Yet not in thoughtless slumber were they past: Oft as he travers'd the cerulean field, And markt the clouds that drove before the wind, But with the clouds they fled, and left no trace behind. With him was sometimes join'd, in silent walk, Ne ever utter'd word, save when first shone The glittering star of eve-"Thank Heaven! the day is done." * Ah! what avail the largest gifts of Heaven, While he whom toil has brac'd, or manly play, O, who can speak the vigorous joy of health? Yet what but high-strung health this dancing pleasaunce breeds? SONG. FOR ever, Fortune, wilt thou prove And when we meet a mutual heart, Bid us sigh on from day to day, But busy, busy, still art thou, For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer, All other blessings I resign, Make but the dear Amanda mine. ODE. TELL me, thou soul of her I love, Or dost thou, free, at pleasure, roam, And sometimes share thy lover's woe; Where, void of thee, his cheerless home Can now, alas! no comfort know? Oh! if thou hover'st round my walk, While under every well-known tree, I to thy fancied shadow talk, And every tear is full of thee; Should then the weary eye of grief, In slumber find a short relief, O visit thou my soothing dream! P DAVID MALLET was a native of Scotland, and born about the year 1700; but of his parentage and early education we know nothing. Dr. Johnson surmises that he was descended from the clan Macgregor; a clan which became "so formidable and infamous, that the name was annulled by legal abolition;" in consequence of which the father of the Poet assumed that of Mallock; which the son, for reasons which do not appear, altered to Mallet. In 1720 he was tutor in a family near Edinburgh; here he was fed and clothed and permitted to read books; but he was considered rather in the light of a dependant on charity, than a worker for, and earner of, fortune and fame. But Mallet was not destined to continue long an underling; he was appointed to educate the two sons of the Duke of Montrose: the "tide" was "taken at the flood." He made the usual continental tour with his pupils; improving and strengthening his mind, and gathering the materials which he afterwards worked up in his poem of "The Excursion." His talents obtained for him admission to the most brilliant circles of his time; among his patron-friends were Lyttleton, Chesterfield, and Bolingbroke-and his familiar associates were Pope, Thomson, and Young. More substantial advantages afterwards crowded upon him; he became under-secretary to the Prince of Wales; married a beautiful woman, and "lived in the style of a gentleman;" received from Bolingbroke a legacy of his works; was selected to arrange the papers and write a life of Marlborough-a labour for which he was richly paid, but which he never performed; wrote dramas, biographies, political pamphlets, and poems-all of which were profitable; and at length obtained the appointment of Keeper of the Book of Entries to the Port of London; and died, "in easy circumstances," in April, 1765. His stature is described as diminutive, but he was regularly formed; his appearance till he grew corpulent was agreeable, and he suffered it to want no recommendation that dress could give it. His conversation was easy and elegant. Dr. Johnson, who has painted this portrait, mars it by a rude touch:-" The rest of his character may, without injury to his memory, sink into silence." His apologist, Dr. Anderson, admits that vanity was his predominant passion, and that he thought it no dishonour to be a ministerial hireling. He was employed to soil the memory of Pope; he received a pension for an address which contributed to hasten the execution of Byng; he flattered Garrick by a promise which he did not keep; he never even commenced the Life of Marlborough, for which he had been paid; and he sought, somewhat meanly, to add to the collection of papers left him by Lord Bolingbroke, by claiming a portion which had been previously given to another Such are the blots which deface the character of David Mallet. His poems, except his two celebrated ballads, are now little known. They are distinguished by easy and elegant diction and sound judgment, rather than richness of fancy or vigour of expression. His natural powers had been cultivated with industry and care, but they were not of a very high order; few of his productions surpass mediocrity. "The Excursion," and "Amyntor and Theodora," the longest of his works, are in blank verse. The former invokes Imagination to ramble with the Bard over the earth and through the air-both are described, occasional episodes are introduced, and a running commentary is offered upon the wonders and peculiarities of each. The scene of the latter is laid in St. Kilda's Isle, and relates the history of two lovers-their trials and their joys. Its principal merit consists in pictures of the wild and rugged scenery of the "most remote and unfrequented of all the Hebrides." It is, however, but a tedious poem, and by no means succeeds in achieving the professed object of the writer-" to make it a regular and consistent whole; to be true to nature in his thoughts; and effectually to touch the passions." We read it unmoved, and sympathise very little in the misery or happiness of the youth and his "long lost but now found." The ballads, "Edwin and Emma," and "William and Margaret"-both the records of actual occurrences-have done more to preserve the memory of Mallet than all the rest of his productions. They are of exceeding interest-an interest enhanced by their simplicity; and have been always classed among the happiest specimens of English verse. It would be difficult to find any compositions of the kind that have obtained a wider, or sustained a more enduring popularity. FROM AMYNTOR AND THEODORA. FAR in the watery waste, where his broad wave, Thrice happy land! though freezing on the verge For wealth or power, the desolating sword. Their guardian genius: these, the powers that rule Man's happiest life; the soul serene and sound FAR in the windings of a vale, There beauteous Emma flourish'd fair, The softest blush that nature spreads Such orient colour smiles through heaven, When vernal mornings break. |