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TOBIAS SMOLLETT.

TOBIAS SMOLLETT, well known in his time for collection, as the author of “ The Tears of Scotthe variety and multiplicity of his publications, was land," the “ Ode to Leven-Water,” and some other born in 1720, at Dalquhurn, in the county of Dum- short pieces, which are polished, tender, and pic-, barton. He was educated under a surgeon in turesque ; and, especially, of an “Ode to IndepenGlasgow, where he also attended the medical lec- dence,” which aims at a loftier fight, and perhaps tures of the University; and at this early period he has few superiors in the lyric style. gave some specimens of a talent for writing verses. Smollett married a lady of Jamaica; he was, As it is on this ground that he has obtained a place unfortunately, of an irritable disposition, which inin the present collection, we shall pass over his volved him in frequent quarrels, and finally shortvarious characters of surgeon's mate, physician, his- ened his life. He died in the neighborhood of Leg. toriographer, politician, miscellaneous writer, and horn, in October, 1771, in the fifty-first year of his especially novelist, and consider his claims as a minor age. poet of no mean rank. He will be found, in this

THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND.

Mourn, hapless Caledonia, mourn
Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn!
Thy sons, for valor long renown'd,
Lie slaughter'd on their native ground;
Thy hospitable roofs no more,
Invite the stranger to the door ;
In smoky ruins sunk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.

O baneful cause, oh, fatal morn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn!
The sons against their fathers stood,
The parent shed his children's blood.
Yet, when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victor's soul was not appeas'd :
The naked and forlorn must feel
Devouring flames, and murd'ring steel !

The pious mother doom'd to death,
Forsaken wanders o'er the heath,
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Bereft of shelter, food, and friend,
She views the shades of night descend,
And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies,
Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.

The wretched owner sees afar
His all become the prey of war;
Bethinks him of his babes and wife,
Then smites his breast, and curses life.
Thy swains are famish'd on the rocks,
Where once they fed their wanton flocks :
Thy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain;
Thy infants perish on the plain.
What boots it then, in every clime,
Through the wide-spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise,
Still shone with undiminish'd blaze ?
Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke.
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancor fell.
The rural pipe and merry lay
No more shall cheer the happy day:
No social scenes of gay delight
Beguile the dreary winter night :
No strains but those of sorrow flow,
And nought be heard but sounds of woe,
While the pale phantoms of the slain
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.

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No torrents stain thy limpid source ;
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,

The curlew scream'd, the Tritons blew
With white, round, polish'd pebbles spread; Their shells to celebrate the ravish'd rite;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood

Old Time exulted as he flew; In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;

And Independence saw the light. The springing trout in speckled pride ;

The light he saw in Albion's happy plains, The salmon, monarch of the tide;

Where under cover of a flowering thorn, The ruthless pike, intent on war;

While Philomel renewid her warbled strains, The silver eel, and mottled par.*

The auspicious fruit of stol'n embrace was bornDevolving from thy parent lake,

The mountain Dryads, seiz'd with joy, A charming maze thy waters make,

The smiling infant to their charge consign'd; By bowers of birch, and groves of pine, The Doric Muse caress'd the favorite boy ; And hedges flower'd with eglantine.

The hermit Wisdom stor'd his opening mind. Still on thy banks so gaily green,

As rolling years matur'd his age, May num'rous herds and flocks be seen,

He flourish'd bold and sinewy as his sire ; And lasses chanting o'er the pail,

While the mild passions in his breast assuage
And shepherds piping in the dale,

The fiercer flames of his maternal sire.
And ancient Faith that knows no guile,
And Industry embrown'd with toil,

ANTISTROPHE.
And hearts resolv'd, and hands prepar'd,
The blessings they enjoy to guard.

Accomplish'd thus, he wing'd his way,
And zealous rov'd from pole to pole,
The rolls of right eternal to display,
And warm with patriot thoughts the aspiring soul
On desert islets it was he that rais'd

Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,
ODE TO INDEPENDENCE.

Where Tyranny beheld amaz'd
Fair Freedom's temple, where he mark'd her grava

He steel'd the blunt Batavian's arms
The spirit, Independence, let me share !

To burst the Iberian's double chain ; Lord of the lion-heart and eagle eye,

And cities rear'd, and planted farms, Thy steps I follow with my bosom bare,

Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide domain. Nor heed the storm that howls along the sky,

He, with the generous rustics, sate Deep in the frozen regions of the north,

On Uri's rocks in close divan it A goddess violated brought thee forth,

And wing'd that arrow, sure as fate, Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime

Which ascertain'd the sacred rights of man. Hath bleach'd the tyrant's cheek in every varying

clime. What time the iron-hearted Gaul

Arabia's scorching sands he cross'd, With frantic Superstition for his guide,

Where blasted Nature pants supine, Arm'd with the dagger and the pall,

Conductor of her tribes adust, The sons of Woden to the field defied :

To Freedom's adamantine shrine ; The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood,

And many a Tartar horde forlorn, aghast ! In Heaven's name urg'd th' infernal blow; He snatch'd from under fell Oppression's wing ; And red the stream began to flow :

And taught amidst the dreary waste The vanquish'd were baptiz'd with blood.

The all-cheering hymns of Liberty to sing.

He virtue finds, like precious ore,
ANTISTROPHE.

Diffus'd through every baser mould,

Even now he stands on Calvi's rocky shore, The Saxon prince in horror fled

And turns the dross of Corsica to gold. From altars stain'd with human gore ;

He, guardian genius, taught my youth And Liberty his routed legions led

Pomp's tinsel livery to despise : In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore.

My lips, by him chastis'd to truth, There in a cave asleep she lay,

Ne'er paid that homage which the heart denies. Lull'd by the hoarse-resounding main; When a bold savage past that way,

ANTISTROPHE. Impell’d by Destiny, his name Disdain.

Those sculptur'd halls my feet shall never tread, Of ample front the portly chief appear'd: The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest ;

Where varnish'd Vice and Vanity combin'd, The drifted snow hung on his yellow beard ;

To dazzle and seduce, their banners spread ; And his broad shoulders brav'd the furious blast.

And forge vile shackles for the free-born mind.

Where Insolence his wrinkled front uprears, He stopt: he gaz'd ; his bosom glow'd,

And all the flowers of spurious fancy blow; And deeply felt the impression of her charms :

And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears, He seiz'd the advantage Fate allow'd,

Full often wreath'd around the miscreant's brow: And straight compress'd her in his vig'rous arms.

STROPHE.

| Alluding to the known story of William Tell and his * The par is a small fish, not unlike the smelt, which it associates, the fathers and founders of the confederacy of rivals in delicacy and flavor.

the Swiss Cantons.

ANTISTROPHE.

Where ever-dimpling Falsehood, pert and vain,
Presents her cup of stale profession's froth !
And pale Disease, with all his bloated train,
Torments the sons of Gluttony and Sloth.

STROPHE.

In Fortune's car behold that minion ride,
With either India's glittering spoils opprest :
So moves the sumpler-mule, in harness'd pride,
That bears the treasure which he cannot taste.
For him let venal bards disgraco the bay,
And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string;
Her sensual snares let faithless Pleasure lay;
And all her jingling bells fantastic Folly ring;
Disquiet, Doubt, and Dread shall intervene;
And Nature still to all her feelings just,
In vengeance hang a damp on every scene,
Shook from the baleful pinions of Disgust.

Nature I'll court in her sequester'd haunts

By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, or cell, Where the pois'd lark his evening ditty chants,

And Health, and Peace, and Contemplation dwell. There Study shall with Solitude recline; And Friendship pledge me to his fellow-swains ; And Toil and Temperance sedately twine The slender cord that fluttering life sustains : And fearless Poverty shall guard the door ; And Taste unspoil'd the frugal table spread; And Industry supply the humble store ; And Sleep unbrib'd his dews refreshing shed : White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite, Shall chase far off the goblins of the night;

And Independence o'er the day preside, Propitious power! my patron and my pride.

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GEORGE LORD LYTTELTON.

GEORGE LORD LYTTELTON, born at Hagley, in In 1741, he married Lucy, the daughter of Hugh Jan. 1708–9, was the eldest son of Sir Thomas Fortescue, Esq. a lady for whom he entertained the Lyttelton, Bart of the same place. He received purest affection, and with whom he lived in unabated his early education at Eton, whence he was sent to conjugal harmony. Her death in child-bed, in 1747, Christ-church College, in Oxford. In both of these was lamented by him in a “ Monody," which stands places he was distinguished for classical literature, prominent among his poetical works, and displays and some of his poems which we have borrowed were much natural feeling, amidst the more elaborate the fruits of his juvenile studies. In his nineteenth strains of a poet's imagination. So much may year, he set out on a tour to the Continent; and suffice respecting his productions of this class, which some of the letters which he wrote during this ab- are distinguished by the correctness of their versifisence to his father are pleasing proofs of his sound cation, the elegance of their diction, and the delicacy principles, and his unreserved confidence in a vene- of their sentiments. His miscellaneous pieces, and rated parent. He also wrote a poetical epistle to his History of Henry II., the last the work of his Dr. Ayscough, his Oxford tutor, which is one of the age, have each their appropriate merits, but may best of his works. On his return from abroad, he here be omitted. was chosen representative in parliament for the The death of his father, in 1751, produced his borough of Oakhampion; and being warmed with succession to the title and a large estate ; and his that patriotic ardor which rarely fails to inspire the taste for rural ornament rendered Hagley one of bosom of an ingenuous youth, he became a distin- the most delightful residences the kingdom. At guished partisan of opposition-politics, whilst his the dissolution of the ministry, of which he comfather was a supporter of the ministry, then ranged posed a part, in 1759, he was rewarded with eleva. under the banners of Walpole. When Frederic tion to the peerage, by the style of Baron Lyttelton Prince of Wales, having quarrelled with the court, of Frankley, in the county of Worcester. He formed a separate court of his own, in 1737, Lyt- died of a lingering disorder, which he bore with telton was appointed secretary to the Prince, with pious resignation, in August 1773, in the 64th year an advanced salary. At this time Pope bestowed of his age. his praise upon our patriot in an animated couplet :

Free as young Lyttelton her cause pursue,
Still true to virtue, and as warm as true.

| Though now, sublimely borne on Homer's wing, THE PROGRESS OF LOVE.

Of glorious wars and godlike chiefs she sing.

Wilt thou with me revisit once again
IN FOUR ECLOGUES.

The crystal fountain, and the flowery plain?

Wilt thou, indulgent, hear my verse relate 1. Uncertainty. To Mr. Pope.

The various changes of a lover's state; 2. Hope. To the Hon. George Doddington.

And, while each turn of passion I pursue, 3. Jealousy. To Edward Walpole, Esq. 4. Possession. To the Right Hon. the Lord Viscount

Ask thy own heart if what I tell be true ?

To the green margin of a lonely wood,
Cobham.

Whose pendent shades o'erlook'd a silver flood,
Young Damon came, unknowing where he stray'd,

Full of the image of his beauteous maid :
UNCERTAINTY.

His flock, far off, unfed, untended, lay,

To every savage a defenceless prey;
ECLOGUE I.

No sense of interest could their master move,

And every care seem'd trifling now but love.
TO MR. POPE.

Awhile in pensive silence he remainid,
Pope, to whose reed beneath the beachen shade,

But, though his voice was mute, his looks comThe nymphs of Thames a pleas'd attention paid ;

plain'd; While yet thy Muse, content with humbler praise, At length the thoughts, within his bosom pent, Warbled in Windsor's grove her sylvan lays; Forc'd his unwilling tongue to give them vent.

MELCOMBE REGIS.

“Ye nymphs,” he cried, “ye Dryads, who so long Have favorid Damon, and inspir'd his song ;

HOPE.
For whom, retir'd, I shun the gay resorts

ECLOGUE II.
Of sportful cities, and of pompous courts;
In vain I bid the restless world adieu,

TO MR. DODDINGTON, AFTERWARDS LORD
To seek tranquillity and peace with you.
Though wild Ambition and destructive Rage
No factions here can form, no wars can wage: HEAR, Doddington, the notes that shepherds sing,
Though Envy frowns not on your humble shades, Like those that warbling hail the genial Spring.
Nor Calumny your innocence invades :

Nor Pan, nor Phæbus, tunes our artless reeds : Yet cruel Love, that troubler of the breast, From Love alone their melody proceeds. Too often violates your boasted rest;

From Love, Theocritus, on Enna's plaing, With inbred storms disturbs your calm retreat, Learnt the wild sweetness of his Doric strains. And taints with bitterness each rural sweet. Young Maro, touch'd by his inspiring dart,

"Ah, luckless day! when first with fond surprise Could charm each ear, and soften every heart : On Delia's face I fix'd my eager eyes!

Me too his power has reach'd, and bids with thine Then in wild tumults all my soul was tost, My rustic pipe in pleasing concert join. Then reason, liberty, at once were lost :

Damon no longer sought the silent shade, And every wish, and thought, and care, was gone, No more in unfrequented paths he stray'd, But what my heart employ'd on her alone.

But call'd the swains to hear his jocund song, Then too she smild: can smiles our peace destroy, And told his joy to all the rural throng. Those lovely children of Content and Joy?

"Blest be the hour," he said, " that happy hour, How can soft pleasure and tormenting woe

When first I own'd my Delia's gentle power; From the same spring at the same moment flow? Then gloomy discontent and pining care Unhappy boy! these vain inquiries cease,

Forsook my breast, and left soft wishes there ; Thought could not guard, nor will restore, thy peace : Soft wishes there they left, and gay desires, Indulge the frenzy that thou must endure, Delightful languors, and transporting fires. And soothe the pain thou know'st not how to cure. Where yonder limes combine to form a shade, Come, flattering Memory! and tell my heart These eyes first gaz'd upon the charming maid : How kind she was, and with what pleasing art

There she appear'd, on that auspicious day, She strove its fondest wishes to obtain,

When swains their sportive rites to Bacchus pay : Confirm her power, and faster bind my chain.

She led the dance-Heavens! with what grace she If on the green we danc'd, a mirthful band;

mov'd! To me alone she gave her willing hand :

Who could have seen her then, and not have lov'd ? Her partial taste, if e'er I touch'd the lyre, I strove not to resist so sweel a flame, Still in my song found something to admire. But gloried in a happy captive's name; By none but her my crook with flowers was crown'd, Nor would I now, could Love permit, be free, By none but her my brows with ivy bound : But leave to brutes their savage liberty. The world, that Damon was her choice, believ'd, “And art thou then, fond youth, secure of joy? The world, alas! like Damon, was deceiv'd. Can no reverse thy flattering bliss destroy? When last I saw her, and declar'd my fire

Has treacherous Love no torment yet in store ? In words as soft as passion could inspire,

Or hast thou never prov'd his fatal power? Coldly she heard, and full of scorn withdrew,

Whence flow'd those tears that late bedew'd thy Without one pitying glance, one sweet adieu.

cheek? The frighted hind, who sees his ripen'd corn Why sigh'd thy heart as if it strove to break? Up from the roots by sudden tempests torn,

Why were the desert rocks invok'd to hear Whose fairest hopes destroy'd and blasted lie, The plaintive accent of thy sad despair? Feels not so keen a pang of grief as I.

From Delia's rigor all those pains arose, Ah, how have I deserv'd, inhuman maid,

Delia, who now compassionates my woes, To have my faithful service thus repaid ?

Who bids me hope ; and in that charming word Were all the marks of kindness I receiv'd, Has peace and transport to my soul restor'd. But dreams of joy, that charm'd me and deceiv'd ? “ Begin, my pipe, begin the gladsome lay; Or did you only nurse my growing love,

A kiss from Delia shall thy music pay; That with more pain I might your hatred prove?

A kiss obtain'd 'twixt struggling and consent, Sure guilty treachery no place could find

Given with forc'd anger, and disguis'd content. In such a gentle, such a generous mind :

No laureate wreaths I ask, to bind my brows, A maid, brought up the woods and wilds among

Such as the Muse on lofty bards bestows: Could ne'er have learnt the art of courts so young : Let other swains to praise or fame aspire ; No; let me rather think her anger feign'd, I from her lips my recompense require. Still let me hope my Delia may be gain'd;

“Why stays my Delia in her secret bower? 'Twas only modesty that seem'd disdain,

Light gales have chas'd the late impending shower And her heart suffer'd when she gave me pain." Th' emerging Sun more bright his beams extends; Pleas’d with this flattering thought, the love-sick Oppos’d, its beauteous arch the rainbow bends!

Glad youths and maidens turn the new-made hay: Felt the faint dawning of a doubtful joy ;

The birds renew their songs on every spray! Back to his flock more cheerful he return'd, Come forth, my love, thy shepherd's joys to crown When now the setting Sun more fiercely burn'd, All nature smiles.-Will only. Delia frown? Blue vapors rose along the mazy rills,

Hark how the bees with murmurs fill the plain And light's last blushes ting'd the distant hills. While every flower of every sweet they drain :

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