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1767) the Concubine, a poem, in the manner of Spenser, to which, when it was printed, ten years after, having in the meantime passed through several editions, he gave the title of Syr Martyn.

Early in life, his zeal for religion had shown itself in some remarks on an impious book termed the History of the Man after God's own Heart; and, in 1767, the same feelings induced him to publish A Vindication of the Divinity of Jesus Christ, in a Letter to Dr. Harwood; and, in the year following, Voltaire in the Shades, or Dialogues on the Deistical Controversy.

He was now willing to try his fortune with a tragedy, and sent his Siege of Marseilles to Garrick, who observed to him, that though abounding in beautiful passages, it was deficient in dramatic art, and advised him to model it anew; in which task, having been assisted by the author of Douglas, and having submitted the rifacciamento of his play to the two Wartons, by whom he was much regarded, he promised himself better success; but had the mortification to meet with a second rebuff. An appeal from the manager to the public was his unquestioned privilege; but, not contented with seeking redress by these means, he threatened Garrick with a new Dunciad. The rejection which his drama afterwards underwent at each of the playhouses, from the respective managers, Harris and Sheridan, perhaps taught him at last to suspect his own judgment.

In 1772, being employed to edit Pearch's Collection of Poems, he inserted amongst them his Hengist and Mey, and the Elegy on Mary. About the same time, he wrote for the Whitehall Evening Post. But his mind was now attracted to a more splendid project. This was a translation of the great Epic Poem of Portugal, the Lusiad of Camoens, which had as yet been represented to the English reader only through the inadequate version of Fanshaw. That nothing might hinder his prosecution of this labour, he resigned his employment at Oxford, and retired to a farm-house at Forrest-hill, about five miles from that city, the village in which Milton found his first wife,

and where Mickle afterwards found his in the daughter of his landlord. By the end of 1775, his translation was completed and published at Oxford, with a numerous list of subscribers. Experience had not yet taught him wariness in his ap proaches to a patron. At the suggestion of his relative, Commodore Johnstone, in an unlucky moment he inscribed his book to the Duke of Buccleugh. This nobleman had declared his acceptance of the dedication in a manner so gracious, that Mickle was once more decoyed with the hope of having found a powerful protector. After an inter val of some months, he learnt that his incense had not been permitted to enter the nostrils of the new idol, and that his offering lay, where he left it, without the slightest notice. For this disappointment he might have considered it to be some compensation that his work had procured him the kindness of those who were more able to estimate it. Mr. Crowe assisted him in compiling the notes; Lowth offered to ordain him, with the promise of making some provision for him in the church; and one, whose huma nity and candour are among the chief ornaments of the bench on which Lowth then sate, Doctor Bathurst, soothed him by those benevolent offices which he delights to extend to the neglected and the oppressed. Nor were the public insensible to the value of his translation. A second edition was called for in 1778; and his gains amounted on the whole to near a thousand pounds, a larger sum than was likely to fall to the share of an author, who so little understood the art of making his way in the world. It was not, however, considerable enough to last long a gainst the calls made on it for the payment of old debts, and for the support of his sisters; and he was devising further means of supplying his necessities by a subscription for his poems, when Commodore Johnstone (in 1779) being appointed to head a squadron of ships, nominated him his secretary, on board the Romney. Mickle had hitherto struggled through a life of anxiety and indigence; but a gleam of prosperity came over the few years that re mained. A good share of prize

money fell to his lot; and the squadron having been fortunately ordered to Lisbon, he was there received with so much distinction, that it would seem as if the Portuguese had been willing to make some amends for their neglect of Camoens, by the deference which they showed his translator. Prince John, the uncle to the Queen, was ready on the Quay to welcome him at landing; and during a residence of more than six months he was gratified by the attentions of the principal men of the country. At the first institution of the Royal Academy at Lisbon, he was enrolled one of the Members. Here he composed Almada Hill, an epistle from Lisbon, which was published in the next year; and designing to write a History of Portugal, he brought together some materials for that purpose. When he had returned to England, he was so much enriched by his agency for the disposal of the prizes which had been made during the cruize, and by his own portion of the prize-money, that he was enabled to discharge honourably the claims which his creditors still had on him, and to settle himself with a prospect of independence and ease. He accordingly married Mary, the daughter of Mr. Robert Tomkins, of Forrest-hill, and took a house at Wheatley, a little village about five miles from Oxford. Some interruption to his tranquillity occurred from the failure of a banker, with whom his agency had connected him, and from a chancery suit, in which he too hastily engaged to secure a part of his wife's fortune. He then resumed his intention of publishing his poems by subscription, and continued still to exercise his pen. His remaining productions were a tract, entitled The Prophecy of Queen Emma, an ancient Ballad, &c., with Hints towards a Vindication of the Authenticity of the Poems of Ossian and Rowley (in 1782), and some essays, called Fragments of Leo, and some reviews of books, both which he contributed to the European Magazine. He died after a short illness, on the 25th of October, 1788, at Forrest-hill, while on a visit at the house of his father-in-law; and was buried at that place. He left one son, who was an extra-clerk in the

India House, in 1806, when the Life of Mickle was written by the Rev. John Sim, a friend, on whom he enjoined that task, and who, I doubt not, has performed it with fidelity.

Mickle was a man of strong natural powers which he had not always properly under controul. When he is satisfied to describe with little apparent effort what he has himself felt or conceived, as in his ballads and songs, he is at times eminently happy. He has generally erred on the side of the too much rather than of the too little. His defect is not so much want of genius as of taste. His thoughts were forcible and vivid ; but the words in which he clothed them, are sometimes ill-chosen, and sometimes awkwardly disposed. He degenerates occasionally into mere turgidness and verbosity, as in the following lines:

Oh, partner of my infant grief and joys!

Big with the scenes now past my heart

o'erflows,

Bids each endearment fair as once to rise, And dwells luxurious on her melting

woes.

When his stanza forced him to lop off this vain superfluity of words, that the sense might be brought within a narrower compass, he succeeded better. Who would suppose, that these verses could have proceeded from the same man that had written the well-known song, beginning "And are ye sure the news is true," from which there is not a word that can be taken without injury, and which seems so well to answer the description of a simple and popular song in Shakspeare?

It is old and plain : The songsters, and the knitters in the sun, And the free maids that weave their threads

with bone,

Do use to chaunt it. It is silly sooth,
Like the old age.
And dallies with the innocence of love,

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Syr Martyn is the longest of his poems. He could not have chosen a subject in itself much less capable of embellishment. But whatever the pomp of machinery or profuseness of description could contribute to its decoration has not been spared. After an elaborate invocation of the powers that preside over the stream of Mulla, a "reverend wizard" is conjured up

in the eye of the poet; and the wizard in his turn conjures up scene after scene, in which appear the hopeful young knight, Syr Martyn, "possest of goodly Baronie," the dairy-maid, Kathrin, by whose wiles he is inveigled into an illicit amour, the good aunt, who soon dies of chagrin at this unworthy attachment, the young brood who are the offspring of the ill-sorted match, his brother, an openhearted sailor, who is hindered by the artifices of Kathrin from gaining access to the house, and, lastly, the "fair nymph Dissipation," with whom Syr Martyn seeks refuge from his unpleasant recollections, and who conspires with "the lazy fiend, SelfImposition," to conduct him to the dreary cave of Discontent," where the poet leaves him, and "the reverend wizard" (for aught we hear to the contrary) in his company. Mean and familiar incidents and characters do not sort well with allegory, which requires beings that are themselves somewhat removed from the common sphere of human nature to meet and join it a little beyond the limits of this world. Yet in this tale, incongruous and disjointed as the dream of a sick man, velut ægri somnia, he has interspersed some lines, and even whole stanzas, to which the poet or the painter may turn again and again with delight, though the common reader will scarce find them sufficient to redeem the want of interest that pervades the whole.

His Elegy on Mary, Queen of Scots, is also a vision, but it is better managed, at once mournful and sweet. He has thrown a pall of gorgeous embroidery over the bloody hearse of Mary.

Wolfwold and Ella, of which the story was suggested by a picture of Mortimer's, is itself a picture, in which the fine colouring and spirited attitudes reconcile us to its horrors.

His Tragedy is a tissue of love and intrigue, with sudden starts of passion, and unprepared and improbable turns of resolution and temper. Towards the conclusion, one of the female characters puts an end to herself, for little apparent reason, except that it is the fifth act, and some blood must therefore be shed; Garrick's refusal, in all likelihood, spared him the worse mortification of seeing it rejected on the stage. Yet there is

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wak'd, and but his marble bust was here.

Almada Hill has some just sentiments, and some pleasing imagery; but both are involved in the mazes of an unskilful or ambitious phraseology, from which it is a work of trouble to extricate them. It was about this time, that the laboured style in poetry had reached its height. Not" to loiter into prose," of which Lyttleton bade him beware, was the grand aim; and in their eagerness to leave prose as far behind them as possible, the poets were in danger of outstrip ping the understanding and feelings of their readers. It was this want of ease and perspicuity in his longer pieces, which prevented Mickle from being as much a favourite with the public, as many who were far his inferiors in the other qualities of a poet. When a writer is obscure, only because his reasoning is too abstruse, his fancy too lively, or his allusions too learned for the vulgar, it is more just that we should complain of ourselves for not being able to rise to his level, than of him for not descending to our's. But let the difficulty arise from mere imperfections of language, and the consciousness of having solved an involuntary enigma is scarcely sufficient to reward our pains.

The translation of the Lusiad is that by which he is best known. In this, as in his original poems, the expression is sometimes very faulty; but he is never flat or insipid. In the numbers, there is much sweetness and freedom; and though they have somewhat of the masculine melody, the кrúños äρoŋy, of Dryden, yet they have something also that is peculiarly his own. He has in a few instances enriched the language of poetry by combinations unborrowed from any of his predecessors. It is doubtful whether as much can be said for Pope's translation of Homer. Almost all who have written much

in the couplet measure, since Waller clipped it into uniformity, have been at times reduced to the necessity of eking out their lines in some way or other so as to make the sense reach its prescribed bound. Most have done it by means of epithets, which were always found to be " friends in need." Mickle either breaks the lines with a freedom and spirit which were then unusual, or repeats something of what has gone before, a contrivance that ought to be employed sparingly, and chiefly when it is desirable to produce the effect of sweetness.

The preference which he sometimes claims in the notes for his au

thor, above the other epic poets of ancient and modern times, is less likely to conciliate the good opinion than to excite the disgust of his readers. There is no artifice that a translator can resort to with less chance of success, than this blowing of the showman's trumpet as he goes on exhibiting the wonders of his original. There are some puerile hyperboles, for which I know not whether he or Camoens is responsible; such

as

The mountain echoes catch the big swoln sighs.

The yellow sands with tears are silver'd o'er.

Johnson told him that he had once intended to translate the Lusiad. The version would have had fewer

faults, but it may be questioned whether the general result would have been as much animation and harmony as have been produced by Mickle.

In addition to the poems, which were confessedly his, there are no less than seventeen in Mr. Evans's

collection of Ballads, of which a writer in the Quarterly Review * some years ago expressed his suspicion that they were from the pen of Mickle. It has been found on enquiry, that the suggestion of this judicious critic is fully confirmed. One notice from its having formed the of these has lately been brought into groundwork of one of those deservedly popular stories, which have lately come to us from the north of the Tweed. It is to be wished that Mickle's right in all of them were formally recognised, and that they should be no longer withheld from their place amongst his other poetical writings, to which they would form

so valuable an accession.

SKETCH OF THE LIFE OF PATRICK HENRY,
THE ORATOR OF VIRGINIA.

(Continued from our last.)

THE speech, an extract from which we gave in our last, may be said to have decided the character of the contest, and given it a definitively warlike complexion. Negociation was henceforward at an end; and, according to the proposition of Henry, Virginia presented an armed population. Soon after the adjournment of the House of Burgesses in which this resolution was adopted, an incident occurred which placed him in a new point of view before the country, and proved his ability to

become a practical patriot. In pursuance of a plan to denude the Americans as much as possible of all military stores, in case of actual hostilities, a body of men landed at Williamsburgh, the capital_of Virginia, and, as it was said, under the orders of Lord Dunmore, carried away twenty barrels of gunpowder from the magazine. was considered as a public insult; and, at a meeting convened at Newcastle, for the purpose of consulting on it, Henry so inflamed the people

This

For May 1810, No. VI. The titles of the Ballads are Bishop Thurston, and the King of Scots, Battle of Caton Moor, Murder of Prince Arthur, Prince Edward, and Adam Gordon, Cumner Hall, Arabella Stuart, Anna Bullen, The Lady and the Palmer, The Fair Maniac, The Bridal Bed, The Lordling Peasant, The Red Cross Knight, The Wandering Maid, The Triumph of Death, Julia, The Fruits of Jea lousy, and The Death of Allen.

that he found himself at the head of five thousand armed men, determined either upon restoration or reprisal. His determination was formed in a moment:-he marched at once upon Williamsburgh, the seat of government, collecting at every stage fresh forces, and followed by the benedictions of those who were unable to accompany him. The consequence was, that he was soon arrested in his progress, by the submission of the Governor to all his demands, and a receipt from the Receiver General for the full amount of the gunpowder carried away. Thus, having given the first impulse to the revolution in Virginia, he was also the first who headed, in that state, a military operation. This success subsequently raised him to a command in the revolutionary army, in which, however, he does not appear to have distinguished himself. But that he sustained his character, may be collected from the fact, that the army, over which he was placed, went into mourning on his resignation, which was the consequence of disgust at some disrespect which he thought was shown him. The state of Virginia also elected him three times its governor, and would have done so the fourth time, but that he positively refused the re-appointment, as inconsistent with the provisions of the constitution. Thus may he be said to have entitled himself to at least a share in the beautiful eulogium passed upon Washington by one of our sweetest poets:

How shall we rank thee upon glory's page!
Thou more than soldier! and just less
than sage!

All that thou art reflects less fame on thee,
Far less, than all thou hast forborne to be.

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tions of the earth." The time was not come, however, for the retirement of a patriot. This was the very moment, perhaps, in which his services were more than ever requisite. Peace had indeed arrived, but its blessings were to be rendered permanent-a code of laws was to. be framed the wounds of war were to be healed-the resources of the nation were to be developed, and America had still to show, that she could not only ruin but regeneratethat if she overthrew the altar which slavery had raised for the immolation of her people, it was only to erect a genuine temple to Liberty in its place. In this great work the Virginian senator was active and conspicuous. If we have beheld him hitherto fired and animated by the enthusiasm of freedom, lighting his country on her path to glory, and foregoing all personal considerations in that sacred cause-we may view him now on a far different theatre, but not to less advantage. The moment the victory was achieved, his animosities seemed to have ceasedhe was the first to hold out the hand of peace and reconciliation to the enemy he had overcome, and, towering high above antipathy and revenge, to soften the inflictions he had not the opportunity of averting. In proof of this, we present with pleasure to the English reader the speech which he made on advocating the return of the British refugees. It combines the spirit of the Christian with the sagacity of the statesman, and in point of eloquence, is of the very highest order. It has never been published in England, that we are aware of, so that we hope to be the first to naturalize in this country an oration which does equal honour to the head and heart of its author. The measure was most obnoxious-a British refugee was a term almost of horror, and Henry drew down upon himself denunciations both "loud and deep" by his proposition in their favour, Among others, Judge Tyler, the Speaker of the Assembly, most vehemently opposed him, and in a committee of the house, demanded "how he, above all other men, could think of inviting into his family an enemy from whose insults and injuries he had suffered so severely." The fol2 T

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