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Then the Bastimentos never
Had our foul dishonour seen,
Nor the sea the sad receiver

Of this gallant train had been.

Thus like thee, proud Spain dismaying,
And her galleons leading home,
Though condemn'd for disobeying,
I had met a traitor's doom.
To have fallen, my country crying
He has play'd an English part,
Had been better far than dying
Of a griev'd and broken heart.

Unrepining at thy glory,

Thy successful arms we hail; But remember our sad story,

And let Hosier's wrongs prevail.
Sent in this foul clime to languish,
Think what thousands fell in vain,
Wasted with disease and anguish,
Not in glorious battle slain.

Hence with all my train attending
From their oozy tombs below,
Through the hoary foam ascending,
Here I feed my constant woe:
Here the Bastimentos viewing,

We recal our shameful doom,
And our plaintive cries renewing,
Wander through the midnight gloom.

O'er these waves for ever mourning,
Shall we roam depriv'd of rest,

If to Britain's shore returning,
You neglect my just request;
After this proud foe subduing,
When your patriot friends you see,
Think on vengeance for my ruin,
And for England sham'd in me.

[graphic]

The character of the man and the Poet has been drawn by two faithful friendsDodsley and Graves. His person was above the middle stature, largely and rather elegantly formed; his face seemed plain till you conversed with him, and then it grew very pleasing. In his disposition he was easy, generous and indolent; of a melancholy temperament, yet, at times, humorous and sprightly. One of the warmest eulogists of his planted Paradise has likened it to his mind-simple, elegant, and amiable.

As a Poet, his merit has been long established. His productions, if they are deficient in vigour and variety, are full of simplicity, delicacy, and pathos. "The Schoolmistress" is, perhaps, the most popular; but among his Pastorals there are many of exceeding elegance; and although they have been often "mocked at" as simple almost to absurdity, they speak to the heart and the affections, and are dear to both. We have abundant proof that the emotions of Shenstone, as we find them in his verse, were real; besides his own assertion, that he "felt very sensibly the affections he communicates," they bear the stamp of truth; and some passages of his life are the witnesses of it. He wooed and might have won; but prudence-unhappily, for it left him without an object of excitement to industry and exertion-forbade his allying to "poetry and poverty" the woman who had gained his heart. This unfortunate resolve not only left him without a comforter in his time of trouble, a counsellor in his moments of doubt and indecision, a companion in his hours of solitude and thought, a friend in his moments of higher aspirations or deeper despondencies,-it tinged all his feelings with repining melancholy-produced a longing after fame which he lacked the resolution to achieve;-and the beauties he had called into 'existence out of a barren waste lost more than half their attractions, because he was without the ONE to talk with of their beauty, and by whom to hear their beauty praised. He created a paradise-and beheld from it the prospect of a jail. Dr. Johnson emphatically says of him-" he was a lamp that spent its oil in blazing"--and he adds a melancholy comment-" If he had lived a little longer, he would have been

SHENSTONE.

FROM THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.

In every village mark'd with little spire,
Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to Fame,
There dwells in lowly shed, and mean attire,
A matron old, whom we School-mistress name;
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame;
They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent,
Aw'd by the power of this relentless dame;
And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent,

For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are sorely shent.

And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree,

Which Learning near her little dome did stowe ; Whilom a twig of small regard to see,

The character of the man and the Poet has been drawn by two faithful friendsDodsley and Graves. His person was above the middle stature, largely and rather elegantly formed; his face seemed plain till you conversed with him, and then it grew very pleasing. In his disposition he was easy, generous and indolent; of a melancholy temperament, yet, at times, humorous and sprightly. One of the warmest eulogists of his planted Paradise has likened it to his mind-simple, elegant, and amiable.

As a Poet, his merit has been long established. His productions, if they are deficient in vigour and variety, are full of simplicity, delicacy, and pathos. "The Schoolmistress" is, perhaps, the most popular; but among his Pastorals there are many of exceeding elegance; and although they have been often "mocked at" as simple almost to absurdity, they speak to the heart and the affections, and are dear to both. We have abundant proof that the emotions of Shenstone, as we find them in his verse, were real; besides his own assertion, that he "felt very sensibly the affections he communicates," they bear the stamp of truth; and some passages of his life are the witnesses of it. He wooed and might have won; but prudence-unhappily, for it left him without an object of excitement to industry and exertion-forbade his allying to " poetry and poverty" the woman who had gained his heart. This unfortunate resolve not only left him without a comforter in his time of trouble, a counsellor in his moments of doubt and indecision, a companion in his hours of solitude and thought, a friend in his moments of higher aspirations or deeper despondencies,-it tinged all his feelings with repining melancholy-produced a longing after fame which he lacked the resolution to achieve;-and the beauties he had called into 'existence out of a barren waste lost more than half their attractions, because he was without the ONE to talk with of their beauty, and by whom to hear their beauty praised. He created a paradise--and beheld from it the prospect of a jail. Dr. Johnson emphatically says of him--" he was a lamp that spent its oil in blazing "—and he adds a melancholy comment-" If he had lived a little longer, he would have been

[graphic][merged small][merged small]

In every village mark'd with little spire,
Embower'd in trees, and hardly known to Fame,
There dwells in lowly shed, and mean attire,
A matron old, whom we School-mistress name;
Who boasts unruly brats with birch to tame;
They grieven sore, in piteous durance pent,
Aw'd by the power of this relentless dame;
And oft-times, on vagaries idly bent,

For unkempt hair, or task unconn'd, are sorely shent.

And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree,

Which Learning near her little dome did stowe; Whilom a twig of small regard to see,

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