Of his miscellaneous poetry, I cannot fay any thing very favourable. The powers of Congreve feem to defert him when he leaves the ftage, as Antæus was no longer ftrong than he could touch the ground. It cannot be obferved without wonder, that a mind fo vigorous and fertile in dramatick compofitions fhould on any other occafion difcover nothing but impotence and poverty. He has in these little pieces neither elevation of fancy, felection of language, nor fkill in, verfification: yet, if I were required to felect from the whole mafs of English poetry the most poetical paragraph, I know not what I could prefer to an exclamation in The Mourning Bride: ALMERIA. It was a fancy'd noife; for all is hufh'd. LEONORA. It bore the accent of a human voice. ALMERIA. It was thy fear, or elfe fome tranfient wind Whistling thro' hollows of this vaulted ifle: We'll liften Hark! LEONORA. ALMERIA. ALMERIA. No, all is hufh'd, and still as death.-Tis dreadful! How reverend is the face of this tall pile; He who reads thofe lines enjoys for a moment the powers of a poet; he feels what he remembers to have felt before, but he feels it with great increase of fenfibility; he recognizes a familiar image, but meets it again amplified and expanded, embellished with beauty, and enlarged with majesty. Yet could the author, who appears here to have enjoyed the confidence of Nature, la ment the death of queen Mary in lines like these: The The rocks are cleft, and new-defcending rills Furrow the brows of all th' impending hills. The water-gods to floods their rivulets turn, And each, with ftreaming eyes, fupplies his wanting urn. The Fauns forfake the woods, the Nymphs the grove, And round the plain in fad distractions rove: And tug their shaggy beards, and bite with grief the ground. Lo Pan himself, beneath a blasted oak, And many years after he gave no proof that time had improved his wifdom or his wit; for on the death of the marquis of Blandford this was his fong: And And now the winds, which had fo long been ftill, Began the fwelling air with fighs to fill: The water-nymphs, who motionless remain'd, Like images of ice, while fhe complain'd, Now loos'd their ftreams: as when defcending rains Roll the steep torrents headlong o'er the plains. The prone creation, who fo long had gaz'd, Charmm'd with her cries, and at her griefs amaz'd, Began to roar and howl with horrid yell, Dismal to hear, and terrible to tell; Nothing but groans and fighs were heard around, And Echo multiplied each mournful found. In both these funeral poems, when he has yelled out many fyllables of fenfelefs dolour, he difmiffes his reader with fenfelefs confolation: from the grave of Paftora rises a light that forms a ftar; and where Amaryllis wept for Amyntas, from every tear fprung up a violet. But William is his hero, and of William he will fing; The hovering winds on downy wings fhall wait around, And catch, and waft to foreign lands, the flying found. VOL. III. F It It cannot but be proper to fhew what they shall have to catch and carry: 'Twas now, when flowery lawns the prospect made, And flowing brooks beneath a forest shade, A lowing heifer, lovelieft of the herd, Stood feeding by; while two fierce bulls prepar'd Their armed heads for fight; by fate of war to prove The victor worthy of the fair-one's love. Unthought prefage of what met next my view; For foon the fhady fcene withdrew. And now, for woods, and fields, and springing flowers, Behold a town arise, bulwark'd with walls and lofty towers; Two rival armies all the plain o'erfpread, Each in battalia rang'd, and shining arms array'd; The Birth of the Mufe is a miferable fiction. One good line it has, which was borrowed from Dryden. The concluding verfes are thefe: This faid, no more remain'd. Th'etherial hoft The |