With louder plaints the mother spoke her woes, O Luxury! thou curs'd by heav'n's decree, At ev'ry draught more large and large they grow, And half the bus'ness of destruction done; Down where yon anch'ring vessel spreads the sail, And thou, sweet Poetry, thou loveliest maid, THE HERMIT. A BALLAD. "TURN, gentle hermit of the dale, "For here forlorn and lost I tread, With fainting steps and slow; Where wilds, immeasurably spread, Seem length'ning as I go." "Forbear, my son," the hermit cries, "To tempt the dang'rous gloom; For yonder faithless phantom flies To lure thee to thy doom. "Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still; And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will. "Then turn to-night, and freely share Whate'er my cell bestows; My rushy couch and frugal fare, "No flocks that range the valley free "But from the mountain's grassy side A guiltless feast I bring; A scrip with herbs and fruits supply'd, And water from the spring. "Then, pilgrim, turn, thy cares forego; All earth-born cares are wrong: Man wants but little here below, Nor wants that little long." Soft as the dew from Heav'n descends, Far in a wilderness obscure The lonely mansion lay; A refuge to the neighbouring poor, And strangers led astray. No stores beneath its humble thatch And now when busy crowds retire To take their ev'ning rest, The hermit trimm'd his little fire, And cheer'd his pensive guest: And spread his vegetable store, The ling'ring hours beguil❜d. Around in sympathetic mirth But nothing could a charm impart To soothe the stranger's woe; For grief was heavy at his heart, And tears began to flow. His rising cares the hermit spy'd, With answ'ring care opprest: "And whence, unhappy youth," he cry'd, "The sorrows of thy breast? "From better habitations spurn'd, Reluctant dost thou rove; Or grieve for friendship unreturn'd, Or unregarded love? "Alas! the joys that fortune brings Are trifling, and decay; And those who prize the paltry things, "And what is friendship but a name, "And love is still an emptier sound, "For shame, fond youth, thy sorrows hush, Surpris'd he sees new beauties rise, Swift mantling to the view; The bashful look, the rising breast, "And, ah! forgive a stranger rude, A wretch forlorn," she cry'd; "Whose feet unhallow'd thus intrude Where Heav'n and you reside. "But let a maid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray; Who seeks for rest, but finds despair Companion of her way. "My father liv'd beside the Tyne, A wealthy lord was he; And all his wealth was mark'd as mine, He had but only me. "To win me from his tender arms Unnumber'd suitors came, Who prais'd me for imputed charms, "Each hour a mercenary crowd "In humble, simplest habit clad, No wealth or pow'r had he; Wisdom and worth were all he had, But these were all to me. "And when, beside me in the dale, He carol'd lays of love, His breath lent fragrance to the gale, And music to the grove. "The blossom op'ning to the day, The dews of Heav'n refin'd, Could nought of purity display To emulate his mind. "The dew, the blossoms of the tree, "For still I try'd each fickle art, Importunate and vain; And while his passion touch'd my heart, “Till, quite dejected with my scorn, "But mine the sorrow, mine the fault, "And there forlorn, despairing, hid, Our Will shall be wild fowl, of excellent flavour; vour: Our Cumberland's sweet-bread its place shall And Douglas § is pudding, substantial and plain: Then, with chaos and blunders encircling my head, If he had any faults, he has left us in doubt, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; To persuade Tommy Townshend ‡‡ to lend him a Still aiming at honour, yet fearing to roam, own. Here lies honest Richard, whose fate I must Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, Here Douglas retires from his toils to relax, The scourge of impostors, the terror of quacks: Come, all ye quack bards, and ye quacking divines, And thought of convincing, while they thought of Come, and dance on the spot where your tyrant re Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on refining, dining; Though equal to all things, for all things unfit; To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. While the owner ne'er knew half the good that was The pupil of impulse, it forc'd him along, * Mr. William Burke, Secretary to General Conway, and Member for Bedwin. Mr. Richard Burke, Collector of Grenada. Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West Indian, Fashionable Lover, The Brothers, and other dramatic pieces. Dr. Douglas, Bishop of Salisbury, who no less distinguished himself as a citizen of the world, than a sound critic, in detecting several literary mistakes (or rather forgeries) of his countrymen; particularly Lauder on Milton, and Bower's History of the Popes. David Garrick, Esq. clines: When satire and censure encircled his throne; Macpherson § write bombast, and call it a style ; over, No countryman living their tricks to discover; Here lies David Garrick, describe him who can, * Mr. Richard Burke. This gentleman having Dr. Kenrick, who read lectures at the Devil Counsellor John Ridge, a gentleman belong- Tavern, under the title of The School of Shak ing to the Irish bar. Sir Joshua Reynolds. ++ An eminent attorney. speare. § James Macpherson, Esq. who, from the mere force of his style, wrote down the first poet of all Mr. T. Townshend, Member for Whitchurch. antiquity. 684 Like an ill-judging beauty, his colours he spread, Of praise a mere glutton, he swallow'd what came, Ye Kenricks, ye Kellys, and Woodfalls + so What a commerce was yours, while you got and you gave! How did Grub-street re-echo the shouts that you Here Hickey reclines, a most blunt pleasant And slander itself must allow him good-nature : * Mr. Hugh Kelly, author of False Delicacy, A Word to the Wise, Clementina, School for Wives, &c. &c. Then what was his failing? come, tell it, and burn ye, He was, could he help it? a special attorney. Here Reynolds is laid, and, to tell you my mind, STANZAS ON WOMAN. FROM THE VICAR OF WAKEFIELD. WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray, The only art her guilt to cover, SONG. O MEMORY! thou fond deceiver, And turning all the past to pain; Thou, like the world, th' opprest oppressing, And he who wants each other blessing, In thee must ever find a foe. Sir Joshua Reynolds was so remarkably deaf Mr. W. Woodfall, printer of the Morning as to be under the necessity of using an ear-trum Chronicle. pet in company. SAMUEL JOHNSON. SAMUEL JOHNSON, a writer of great eminence, was born in 1709 at Litchfield, in which city his father was a petty bookseller. After a desultory course of school-education, it was proposed to him, by Mr. Corbet, a neighbouring gentleman, that he should accompany his own son to Oxford as his companion; accordingly, in his nineteenth year, he was elected a commoner of Pembroke college. From young Corbet's departure, he was left to struggle with penury till he had completed a residence of three years, when he quitted Oxford without taking a degree. His father died, in very narrow circumstances, soon after his return from the university; and for some time he attempted to gain a maintenance by some literary projects. At length, in 1735, he thought proper to marry a widow twice his own age, and far from attractive, either in her person or manners. By the aid of her fortune he was enabled to set up a school for instruction in Latin and Greek, but the plan did not succeed; and after a year's experiment, he resolved to try his fortune in the great metropolis. Garrick, afterwards the celebrated actor, had been one of his pupils, accompanied by whom he arrived in London; Johnson having in his pocket his unfinished tragedy of Irene. The first notice which he drew from the judges of literary merit, was by the publication of " London, a Poem," in imitation of Juvenal's third satire. The manly vigour, and strong painting of this performance, placed it high among works of its kind, though it must be allowed, that its censure is coarse and exaggerated, and that it ranks rather as a party, than as a moral poem. It was published in 1738. For some years Johnson is chiefly to be traced in the pages of the Gentleman's Magazine, then conducted by Cave; and it was for this work that he gratified the public with some extraordinary pieces of eloquence which he composed under the disguise of debates in the senate of Liliput, meaning the British parliament. He likewise wrote various biographical articles for the same miscellany, of which the principal and most admired was "The Life of Savage." The plan of his English Dictionary was laid before the public in a letter addressed to Lord Chesterfield in 1747. In the same year he furnished Garrick with a prologue on the opening of Drurylane theatre, which in sense and poetry has not a competitor among compositions of this class, except ing Pope's prologue to Cato. Another imitation of Juvenal, entitled "The Vanity of Human Wishes," was printed in 1749, and may be said to reach the sublime of ethical poetry, and to stand at the head of classical imitations. The same year, under the auspices of Garrick, brought on the stage of Drury-lane his tragedy of "Irene." It ran thirteen nights, but has never since appeared on the theatre: Johnson, in fact, found that he was not formed to excel on the stage, and made no further trials. His periodical paper, entitled "The Rambler," appeared in March 1750, and was continued till March 1752. The solemnity of this paper prevented it at first from attaining an extensive circulation; but after it was collected into volumes, it continually rose in the public esteem, and the author had the satisfaction of seeing a tenth edition. The "Adventurer," conducted by Dr. Hawkesworth, succeeded the Rambler, and Johnson contributed several papers of his own writing. In 1755, the first edition of his "Dictionary" made its appearance. It was received by the public with general applause, and its author was ranked among the greatest benefactors of his native tongue. Modern accuracy, however, has given an insight into its defects; and though it still stands as the capital work of the kind in the language, its authority as a standard is somewhat depreciated. Upon the last illness of his aged mother, in 1759, for the purpose of paying her a visit, and defraying the expense of her funeral, he wrote his romance of "Rasselas, Prince of Abyssinia," one of his most splendid performances, elegant in language, rich in imagery, and weighty in sentiment. Its views of human life are, indeed, deeply tinged with the gloom that overshadowed the author's mind; nor can it be praised for moral effect. Soon after the accession of the late king, a grant of a pension of 300l. per annum was made him by His Majesty during the ministry of Lord Bute. A short struggle of repugnance to accept a favour from the House of Hanover was overcome by a sense of the honour and substantial benefit conferred by it, and he became that character, a pensioner, on which he had bestowed a sarcastic definition in his Dictionary. Much obloquy attended this circumstance of his life, which was enhanced when he published in several of his productions, arguments which seemed directly to oppose the rising spirit of liberty. A long-promised edition of Shakspeare appeared in 1765; but though ushered in by a preface written with all the powers of his masterly pen, the edition itself disappointed those who expected much from his ability to elucidate the obscurities of the great dramatist. A tour to the Western Islands of Scotland in 1773, in which he was attended by his enthusiastic admirer and obsequious friend, James Boswell, Esq. was a remarkable incident of his life, considering that a strong antipathy to the natives of that country had long been conspicuous in his conversation. But when, two years afterwards, he |