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And, mid these days of dark alarm,

Almost to hope allure.
Methinks with purpose soft ye come

To tell of brighter hours,
Of May's blue skies, abundant bloom,

Her sunny gales and showers.
Alas! for me shall May in vain

The powers of life restore;
These eyes, that weep and watch in pain,

Sball see her charms no more.
No, no; this anguish cannot last!

Beloved friends, adieu !
The bitterness of death were past,

Could I resign but you.
But oh! in every mortal pang

That rends my soul from life,
That soul which seems on you to hang

Through each convulsive strife,
E'en now, with agonizing grasp

Of terror and regret,
To all in life its love would clasp,

Clings close and closer yet.
Yet why, immortal, vital spark !

Thus mortally opprest?
Look up, my soul, through prospects dark,

And bid thy terrors rest!
Forget, forego thine earthly part,

Thy heavenly being trust!
Ah, vain attempt! my coward heart

Still shuddering clings to dust.
O ye! who soothe the pangs of death

With love's own patient care,
Still, still retain this fleeting breath,

Still pour the fervent prayer:
And ye, whose smile must greet my eye

No more, nor voice my ear,
Who breathe for me the tender sigh,

And shed the pitying tear,
Whose kindness (though far, far removed)

My grateful thoughts perceive,
Pride my life, esteem’d, beloved,

My last sad claim receive!
Oh! do not quite your friend forget,

Forget alone her faults:
And speak of her with fond regret
Who asks your lingering thoughts.

December, 1809.

RICHARD CUMBERLAND, 1732-1811.

RICHARD CUMBERLAND, a celebrated dramatic and miscellaneous writer, was born under the roof of his maternal grandfather, the celebrated Dr. Richard Bentley,' on the 19th of February, 1732. After the usual preparatory studies at Westminster School, he was admitted into Trinity College, Cambridge, where he graduated with distinguished honor in 1750. Soon after this, while pursuing his studies at the university, he received an invitation from Lord Halifax to become his private and confidential secretary. Accordingly he proceeded to London, where be published his first offering to the press—a churchyard Elegy, in imitation of Gray's. It made but little impression. “The public," he observes, “were very little interested in it, and Dodsley as little profited.” Soon after this, he published his first legitimate drama, “ The Danishment of Cicero;" but it was not adapted for the stage, and it afterward appeared as a dramatic poem.

In 1759, he married Elizabeth, the only daughter of George Ridge, Esq., of Kilminston, and, through the influence of his patron, Lord Halifax, was appointed crown-agent for Nova Scotia ; and in the next year, when that nobleman, on the accession of George III., was made lord-lieutenant of Ireland, Cumberland accompanied him as secretary. He now began to write with assiduity for the stage, and produced a variety of plays, of which the most suecessful was the comedy of “The West Indian," and thus he became known to the literary and distinguished society of the day. The character of him by Goldsmith, in luis “Retaliation," is one of the finest compliments ever paid by one author to another.2

In 1780, Cumberland was sent on a confidential mission to the courts of Madrid and Lisbon, to induce them to enter into separate treaties of peace with England. But he failed to accomplish the object of his mission, and returned in 1781, having contracted, in the public service, a debt of five thousand pounds, which Lord North’s ministry meanly and unjustly refused to pay. He was compelled, therefore, to sell all his paternal estate, and retire to private life. He fixed his residence at Tunbridge Wells, and there poured forth a variety of dramas, essays, and other works: among which were “Anecdotes of Eminent Painters in Spain;" a poem in eight books entitled “Calvary, or the Death of Christ," and another called the "Exodiad.” Iere, also, iu 1785, he first published, in two volumes, the collection of Essays known as “ The Observer," which the next year was considerably enlarged, in 1790 was published in five volumes, and in 1803 was incorLife ;" and, in 1911, his last work, entitled “Retrospection, a Poem in Familiar Verse."! He died on the 11th of May, in the same year.

porated with the British Classics

In 1806, he published "Memoirs of his own

of the personal character of Mr. Cumberland, a pretty accurate judgment may be formed from his “Memoirs,”-a very amusing book, full of interesting anecdotes of the men of his time, and giving a pretty good insight into the character of the author. His self-esteem was great and his vanity overweening, but he possessed as kind a heart as ever beat in a human breast. In society, few men appeared to more advantage in conversation, or evinced a more perfect mastery of the art of pleasing.? As a writer, he may be said to be more remarkable for the number than for the distinguished excellence of his works; but many of them, it should be remembered, were hastily produced in order to better his income. and it has been justly said, that “if he has produced much that is perishable or forgotten, he has also evolved creations which have been enregistered as among the finest efforts of genius." His “ Observer” is among the most interesting and instructive of the series called the British Classic3,3 and affords honorable evidence of the author's fertility of imagination, knowledge, humor, and varied power of composition.

THE PROGRESS OF POETRY.

The poet, therefore, whether Hebrew or Greek, was in the earliest ages a sacred character, and his talent a divine gift, a celestial inspiration : men regarded him as the ambassador of Heaven and the interpreter of its will. It is perfectly in nature, and no less agreeable to God's providence, to suppose that even in the darkest times some minds of a more enlightened sort should break forth, and be engaged in the contemplation of the universe and its author : from meditating upon the works of the Creator, the transition to the act of praise and adoration follows as it were of course.

These are operations of the mind, which naturally inspire it with a certain portion of rapture and enthusiasm, rushing upon the lips in warm and glowing language, and disdaining to be expressed in ordinary and vulgar phrase. Poetry then is the language of prayer, an audress becoming of the Deity; it may be remembered, it may be repeated in the ears of the people called together for the purposes of worship; this is a form that may be fixed upon their minds, and in this they may be taught to join.

The next step in the progress of poetry, from the praise of God, is to the praise of men: illustrious characters, heroic acts are singled

" For an extract from this poem, ree “Compendium of English Literature," p. 714.

? Dr. Johnson, in a letter to virs. Thrale, thus speaks of him: “The want of company is an in onvenience, but Mr. Cumherland is a million."

* Of this, Dr. Drake thus speaks in the fifth volume of his Essays, p. 393: "The Observer,' thuzh the sole labor of an individual, is yet rich in cariely, both of subject and inander; in this re*p*t. indeed, as well as in literary interest, and in fertility of invention, it may be ela 4l with the spectator' and Adventurer;' if inferior to the latter in grandeur of fiction, or to the fornier in delicate irony and dramatic unit of design, it is wealthier in its literary food than either, qually moral in its views. and as abundant in the creation of incident. Insider it, therefore, with the erreption of the papers just mentioned, as superior, in its powers of attraction, to every other perilical composition."

out for celebration : the inventors of useful arts, the reformers of savage countries, the benefactors of mankind are extolled in verse, they are raised to the skies : and the poet, having praised them as the first of men whilst on earth, deifies them after death, and, conscious that they merit immortality, boldly bestows it, and assigns to them a rank and office in heaven appropriate to the character they maintained in life. Hence it is that the merits of a Bacchus, a Hercules, and numbers more, are amplified by the poet, till they become the attributes of their divinity; altars are raised, and victims immolated to their worship. These are the fanciful effects of poetry in its second stage: religion overheated turns into enthusiasm; enthusiasm forces the imagination into all the visionary regions of fable, and idolatry takes possession of the whole Gentile world. The Egyptians, a mysterious, dogmatizing race, begin the work with symbol and hieroglyphic; the Greeks, a vain ingenious people, invent a set of tales and fables for what they do not understand, em

bellish them with all the glittering ornaments of poetry, and spread • the captivating delusion over all the world.

In the succeeding period we review the poet in full possession of this brilliant machinery, and with all Olympus at his command: surrounded by Apollo and the Muses, he commences every poem with an address to them for protection; he has a deity at his call for every operation of nature : if he would roll the thunder, Jupiter shakes Mount Ida to dignify his description; Neptune attends him in his car, if he would allay the ocean; if he would let loose the winds to raise it, Æolus unbars his cave; the spear of Mars and the ægis of Minerva arm him for the battle; the arrows of Apollo scatter pestilence through the air! Mercury flies lipon

the messages of Jupiter; Juno raves with jealousy, and Venus leads the Loves and Graces in her train. In this class, we contemplate Homer and his inferior brethren of the epic order; it is their province to form the warrior, instruct the politician, animate the patriot; they delineate the characters and manners; they charm us with their descriptions, surprise us with their incidents, interest us with their dialogue; they engage every passion in its turn, melt us to pity, rouse us to glory, strike us with terror, fire us with indignation ; in a word, they prepare us for the drama, and the drama for us.

A new poet now comes upon the stage; he stands in person before us : he no longer appears as a blind and wandering bard, chanting his rhapsodies to a throng of villagers collected in a group about him, but erects a splendid theatre, gathers together a whole city as his audience, prepares a striking spectacle, provides a chorus of actors, brings music, dance, and dress to his aid, realizes the thunder, bursts open the tombs of the dead, calls forth their apparitions, descends to the very regions of the damned, and drags the Furies from their fames to present themselves personally to the terrified spectators. Such are the powers of the drama; here the poet reigns and triumphs in his highest glory.

The fifth denomination gives us the lyric poet chanting his ode at the public games and festivals, crowned with olive and encompassed by all the wits and nobles of his age and country: here we contemplate Stersichorus, Alcæus, Pindar, Callistratus : sublime, abrupt, impetuous, they strike us with the shock of their electric genius; they dart from earth to heaven: there is no following them in their flights; we stand gazing with surprise; their boldness awes us, their brevity confounds us: their sudden transitions and ellipses escape our apprehension ; we are charmed we know not why, we are pleased with being puzzled, and applaud although we cannot comprehend. In the lighter lyric we meet Anacreon, Sappho, and the votaries of Bacchus and Venus; in the grave, didactic, solemn class we have the venerable names of a Solon, a Tyrtæus, and those who may be styled the demagogues in poetry: Is liberty to be asserted, licentiousness to be repressed ? Is the spirit of a nation to be roused? It is the poet, not the orator, must give the soul its energy and spring. Is Salamis to be recovered ? It is the elegy of Solon must sound the march to its attack. Are the Lacedemonians to be awakened from their lethargy? It is Tyrtæus who must sing the war-song, and revive their languid courage.

Poetry next appears in its pastoral character : it affects the garb of shepherds and the language of the rustic; it represents to our view the rural landscape and the peaceful cottage. It records the labors, the amusements, the loves of the village nymphs and swains, and exhibits nature in its simplest state : it is no longer the harp or the lyre, but the pipe of the poet, which now invites our attention.

Observer, No. 67. ÆSCHYLUS AND SHAKSPEARE COMPARED. When I see the names of these two great luminaries of the dramatic sphere, so distant in time but so nearly allied in genius, casually brought in contact by the nature of my subject, I cannot help pausing for a while in this place to indulge so interesting a contemplation, in which I find my mind balanced between two objects that seem to have equal claims upon me for my admiration. Eschylus is justly styled the father of tragedy, but this is not to be interpreted as if he was the inventor of it: Shakspeare with equal justice claims the same title, and his originality is qualified with the same exception. The Greek tragedy was not more rude and undigested when Æschylus brought it into shape, than the English tragedy was when Shakspeare began to write. If, therefore, it be granted that he had no aids from the Greek theatre, (and I think this is not likely to be disputed,) so far these great masters are upon equal ground. Æschylus was a warrior of high repute,

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