But ne'er shall flame the thundering sky, 24 In names there dwell no magic charms, Unloosed our fathers' band: Say, Greece and Rome! if these should fail, To save a sinking land? 25 Far, far from us such ills shall be, Whose title speaks a people's choice, JOHN LOGAN. JOHN LOGAN was born in the year 1748. He was the son of a farmer at Soutra, in the parish of Fala, Mid-Lothian. He was educated for the church at Edinburgh, where he became intimate with Robertson, afterwards the historian. So, at least, Campbell asserts; but he strangely calls him a student of the same standing, whereas, in fact, Robertson saw light in 1721, and had been a settled minister five years before Logan was born. After finishing his studies, he became tutor in the family of Mr Sinclair of Ulbster, and the late well-known Sir John Sinclair was one of his pupils. When licensed to preach, Logan became popular, and was in his twenty-fifth year appointed one of the ministers of South Leith. In 1781, he read in Edinburgh a course of lectures on the Philosophy of History, and in 1782, he printed one of them, on the Government of Asia. In the same year he published a volume of poems, which were well received. In 1783, he wrote a tragedy called 'Runnymede,' which was, owing to some imagined incendiary matter, prohibited from being acted on the London boards, but which was produced on the Edinburgh stage, and afterwards published. This, along with some alleged irregularities of conduct on the part of Logan, tended to alienate his flock, and he was induced to retire on a small annuity. He betook himself to London, where, in conjunction with the Rev. Mr Thomson,-who had left the parish of Monzievaird, in Perthshire, owing to a scandal,—he wrote for the English Review, and was employed to defend Warren Hastings. This he did in an able manner, although a well-known story describes him as listening to Sheridan, on the Oude case, with intense interest, and exclaiming, after the first hour, 'This is mere declamation without proof'—after the next two, 'This is a man of extraordinary powers '—and ere the close of the matchless oration, 'Of all the monsters in history, Warren Hastings is the vilest.' Logan died in the year 1788, in his lodgings, Marlborough Street. His sermons were published shortly after his death, and if parts of them are, as is alleged, pilfered from a Swiss divine, (George Joachim Zollikofer,) they have not remained exclusively with the thief, since no sermons have been so often reproduced in Scottish pulpits as the elegant orations issued under the name of Logan. We have already declined to enter on the controversy about 'The Cuckoo,' intimating, however, our belief, founded partly upon Logan's unscrupulous character and partly on internal evidence, that it was originally written by Bruce, but probably polished to its present perfection by Logan, whose other writings give us rather the impression of a man of varied accomplishments and excellent taste, than of deep feeling or original genius. If Logan were not the author of 'The Cuckoo,' there was a special baseness connected with the fact, that when Burke sought him out in Edinburgh, solely from his admiration of that poem, he owned the soft and false impeachment, and rolled as a sweet morsel praise from the greatest man of the age, which he knew was the rightful due of another. 1 THE LOVERS. Har. 'Tis midnight dark: 'tis silence deep, My father's house is hushed in sleep; In dreams the lover meets his bride, 2 The window's drawn, the ladder waits, 3 The dog howls dismal in the heath, The night-struck man through flood and fire. 4 The owlet screams ill-boding sounds, 5 My spirit dies-Away, my fears! My love, my life, my lord, appears! Hen. I come, I come, my love! my life! And, nature's dearest name, my wife! Long have I loved thee; long have sought: And dangers braved, and battles fought; In this embrace our evils end; From this our better days ascend; The year of suffering now is o'er, At last we meet to part no more! 6 My lovely bride! my consort, come! The rapid chariot rolls thee home. 7 Har. I fear to go- -I dare not stay. Look back.- -I dare not look that way. Hen. No evil ever shall betide My love, while I am at her side. Lo! thy protector and thy friend, The arms that fold thee will defend. Har. Still beats my bosom with alarms: I tremble while I'm in thy arms! What will impassioned lovers do? What have I done-to follow you? I leave a father torn with fears; I leave a mother bathed in tears; A brother, girding on his sword, Against my life, against my lord. 8 Now, without father, mother, friend, 9 O Henry!to thy arms I fall, Shouldst thou forsake me-I'm undone. Hen. My Harriet, dissipate thy fears, For ever joined our fates combine, 10 Although our fathers have been foes, 11 Two lovely roses met on high, Transplanted to a better sky; And, grafted in one stock, they grow, In union spring, in beauty blow. Har. My heart believes my love; but still My boding mind presages ill: For luckless ever was our love, Dark as the sky that hung above. While we embraced, we shook with fears, 12 An unforeseen and fatal hand Crossed all the measures love had planned; |