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Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose,

Sharp and disjoined his gnashing teeth's blue rows;
His haggard beard flowed quivering on the wind,
Revenge and horror in his mien combined;
His clouded front, by withering lightnings seared,
The inward anguish of his soul declared.
His red eyes glowing from their dusky caves
Shot livid fires: far echoing o'er the waves
His voice resounded, as the caverned shore
With hollow groan repeats the tempest's roar.
Cold gliding horrors thrilled each hero's breast;
Our bristling hair and tottering knees confessed
Wild dread; the while with visage ghastly wan,
His black lips trembling, thus the Fiend began:
O you, the boldest of the nations, fired
By daring pride, by lust of fame inspired,
Who, scornful of the bowers of sweet repose,

Through these my waves advance your fearless prows,
Regardless of the lengthening watery way,

And all the storms that own my sovereign sway,
Who 'mid surrounding rocks and shelves explore
Where never hero braved my rage before;
Ye sons of Lusus, who, with eyes profane,

Have viewed the secrets of my awful reign,

Have passed the bounds which jealous Nature drew,
To vail her secret shrine from mortal view,
Hear from my lips what direful woes attend,
And bursting soon shall o'er your race descend.
With every bounding keel that dares my rage,
Eternal war my rocks and storms shall wage;
The next proud fleet that through my dear domain,
With daring search shall hoist the streaming vane,
That gallant navy by my whirlwinds tost,
And raging seas, shall perish on my coast.
Then He who first my secret reign descried,
A naked corse, wide floating o'er the tide
Shall drive. Unless my heart's full raptures fail,
O Lusus! oft shalt thou thy children wail;
Each year thy shipwrecked sons shalt thou deplore,
Each year thy sheeted masts shall strew my shore.
He spoke, and deep a lengthened sigh he drew,
A doleful sound, and vanished from the view;
The frightened billows gave a rolling swell,
And distant far prolonged the dismal yell;
Faint and more faint the howling echoes die,
And the black cloud dispersing leaves the sky.

JAMES BEATTIE was the son of a small farmer and shopkeeper, at Laurencekirk, in Kincardshire, and was born on the twenty-fifth of October, 1735. His father died while he was a child, but an older brother, who perceived indications of talent in the boy, assisted him in obtaining a good education; and in his fourteenth year he was admitted into Marischal College, Aberdeen. Having closed his studies at the university, Beattie, in the

eighteenth year of his age, was appointed schoolmaster of the parish of Fordoun. He was now situated amidst interesting and romantic scenery, such as he afterwards delineated in his Minstrel, and this increased his passion for nature and poetry. He here became himself a poet; and his poetry, though indifferent, procured him the appointment of usher of Aberdeen grammar-school, and subsequently, in his twenty-fifth year, that of porfessor of natural philosophy, in Marischal College. At this time he published, in London, a collection of his poems; and though the piece on Retirement dis plays considerable poetical feeling and taste, yet the collection, as a whole, gave little indication of that genius which afterwards produced 'The Minstrel.'

In 1770, Beattie appeared as a metaphysician, by his Essay on Truth, in which correct principles were advanced, though with an unphilosophical spirit, and in language which suffered greatly from a comparison with that of Hume, his illustrious opponent. In the following year he again appeared in his true character, as a poet, by the publication of the first part of 'The Minstrel,' which received universal approbation. Honors now flowed in upon the fortunate author almost without limit. He visited London, and was admitted to all the brilliant and distinguished circles of that city. Goldsmith, Johnson, Garrick, and Reynolds, were numbered among his personal friends. On a second visit, in 1773, he had an interview with the king and queen, which resulted in a pension of two hundred pounds per annum; the university of Oxford conferred upon him the degree of doctor of laws, and Reynolds painted his portrait in an allegorical picture, in which Beattie was seen by the side of an angel pushing down Prejudice, Scepticism, and Folly. To the honor of Beattie, it must here be recorded, that he declined to enter the Church of England, in which preferment was promised him, and no doubt, would have been readily granted.

Beattie published the second part of his 'Minstrel' in 1774; but domestic circumstances marred the happiness which increasing fame would have afforded him. His wife became insane, and he was obliged to confine her in an insane asylum. His eldest son, associated with his father in the professorship, died in 1790, in his twenty-second year; and the afflicted parent soothed his grief by writing his life, and publishing some specimens of his composition, in prose and verse. His second son died in 1796, in his nineteenth year; and the only consolation of the now lonely poet was, that he could not have borne to see their 'elegant minds mangled with madness' -an allusion to the hereditary insanity of their mother. From the death of his second son Beattie relinquished the world, and ceased to correspond with his friends, or to continue his studies. Shattered by a long train of nervous complaints, in April, 1799, he had a stroke of palsy, and after returns of the same malady, which excluded him from all society, he died on the eighteenth of August, 1803.

"The Minstrel,' on which Beattie's fame now rests, is a didactic poem, in the Spenserian stanza, designed to trace the progress of a poetical genius,

born in a rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason, till that period at which he may be supposed capable of appearing in the world as a minstrel.' The character of Edwin, the minstrel, in which the poet embodied his own early feelings and poetical aspirations, is very finely drawn. The romantic seclusion of his youth, and his ardor for knowledge, find a response in all young and generous minds; while the calm philosophy and reflection of the author, interest the more mature and experienced reader. The poem was left unfinished, and this is scarcely to be regretted; for Beattie had not strength of pinion to keep long on the wing in the same lofty region, and Edwin would have contracted some earthly taint in his descent. Of this charming poem we annex the opening of the first part:

OPENING OF THE MINSTREL.

Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb

The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar;
Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime

Has felt the influence of malignant star,

And waged with fortune an eternal war;

Checked by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,

And Poverty's unconquerable bar,

In life's low vale remote has pined alone,

Then dropped into the grave, unpitied and unknown!

And yet the languor of inglorious day

Not equally oppressive is to all;

Him, who ne'er listened to the voice of praise,

The silence of neglect can ne'er appal.

There are, who, deaf to mad Ambition's call,

Would shrink to hear the obstreperous trump of Fame;

Supremely blest, if to their portion fall

Health, competence, and peace. Nor higher aim

Had he, whose simple tale these artless lines proclaim.

The rolls of fame I will not now explore;
Nor need I here describe, in learned lay,
How forth the Minstrel fared in days of yore,
Right glad of heart, though homely in array;
His waving locks and beard all hoary gray;
While from his bending shoulder, decent hung
His harp, the sole companion of his way,
Which to the whistling wind responsive rung:
And ever as he went some merry lay he sung.

Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride,
That a poor villager inspires my strain;

With thee let Pageantry and Power abide;

The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign;

Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain
Enraptured roams, to gaze on Nature's charms.
They hate the sensual, and scorn the vain;
The parasite their influence never warms,

Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms.
VOL. II.-2E

Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn,
Yet horror screams from his discordant throat.
Rise, sons of harmony, and hail the morn,
While warbling larks on russet pinions float:
Or seek at noon the woodland scene remote,
Where the gray linnets carol from the hill,
O let them ne'er with artificial note,

To please a tyrant, strain the little bill,

But sing what Heaven inspires, and wander where they will.

Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand;

Nor was perfection made for man below.

Yet all her schemes with nicest art are planned,
Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe.
With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow,
If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise,
There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow;
Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies,
And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes.

Then grieve not thou, to whom the indulgent Muse
Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire:

Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse

The imperial banquet and the rich attire.
Know thine own worth, and reverence the lyre.
Wilt thou debase the heart which God refined?
No; let thy heaven-taught soul to Heaven aspire.
To fancy, freedom, harmony, resigned:
Ambition's grovelling crew forever left behind.

Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul,
In each fine sense so exquisitely keen,

On the dull couch of Luxury to loll,

Stung with disease, and stupefied with spleen;
Fain to implore the aid of Flattery's screen,
Even from thyself thy loathsome heart to hide
(The mansion then no more of joy serene),
Where fear, distrust, malevolence abide,
And impotent desire, and disappointed pride?

Oh how canst thou renounce the boundless store
Of charms which Nature to her votary yields!
The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields;
All that the genial ray of morning gilds,
And all that echoes to the song of even,
All that the mountain's sheltering bosom shields,

And all the dread magnificence of heaven,

O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven?

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Whose sires, perchance, in Fairy land might dwell,

Sicilian groves, or vales of Arcady;

But he, I ween, was of the north countrie;

A nation famed for song, and beauty's charms;
Zealous, yet modest; innocent, though free;
Patient of toil; serene amidst alarms;
Inflexible in faith; invincible in arms.

The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made,
On Scotia's mountains fed his little flock;
The sickle, scythe, or plough he never swayed;
An honest heart was almost all his stock;
His drink the living water from the rock:
The milky dams supplied his board, and lent
Their kindly fleece to baffle winter's shock;

And he, though oft with dust and sweat bespent,

Did guide and guard their wanderings wheresoe'er they went.

To this extract from the 'Minstrel,' we add Beattie's lines on Retirement, written in 1758, and his Hermit, one of the most touching poems in the English language:

RETIREMENT.

When in the crimson cloud of even,

The lingering light decays,

And Hesper on the front of heaven

His glittering gem displays;

Deep in the silent vale, unseen,
Beside a lulling stream,

A pensive youth, of placid mien,
Indulged this tender theme.

'Ye cliffs, in hoary grandeur piled

High o'er the glimmering dale;

Ye woods, along whose windings wild

Murmurs the solemn gale:

Where Melancholy strays forlorn,

And Woe retires to weep,

What time the wan moon's yellow horn
Gleams on the western deep:

To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms

Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,

'Scaped a tumultuous world's alarms,

To your retreats I fly.

Deep in your most sequestered bower

Let me at last recline,

Where Solitude, mild, modest power,

Leans on her ivied shrine.

How shall I woo thee, matchless fair?

Thy heavenly smile how win?

Thy smile that smooths the brow of Care,

And stills the storm within.

O wilt thou to thy favourite grove

Thine ardent votary bring,

And bless his hours, and bid them move
Serene, on silent wing?

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