philosophy (London 1728, 8) vorgesetzt ist. Er widmete sich den Handelsgeschäften, und erwarb sich die dazu erfor derlichen Kenntnisse in ihrem ganzen Umfange. Dessen ungeachtet verliefs ihn seine Neigung zu den schönen Wissenschaften nicht, und er gehört zu den wenigen von den Musen begünstigten Kaufleuten. 1737 gab er seinen Leonidas heraus (London 8.), dem, Range nach das zweite Heldengedicht der Engländer, und um so merkwürdiger und schätzbarer, da es ohne Brihülfe des Wunderbaren Interesse erregt. Eine Zergliederung der mannigfaltigen Schönheiten desselben suche man in Dr. Pemberton's observations on, poetry, especially epic; occasioned by the late poem upon Leonidas, London 1738, 8, und in dem Vorbericht zu des Herrn Hofraths Ebert meisterhafter Übersetzung, Hamburg 1778 8. 1733 gab Glover ein Gedicht: London, or the progress of commerce, heraus, das nebst seiner Ballade, Admiral Hosier's ghost, einen nicht unbetrücktlichen Einfluss auf die Handelsbegebenheiten dieses Jahrs hatte, indem er darin der Nation das Unrecht fühlbar zu machen suchte, welches Spanien dem Englischen Kommerz zufügte. 1753 erschien sein Trauerspiel Boadicea, welches einigemal mit Beifall aufgeführt worden ist. 1761 gab er seine Medea heraus, ein nach Art der griechischen Dramen mit Chören versehenes Trauerspiel. Nach dem Regierungsantritt des jetztigen Königs wurde er zum Parliamentsgliede für die Stadt Weymonth gewählt, und zeichnete sich in dieser Qualität bei mehr als einer Gelegenheit durch seine kraftvolle und überzeugende Beredsamkeit aus. 1770 vollendete er seine Umarbeitung des Leonidas (London, 2 Vol. 12). Er wurde itzt häufig in Geschäften der Londoner Kaufmannschaft gebraucht, die ein unbedingtes Zutrauen zu seiner Redlichkeit hegte. In den letztern Jahren seines Lebens arbeitete er an einem neuen epischen Gedicht, Atheniad, das gewissermafsen als Fortsetzung des Leonidas angesehen werden kann, und 1788 von seiner Tochter Mrs. Halsat in 3 Vol. 12. herausgegeben worden ist. Er starb den 25sten November 1785. Lebensnachrichten von ihm findet man im Januarstück des European Magazine für 1786, und im roten Bande der Andersonschen Dichtersammlung. Hier findet man auch einige seiner Werke, als die 12 Gesänge des Leonidas, die Gedichte on Sir Isaac Newton, London und die Ballade Admiral Hosier's Ghost.

INTERVIEW OF LEONIDAS WITH

But to his home Leonidas retir'd.

HIS. QUEEN

There, calm in secret thought he thus explor'd
His mighty soul, while nature in his breast

What sudden grief,

my

head,

What cold reluctance now unmans my heart,
And whispers that I fear? Can death dismay
Leonidas? Death, often seen and scorn'd,
When clad most dreadful in the battle's front?
Or to relinquish life in all its pride,
With all my honours blooming round
Repines my soul, or rather to forsake,
Eternally forsake my weeping wife,
My infant offspring, and my faithful friends?
Leonidas awake! Shall these withstand
The public safety? Hark, thy country calls.
O sacred voice, I hear thee! At the sound,
Reviving virtue brightens in my heart;
Fear vanishes before her. Death, receive
My unreluctant hand. Immortal fame,
Thou too, attendant on my righteous fall,
With wings unweary'd wilt protect my tomb.

His virtuous soul the hero had, confirm'd,
When Agis enter'd. If my tardy lips
(He thus began) have hitherto forborne
To bring their grateful tribute of applause,
Which, as a Spartan, to thy worth Iowe,
Forgive the brother of thy queen. Her grief
Detain'd me from thee. O unequall'd man,
Though Lacedæmon call thy prime regard,
Forget not her, sole victim of distress,
Amid the gen'ral safety! To assuage
Such pain, fraternal tenderness is weak.

The king embrac'd him, and reply'd: O best,

O dearest man, conceive not, but my soul.
To her is fondly bound, from whom my days
Their largest share of happiness deriv'd!

Can 1, who yield my breath, lest others mourn,

す

Lest thousands should be wretched when she pines,
" More lov'd than any, though less dear than all,
Can I neglect her griefs? In future days,
If thou with grateful memory record

My name and fate, o Sparta, pass not this
Unheeded by. The life, for thee resign'd,
Knew not a painful hour to tire my soul,
Nor were they common joys I left behind.

So spake the patriot, and his heart o'erflow'd
In tend'rest passion. Then in eager haste
The faithful partner of his bed be sought.
Amid her weeping children sat the queen,
Immoveable and mute. Her swimming eyes
Bent on the earth. Her arms were folded o'er
Her lab'ring bosom, blotted with her tears.
As when a dusky mist involves the sky,

The moon through all the dreary vapours spreads
The radiant vesture of her silver light
O'er the dull face of nature; so the queen
Divinely graceful shining through her grief,
Brighten'd the cloud of woe. Her lord approach'd. -
Soon, as in gentlest phrase his well-known voice
Awak'd her drooping spirit, for a time

Care was appeas'd. She lifts her languid head,
She gives this utt'rance to her tender thoughts:
O thou, whose presence is my sole delight;
If thus, Leonidas, thy looks and words
Can check the rapid current of distress,
How am I mark'd for misery! How long!
When of life's journey less than half is pass'd,
And I must hear those calming sounds no more,
Nor see that face, which makes affliction smile!

This said, returning grief o'erwhelms her breast.
Her orphan children, her devoted lord,
Pale, bleeding, breathless on the field of death,
Her ever-during solitude of woe,

All rise in mingled horror to her sight,
When thus in bitt'rest agony she spake:

O whither art thou going from my arms?
Shall I no more behold thee! Oh! no more
In conquest clad, o'erspread with glorious dust,
Wilt thou return to greet thy native soil,

And find thy dwelling joyful! Ah! too brave,
Why wouldst thou hurry to the dreary gates
Of death, uncall'd Another might have bled,
Like thee a victim of Alcides' race,

Less dear to all, and Sparta been secure,

Now ev'ry eye with mine is drown'd in tears;

All with these babes lament a father lost.
Alas, how heavy is our lot of pain!

Our sighs must last, when ev'ry other breast

Exults in safety, purchas'd by our loss.

Thou didst not heed our anguish didst not seek

One pause, for my instruction how to bear
Thy endless absence, or like thee to die.
Unutterable sorrow here confin'd

Her voice. These words Leonidas return'd:
I see, I share thy agony. My soul
Ne'er knew how warm the prevalence of love,
How strong a parent's feelings, till this hour;
Nor was she once insensible to thee

In all her fervour to assert my fame.

How had the honours of my name been stain'd
By hesitation? Shameful life preferr'd
By an inglorious colleague would have left
No choice, but what were infamy to shun,
Not virtue to accept? Then deem no more,
That of thy love regardless, or thy tears,
I rush, uncall'd to death. The voice of fate,
The

he gods, my fame, my country press my doom. Oh! thou dear mourner! wherefore swells afresh That tide of woe? Leonidas must fall.

Alas! far heavier misery impends

O'er thee and these, if, soften'd by thy tears,
I shamefully refuse to yield that breath,
Which justice, glory, liberty, and heav'n
Claim for my country, for my sons, and thee.
Think on my long unalter'd love. Reflect
On my paternal fondness. Hath my heart
F'er known a pause in love, or pious care?
Now shall that care, that tenderness be shown
Most warm, most faithful. When thy husband dies

For Lacedæmon's safety, thou wilt share,

Thou and thy children the diffusive good.

494

I am selected by th' immortal gods

To save a people. Should timid heart

my

That sacred charge abandon, I should plunge
Thee too in shame, in sorrow. Thou wouldst mourn
With Lacedæmon; wouldst with her sustain
Thy painful portion of oppression's weight.
Behold thy sons now worthy of their name,
Their Spartan birth. Their growing bloom would pine
Depress'd, dishonour'd, and their youthful hearts
Beat at the sound of liberty no more.

On their own merit, and their father's fame,
When he the Spartan freedom hath confirm'd,
Lefore the world illustrious will they rise,
Their country's bulwark, and their mother's joy.
Here paus'd the patriot. In religious awe
No complaint

Grief heard the voice of virtue.

The solemn silence broke. Tears ceas'd to flow:
Ceas'd for a moment soon again to stream.
Behold, in arins before the palace drawn',
His brave companions of the war demand
Their leader's presence. Then her griefs renew'd,
Surpassing utt'rance, intercept her sighs.
Each accent freezes on her falt'ring tongue.

In speechless anguish on the hero's breast,
She sinks. On ev'ry side his children press,

Hang on his knees, and kiss his honour'd hand.

His soul no longer struggles to confine

Her agitation. Down the hero's cheek,
Down lows the manly sorrow. Great in woe
Amid his children, who enclose him round,
He stands indulging tenderness and love
In graceful tears, when thus with lifted eyes
Address'd to heav'n: Thou ever-living pow'r,
Look down propitious, sire of gods and men;
O to this faithful woman, whose desert

May claim thy favour, grant the hours of peace!
And thou, my bright forefather, seed of Jove,
O Hercules, neglect not these thy race!
But since that spirit, I from thee derive,
Transports me from them to resistless fate,
Be thou their guardian! Teach them like thyself