragedy." C.

RECOMMENDATORY POEMS.

ΤΟ

MR. JOHN HUGHES,

ON HIS POEM entitled, the TRIUMPH OF Peace.

INSPIR'D by what melodious Hughes has sung, I'll tune a lyre that long has lain unstrung: Awak'd from drowsy sloth, and soothing rest, Poetic transports fire my ravish'd breast!

What pleasure must retiring Dryden find, To see that art his skilful Muse refin'd, So much improv'd by those he leaves behind! So when a father sees a careful son Enlarge those coffers, which were first his own, With joy to Heaven he lifts his aged eyes, Blesses his prosperous heir, and calmly dies. May all your fortune, like your numbers, shine, And smoothly flow, without one rugged line! Till we confess the genius is the same, That guides your fortune, and poetic flame. So when of old some sportive amorous god Vouchsaf'd awhile to leave his blest abode, In whatsoever form the guest appear'd, His heavenly lustre shone, and was rever'd. Catherine Hall, Cambridge.

TO THE

W. WORTS.

February, 1697.

MEMORY OF MR. HUGHES,

BY MISS JUDITH COWPER 1.

ROUND Hughes's humble, though distinguish'd urn,
The Muses, wreath'd with baleful cypress, mourn;
In every face a deep distress appears,
Each eye o'erflows with tributary tears:
Such was the scene, when, by the gods requir'd,
Majestic Homer from the world retir'd:
Such grief the Nine o'er Maro's tomb bestow'd;
And tears like these for Addison late flow'd.

Snatch'd from the Earth, above its trifling praise,
Thee, Hughes, to happier climes thy Fate conveys;
Eas'd of its load, thy gentle spirit roves
Through realms refulgent, and celestial groves;
The toils of life, the pangs of death are o'er,
And care, and pain, and sickness, are no more.
O may the spot that holds thy blest remains
(The noblest spoil Earth's spacious breast contains)
Its tribute pay; may richest flowers around
Spring lightly forth, and mark the sacred ground;

1 Daughter of judge Cowper, afterwards married to col. Martin Madan, author of the Progress of Poetry, &c. and still living, an ornament to her sex and age. Another of her compositions is prefixed to the Poems of Mr. Pope. N.

There may thy bays its shady honours spread,
And o'er thy urn eternal odours shed;
Immortal as thy fame, and verse, still grow,
Till those shall cease to live, and Thames to flow.
Nature, subdu'd, foretold the great decline,
And every heart was plung'd in grief, but thine;
Thy soul, serene, the conflict did maintain,
And trac'd the phantom Death in years of pain;
Not years of pain thy steady mind alarm'd,
By judgment strengthen'd, and with virtue arm'd;
Still like thyself, when sinking life ebb'd low,
Nor rashly dar'd, nor meanly fear'd the blow;
Loose to the world, of every grace possest,
Greatly resign'd, thou sought'st the stranger, Rest:
Firm as his fate, so thy own Phocyas dy'd,
While the barb'd arrow trembled in his side.
Drawn by thy pen, the theory we see;

The practic part, too soon! beheld in thee.

Who now shall strike the lyre with skill divine, Who to harmonious sounds 2 harmonious numbers

join!

Who the rapacious tide of vice control,

And, while they charm the sense, reform the soul!
In whom the lovely sister arts unite
With virtue, solid sense, and boundless wit?
Such was the turn of thy exalted mind,
Sparkling as polish'd gems, as purest gold refin'd.

Great ruler of our passions! who with art
Subdu'd the fierce, and warm'd the frozen heart,
Bid glory in our breasts with temper beat,
And valour, separate from feverish heat,
Love, in its true, its genuine lustre rise,
And, in Eudocia, bid it charm our eyes.
With more of triumph than a conqueror knows:
Virtue distrest, thy happy lines disclose,
Touch'd by thy hand, our stubborn tempers bend,
And flowing tears the well-wrought scene attend,
That silent eloquence thy power approv'd;
The cause so great, 'twas generous to be mov'd..

What pleasure can the bursting heart possess, In the last parting, and severe distress? And make the labouring breast with transport glow? Can fame, wealth, honour, titles, joy bestow, These gaudy trifles gild our morning bright, But O! how weak their influence on our night! Then fame, wealth, honour, titles, vainly bloom, Nor dart one beam of comfort on the gloom; But if the struggling soul a joy receives, "Tis in the just applause that conscious virtue gives: This blameless pride the dying Hughes possest, Soften'd his pain, sat lightly on his breast, And sooth'd his unoffending soul to rest. Free from the bigot's fears, or stoic's pride, Calm as our Christian hero liv'd, he dy’d.

? Opera of Calypso and Telemachus.

As on the utmost verge of life he stood,
Ready to plunge, and seize th' immortal good,
Collecting all his rays diffus'd, in one,

His last great work with heighten'd lustre shone;
There his just sentiments, transferr'd, we view'd!
But, while our eyes the shining path pursu'd,
And steep ascent his steady judgment gain'd,
The shining path, alas! alone remain'd.--

So when the Sun to worlds unknown retires,
How strong, how boldly shoot his parting fires!
Larger his setting orb our eyes confess,
Eager we gaze, and the full glory bless;

As o'er the heavens, sublime, his course extends,
With equal state, the radiant globe descends,
Sinks in a cloud of gold, and azure bright,
And leaves behind gay tracks of beamy light.

1720.

Ir for ourselves the tears profusely flow,
Too justly we indulge the tender woe,
Since thou in Virtue's robes wast richly drest,
And of fine arts abundantly possest!
But if we rather should congratulate
A friend's enlargement and exalted state;
Resign'd to Providence, what can we less
Than cheerful hail thy long'd-for happiness,
Who now, releas'd from every piercing pain,
Dost in the realms of light triumphant reign!
February, 1719-20.
W. DUNCOMBE 4.

TO THE

MEMORY OF MR. HUGHES.

OLOST too early! and too lately known!
My love's intended marks receive in one;
Where, new to ease, and recent from thy pains,
With ampler joy thou tread'st the blissful plains:
If there, regardful of the ways of men,
Thou seest with pity what thou once hast been,
O gentle shade! accept this humble verse,
Amidst the meaner honours of thy hearse.

How does thy Phocyas warm Britannia's youth,
In arms to glory, and in love to truth!
Oh! if the Muse of future aught presage,
These seeds shall ripen in the coming age;
Then youths, renown'd for many a field well-fought,
Shall own the glorious lessons thou hast taught;
Honour's strict laws shall reign in every mind,
And every Phocyas his Eudocia find.
O! yet be this the lowest of thy fame,
To form the hero, and instruct the dame;
I see the Christian, friend, relation, son,
Burn for the glorious course that thou hast run.
If aught we owe thy pencil, or thy lyre,
Of manly strokes, or of superior fire,
How must thy, Muse be ever own'd divine,
And in the sacred list unrival'd shine!
Nor joyous health was thine, nor downy ease;
To thee forbidden was the soft recess;
Worn with disease, and never-ceasing pain,
How firmly did thy Soul her seat maintain!

3 Siege of Damascus.

4 Of whom see Dr. Johnson's encomium in the Life of Hughes,

Early thy side the mortal shaft receiv'd,
All, but the wounded hero, saw and griev'd.
No sense of smart, no anguish, could control,
Or turn the generous purpose of his soul.
Witness, ye nobler arts, by Heaven design'd
To charm the senses, and improve the mind,
How through your mazes, with incessant toil,
He urg'd his way, to reap th' immortal spoil!
So fabled Orpheus tun'd his potent song,
Death's circling shades, and Stygian glooms among.
Of thy great labours this, the last and chief,
At once demands our wonder, and our grief;
Thy soul in clouded majesty till now
Its finish'd beauties did but partly show;
Wondering we saw disclos'd the ample store,
Griev'd in that instant, to expect no more.

5

So in the evening of some doubtful day, And clouds divided with a mingled ray, Haply the golden Sun unveils his light, And his whole glories spreads at once to sight; Th' enliven'd world look up with gladsome cheer, Bless the gay scene, nor heed the night so near; Sudden, the lucent orb drops swiftly down, Through western skies, to shine in worlds unknown. March 28, 1720.

WM. COWPER.

FROM thy long languishing, and painful strife,
Of breath and labour drawn, and wasting life,
Accomplish'd spirit! thou at length art free,
Born into bliss and immortality!

Thy struggles are no more; the palm is won;
Thy brows encircled with the victor's crown;
While lonely left, and desolate below,
Full grief I feel, and all a brother's woe!
Yet would I linger on a little space,
Before I close my quick-expiring race,
Till I have gather'd up, with grateful pains,
Thy works, thy dear unperishing remains;
An undecaying monument to stand,
Rais'd to thy name by thy own skilful hand.
Then let me wing from Earth my willing way,
To meet thy soul in blaze of living day,
Rapt to the skies, like thee, with joyful flight,
An inmate of the Heavens, adopted into light.
30 March, 1720.

JABEZ HUGHES.

Ob. 17 Jan. 1731. Anno Æt. 46.

IMMORTAL Bard! though from the world retir'd,
Still known to Fame, still honour'd, and admir'd!
While fill'd with joy, in happier realms you stray,
And dwell in mansions of eternal day;
While you, conspicuous through the heavenly choir,
With swelling rapture tune the chosen lyre;
Where echoing angels the glad notes prolong,
Or with attentive silence crown your song;
Forgive the Muse, that in unequal lays
Offers this humble tribute of her praise.
Lost in thy works, how oft I pass the day,
While the swift hours steal unperceiv'd away;
There, in sweet union, wit and virtue charm,
And noblest sentiments the bosom warm;

The Siege of Damascus.

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