Till tir'd by faction's persecuting host, II. To the Right Honourable the Lady Viscountess Limerick, upon her leaving England in the year 1745. An Ode. Sent after her into Ireland. By Mr. Wright, the Astronomer. I. A general good was ne'er confin'd To time, or place, by heaven design'd To bless the human race: The sun thus rolling round the year, Exemplify the case. II. No season fix'd was ever found, III. Thus you, who write, and talk with ease; Possess'd of ev'ry power to please, With science at command; Forsake your friends, and native home, And, destin'd far from us to roam, IV. The sun so sinks below the west, When mortals have retired to rest, And leaves the welkin pale; Whilst fainting clouds his absence mourn, Despairing of his wish'd return, And conscious shades prevail. V. So you, compell'd by partial fate, Which all your wishes crown, VI. But expectation's yet alive, And chearful hopes shall long survive, That we may meet again; Where future joys may still be our's, "III. Hymn by Dr. Hawksworth. "Attune the song to mournful strains, Of wrongs and woes the song complains, An orphan's voice essays to swell The notes, that tears by turns repel. Left on the world's bleak waste forlorn, Alone, amidst surrounding strife, But who is he who deigns to claim He smiling bends from Mercy's throne, They to the poor his gifts dispense, "IV. The Arcadia of Poussin. "See how the skilful hand of fam'd Poussin A while it pleases,—but the painter knew, Here, (early fall'n to earth,) youth, beauty lye. Happy I liv'd and all life's sweets enjoy'd, I in Arcadia liv'd, and yet I dy'd!' ` Near, see two blooming nymphs and two young swains, Who seem as if (while roving o'er the plains In search of pleasure, innocent delight) Chance had just struck them with the mournful sight: See one the pointing finger wond'ring raise To fix the rest, in more attentive gaze. On each chang'd face you hardly can descry The parting farewell of expiring joy. While you regard, the sight deceives the ear, "Tis thus imagination makes them say, All must th' inexorable law obey; Death spares not sex, nor youth, nor beauty's bloom, ART. DCCLII. N°. LIII. Few Books animated by Genius: the great delight afforded by such as possess it. "Emptis quod libris tibi bibliotheca referta est, Doctum et grammaticum te, Philomuse, putas ?" MART. AMONG the innumerable volumes, with which the shelves of libraries groan, how few are animated with any striking portion of that living spirit, which is infused by genius. Of the best of them, the major part are heavy and dead masses of learning. Dr. Johnson, speaking of Dr. Birch the biographer, remarked, "Tom Birch is as brisk as a bee in conversation, but no sooner does he take a pen in his hand, than it becomes a torpedo to him, and benumbs all his faculties."* Minds must be more than ordinarily endowed, to give vitality to ideas and language without any aid from external objects. A lively and breathing picture of the visions of the brain can only be produced by the fervour of genius. Books are in general little more than transcripts of those which went before them, with a little difference of arrangement and combination: the same ingredients only poured into new vessels. Memory is the principal faculty which has been exercised in making them. When thoughts or images are brought forward, which have originated in the mind of the author, they will exhibit a freshness and vigour, * Boswell, I, 138. |