It was approved by the critics as much as read and applauded, and thus seemed to combine the applause of contemporaries with the suffrages of the representatives of posterity." In 1798, Rogers published his "Epistle to a Friend, with other Poems," but did not come forward again as a poet till 1812, when he added to a collected edition of his works his somewhat irregular poem of "The Vision of Columbus." Two years after, in company with Lord Byron's "Lara," appeared his tale of "Jacqueline," which, though well received, contributed but little to his reputation; and, in 1819, he published his "Human Life," which, next to his "Pleasures of Memory," is our author's most finished production.' The subject was a good one, for it was drawn from universal nature, and connected with all those rich associations which increase in attraction as we journey onward in the path of life. It is an epitome of man from the cradle to the grave, and is executed throughout with the poet's wonted care. In 1822 was published his first part of " Italy," which was soon after completed, and has since been published in the most splendid style, illustrated by numerous engravings. This is his last and longest, but not his best performance, though there are certainly many beautifully descriptive passages in it delightful glimpses of Italian life and scenery, and old traditions; for the poet was an accomplished traveller, a lover of the fair and good, and a worshipper of the classic glories of the past. But it is chiefly as the author of the "Pleasures of Memory" that he will be known to posterity, though, at the same time, some of his minor poems are among the most pure and exquisite fragments of verse which the poets of this age have produced. In all his works, however, there is everywhere seen a classic and graceful beauty; no slovenly or obscure lines; fine cabinet pictures of soft and mellow lustre; and occasional trains of thought and association that awaken or recall tender and heroic feelings. His diction is clear and polished— finished with great care and scrupulous nicety; but it must be admitted that he has no forcible or original invention, no deep pathos that thrills the soul, and no kindling energy that fires the imagination.2 In society, few men are said to be more agreeable in manners and conversation than the venerable subject of this memoir. "He has been enabled to cultivate his favorite tastes, to enrich his house in St. James's Park with some of the finest and rarest pictures, busts, books, and gems, and to entertain his friends with a generous and unostentatious hospitality. His conversation is rich and various, "The poet looks on man, and teaches us to look on him not merely with love, but with reverence; and, mingling a sort of considerate pity for the shortness of his busy, little carcer, and for the disappointments and weaknesses with which it is beset, with a genuine admiration of the great capacities he unfolds, and the high destiny to which he seems to be reserved, works out a very beautiful and engaging picture, both of the affections by which life is endeared, the trials to which it is exposed, and the pure and peaceful enjoyments with which it may often be filled."-Elinburgh Review, xxxi. 325. 2 In a review of Rogers's Poems, in the "Edinburgh," October, 1813, the writer (who is no less than Sir James Mackintosh) thus remarks:-"Perhaps there is no volume in our language of which it can be so truly said, as of the present, that it is equally exempt from the frailties of negligence and the vices of affectation. The exquisite polish of style is indeed more admired by the artist than by the people. The gentle and elegant pleasure which it imparts can only be felt by a calm reason, an exercised taste, and a mind free from turbulent passions. But these beauties of execution can exist only in combination with much of the primary beauties of thought and feeling. These are permanent beauties. In poetry, though not in eloquence, it is less to rouse the passions of a moment than to satisfy the taste of all ages; and Rogers has most certainly taken his place among the classical poets of his country." abounding in wit, eloquence, shrewd observation, and interesting personal anecdote. He has been familiar with almost every distinguished author, orator, and artist for the last fifty years. His benevolence is equal to his taste; his bounty soothed and relieved the death-bed of Sheridan, and is now exerted to a large extent, annually, in behalf of suffering or unfriended talent."1 EARLY RECOLLECTIONS. Twilight's soft dews steal o'er the village green, Mark yon old mansion, frowning through the trees, Childhood's loved group revisits every scene, The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses gray, "Chambers' Cyclopædia." Up springs, at every step, to claim a tear, Pleasures of Memory. HISTORIC ASSOCIATIONS. Thus kindred objects kindred thoughts inspire, When reason, justice vainly urged his cause, Glad to return, though hope could grant no more, And hence the charms historic scenes impart;" Glance through the gloom and whisper in the gale; In Rome's great forum, who but hears him roll He was suspected of murder, and, at Venice, suspicion is good evidence. Neither the interest of the Doge, his father, nor the intrepidity of conscious innocence, which he exhibited in the dungeon and on the rack, could procure his acquittal. He was banished to the island of Candia for life. But here his resolution failed him. At such a distance from home he could not live; and, as it was a criminal offence to solicit the intercession of a foreign prince, in a fit of despair he addressed a letter to the Duke of Milan, and intrusted it to a wretch whose perfidy, he knew, would occasion his being remanded a prisoner to Venice. "Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses; whatever makes the past, the distant, or the future predominate over the present. advances us in the dignity of thinking beings. Far from me and far from my friends be such frigid philosophy as may conduct us, indifferent and unmoved, over any ground which has been dignified by wisdom, bravery, or virtue. That man is little to be envied whose patriotism would not gain force upon the plains of Marathon, or whose piety would not grow warmer among the ruins of Iona." JOHNSON, Prime of Archimedes by its mathe And hence that calm delight the portrait gives: Still the fond lover sees the absent maid; What though the iron school of War erase The intrepid Swiss, who guards a foreign shore, Ask not if courts or camps dissolve the charm: Why great Navarre,2 when France and Freedom bled, When Diocletian's self-corrected mind' Say why we trace the labors of his spade, In calm Salona's philosophic shade? Say, when contentious Charles renounced a throne,4 The same. 1 Vespasian, according to Suetonius, constantly passed his summers in a small villa near Reate, where he was born, and to which he would never add any embellishment. "That amiable and accomplished monarch, Henry the Fourth of France, made an excursion from his camp, during the long siege of Laon, to dine at a house in the forest of Folambray, where he had often been regaled, when a boy, with fruit, milk, and new cheese, and in revisiting which he promised himself great pleasure."-MEM. DE SULLY. Diocletian retired into his native province, and there amused himself with building, planting, and gardening. His answer to Maximian is deservedly celebrated. He was solicited by that restless old man to reassume the reins of government and the imperial purple. He rejected the temptation with a smile of pity, calmly observing, That if he could show Maximian the cabbages which he had planted with his own hands at Salona, he should no longer be urged to relinquish the enjoyment of happiness for the pursuit of power.' "—GIBBON. "When the Emperor Charles V. had executed his memorable resolution, and had set out for the monastery of St. Justus, he stopped a few days at Ghent," says his historian, “to indulge that tender and pleasant melancholy which arises in the mind of every man, in the decline of life, on visiting the place of his nativity, and viewing the scenes and objects familiar to him in his early youth."-ROBERTSON. THE POWER OF MEMORY. Sweet Memory, wafted by thy gentle gale, Ages and climes remote to thee impart The friends of Reason and the guides of Youth, From thee, sweet Hope, her airy coloring draws; When Joy's bright sun has shed his evening ray, The beauteous maid who bids the world adieu, The whisper'd vow, the chaste caress prolong, And bless the youth that bids her slumbers fly. 1 There is a future existence even in this world, an existence in the hearts and minds of those who shall live after us. It is in reserve for every man, however obscure; and his por tion, if he be diligent, must be equal to his desires. For in whose remembrance can we wish to hold a place but such as know and are known by us? These are within the sphere of our influence, and among these and their descendants we may live evermore. It is a state of rewards and punishments: and, like that revealed to us in the gospel, has the happiest influence on our lives. The latter excites us to gain the favor of God, the former to gain the love and esteem of wise and good men, and both lead to the same end; for, in framing our conceptions of the Deity, we only ascribe to Ilim exalted degrees of wisdom and goodness. |