Of Night primeval and of Chaos old! In vain! they gaze, turn giddy, rave, and die. 25 For public flame, nor private, dares to shine; JOHN GAY. JOHN GAY (1685-1732), born at Barn staple, Devonshire, was apprenticed to a London silk-mercer, but took to poetry. He acted as secretary to several lords, gained the patronage of the Duke and Duchess of Queensberry, who took him into their household, and at last became a lottery commissioner. He wrote several plays and much miscellaneous poetry. But his fame as a writer rest on his Fables (1727), written in the short, neat form of La Fontaine, and on his Beggar's Opera (1728), a comic play in which all the characters are criminals or person of evil reputation. The latter work also played an important part in the history of English music, as its songs, arranged by Dr. Pepusch, were almost entirely composed of old English ballad tunes, and thus formed a healthy reaction against the absolute rule of the Italian opera. Gay's songs, and especially his famous Black-eyed Susan, betray a greater lyrical capacity than is usual with the poets of the Augustan era. THE HARE AND MANY FRIENDS. Friendship, like love, is but a name, "Tis thus in friendship; who depend On many, rarely find a friend. A hare, who, in a civil way, Complied with everything, like Gay, Was known by all the bestial train, 10 Who haunt the wood, or graze the plain. Her care was never to offend; As forth she went, at early dawn, She starts, she stops, she pants for She hears the near advance of death; 25 'Let me,' says she, 'your back ascend, She next the stately bull implor'd; BLACK-EYED SUSAN. All in the Downs the fleet was moored, William, who high upon the yard 8 Rocked with the billow to and fro, Soon as her well-known voice he heard, He sighed, and cast his eyes below: The cord slides swiftly through his glowing hands, 12 And, quick as lightning, on the deck he stands. Herrig-Förster, British Authors. 13 63 So the sweet lark, high poised in air, The noblest captain in the British fleet 'O Susan, Susan, lovely dear, Change as ye list, ye winds! my heart shall be 'Believe not what the landsmen say, Who tempt with doubts thy constant mind; 28 In every port a mistress find; Yes, yes, believe them when they tell thee so, 'If to fair India's coast we sail, 32 Thy eyes are seen in diamonds bright, Thy skin is ivory so white. Thus every beauteous object that I view, "Though battle call me from thy arms, Though cannons roar, yet, safe from harms, 40 William shall to his dear return. Love turns aside the balls that round me fly, Lest precious tears should drop from Susan's eye.' The boatswain gave the dreadful word; 44 The sails their swelling bosom spread; No longer must she stay aboard; They kissed she sighed he hung his head. EDWARD YOUNG. DWARD YOUNG (1683-1765) was the son of the rector of Upham village, in Hampshire. In 1700 he received a law fellowship at All Souls College, Oxford. Disappointed, however, in his hopes of preferment, he took orders in 1727, was made chaplain to George II. in 1728, and, in 1730, became rector of Welwyn, in Hertfordshire, where he died in 1765. Of his numerous works, tragedies, satires, odes, and other poems, all written in the pseudo-classical style of the Augustan era, only two require special notice. The once immensely popular Complaint; or, Night Thoughts (1742-1746) is a collection of nine elegies in blank verse, written at the age of sixty. They contain sombre reflections 'on life, death, and immortality', and show the beginning of a return to true poetic feeling and richness of imagination and expression, though, at the same time, they retain much of the wit, the rhetorical glitter, and the love of antithesis of the Augustans. The same romantic tendencies appear in a prose letter, Conjectures on Original Composition (1759), in which he asserts the superiority of genius to learning and the right of genius to be free from rules. From NIGHT THOUGHTS. [1742-1746] Night I, II. 1-194. Tir'd Nature's sweet restorer, balmy sleep! From short (as usual) and disturb'd repose, 10 Tumultuous; where my wreck'd desponding thought, At random drove, her helm of reason lost. 15 The day too short for my distress; and night, Is sunshine to the colour of my fate. Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne, 20 Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumb'ring world. 25 An awful pause! prophetic of her end. (That column of true majesty in man) Assist me: I will thank you in the grave; The grave, your kingdom: there this frame shall fall 85 But what are ye? Thou, who didst put to flight Primeval silence, when the morning stars, O Thou, whose word from solid darkness struck Thro' this opaque of nature, and of soul, 50 55 The bell strikes one. We take no note of time I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright, 60 Where are they? With the years beyond the flood. It is the signal that demands dispatch: How much is to be done? My hopes and fears How poor, how rich, how abject, how august, 70 How passing wonder He, who made him such! A worm! a god! I tremble at myself, |