Writhing to speak, his sable lips disclose, Sharp and disjoined his gnashing teeth's blue rows; Through these my waves advance your fearless prows, And all the storms that own my sovereign sway, Have viewed the secrets of my awful reign, Have passed the bounds which jealous Nature drew, 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; 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; Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, With thee let Pageantry and Power abide; The gentle Muses haunt the sylvan reign; Where through wild groves at eve the lonely swain Nor him whose sordid soul the love of gold alarms. Though richest hues the peacock's plumes adorn, 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, Then grieve not thou, to whom the indulgent Muse Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse The imperial banquet and the rich attire. Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul, On the dull couch of Luxury to loll, Stung with disease, and stupefied with spleen; Oh how canst thou renounce the boundless store And all the dread magnificence of heaven, O how canst thou renounce, and hope to be forgiven? 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; The shepherd-swain of whom I mention made, 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, A pensive youth, of placid mien, '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 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 |