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Dr. Bell did not execute his design, but a duo- of that gentleman will be able to ascertain the decimo edition of the Seasons was published by fact; and to put it in my power, if they are worSibbald, at Edinburgh, in 1789, containing, at thy of Thomson's character, to give them to the the end, the variations between the last and pre-public. Your lordship has taken so much trouble vious impressions. in this little plan of mine, that I am ashamed to throw out this hint."

Johnson's remark on the alteration and curtailment made by Lord Lyttelton in "Liberty" was

Elizabeth, the Poet's second sister, who married too hastily repeated in the Memoir,* for it was the Reverend Robert Bell,* was, according to her afterwards discovered that there is not the slight-son, Dr. Bell, "the favourite and best beloved sisest ground for it. This had also occurred to Dr. ter of Caledonia's bard." Bell, who says, in one of his letters to Lord Buchan:

An original picture of Thomson, by Slaughter, is preserved at Dryburgh Abbey, the seat of Lord "I am at a loss to understand what Dr. John- Buchan. It belonged to the Poet, and hung in son means by saying, in his Life of Thomson, the room he used at Slaughter's Coffee-house. that Sir George Lyttelton shortened the poem of On the back is this inscription, in his Lordship's Liberty. I have just now before me the edition hand writing: of Liberty, printed by Millar, 1735-1736, and, instead of abridgments after this, find that above two dozen of lines have been added, twelve to part first, ten to part second, and one to part third. Your lordship might, perhaps, be able to detect whether that arch-hypercritic be right or wrong. I suspect he is in a mistake, but have no good reason for saying so, save the opinion I have of the presumption and arrogance of the man."

An edition of Milton's "Areopagitica". was published about 1740, to which Thomson wrote the preface.

"Procured for the Earl of Buchan by his friend, Richard Cooper, Esq., engraver. Thomson and his friends, Dr. Anderson, Peter Murdoch, &c. used to frequent old Slaughter's Coffee-house, London, and his portrait was painted at that time by Slaughter, a kinsman of old Slaughter. Dec 3, 1812.

BUCHAN."

His Lordship's seal is added. This portrait has been engraved.

A monument to Thomson has been at length erected on an eminence, about half way between The "Amanda" of Thomson was Miss Eliza- Kelso and Ednam, but the only admiration it is beth Young, who married Vice Admiral John likely to excite is for the motives of those to whom Campbell; and the late Mr. Coutts, in reply to it owes its existence. Taste is rarer even than an inquiry of Lord Buchan in 1792, stated, that money; and it is lamentable to reflect that, howthe late Admiral Campbell was his "most inti- ever calculated the monuments in this country, to mate and worthy friend," adding, "Mrs. Camp-departed greatness, may be to exalt the fame of bell was certainly the Amanda of Thomson, and the deceased, they have a contrary effect upon he wished to have married her, but his want of the reputation of the person who superintended fortune proved a bar in the way of their union."+

There is reason to believe that a fragment of a poem was found amongst Thomson's papers, as Dr. Bell remarks, in his letter to Lord Buchan, in September, 1791:

their erection.

PREFACE,

OF WINTER, 1726.

"I remember to have heard my aunt, Mrs. BY THOMSON, PREFIXED TO THE SECOND-EDITION Thomson, say, that the outlines of a fine poem were found among her brother's papers after his death. If this was the case, Mr. Gray, of Richmond Hill, got possession of them. The heirs

· P. xi.

man and elegant judicious poet's works have been lost, or

I AM neither ignorant nor concerned how much one may suffer in the opinion of several persons of great gravity and character by the study and pursuit of poetry.

Although there may seem to be some appearance In the same letter Mr. Coutts thus speaks of Thomson's of reason for the present contempt of it, as manIntimate friend, Dr. Armstrong: "Mr. Dundas can find no- aged by the most part of our modern writers, yet thing of Dr. Armstrong. What a pity almost all that worthy that any man should, seriously, declare against fallen a sacrifice in the fire to his delicacy of mind. He had that divine art is really amazing. It is declaring so correct a taste, and so clear a judgment, that he was never pleased in the morning with what he had written over night. And when he went to Germany, in the army, he packed up a number of things in a portmanteau, which he left in careless hands, and it was lost: also in Germany, upon some alarm from the enemy, he lost another portmanteau, which, I am persuaded, contained many valuable things."

against the most charming power of imagination, the most exalting force of thought, the most affecting touch of sentiment; in a word, against the very soul of all learning and politeness. It is affrorting

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Memoir, p. xxii.

The truth of the case is this: these weak-sighted gentlemen can not bear the strong light of poetry, and the finer and more amusing scene of things it displays; but must those, therefore, whom Heaven has blessed with the discerning eye, shut it to keep them company?

the universal taste of mankind, and declaring serious subjects, such as at once amuse the fancy, against what has charmed the listening world from enlighten the head, and warm the heart. These Moses down to Milton. In fine, it is even de- give a weight and dignity to the poem, nor is the claring against the sublimest passages of the in-pleasure, I should say rapture, both the writer and spired writings themselves, and what seems to be the reader feels, unwarranted by reason, or folthe peculiar language of Heaven. lowed by repentant disgust. To be able to write on a dry, barren theme, is looked upon by some as the sign of a happy, fruitful, genius-fruitful indeed! like one of the pendent gardens in Cheapside, watered every morning by the hand of the alderman himself. And what are we commonly entertained with on these occasions, save forced, It is pleasant enough, however, to observe, fre- unaffecting fancies, little, glittering prettinesses, quently, in these enemies of poetry, an awkward mixed turns of wit and expression, which are as imitation of it. They sometimes have their little widely different from native poetry as buffoonery brightnesses, when the opening glooms will per- is from the perfection of human thinking. A mit. Nay, I have seen their heaviness, on some genius fired with the charms of truth and nature occasions, deign to turn friskish and witty, in is tuned to a sublimer pitch, and scorns to assowhich they make just such another figure as ciate with such subjects, Esop's Ass, when he began to fawn. To complete the absurdity they would, even in their efforts against poetry, fain be poetical; like those gentlemen that reason with a great deal of zeal and severity against reason.

That there are frequent and notorious abuses of poetry is as true as that the best things are most liable to that misfortune; but is there no end of that clamorous argument against the use of things from the abuse of them? And yet I hope that no man, who has the least sense of shame in him, will fall into it after the present sulphureous attacker of the stage.

I can not more emphatically recommend this poetical ambition than by the four following lines from Mr. Hill's poem, called The Judgment Day, which is so singular an instance of it.

For me, suffice it to have taught my muse
The tuneful triflings of her tribe to shun;
And raised her warmth such heavenly themes to choose,
As, in past ages, the best garlands won.

I know no subject more elevated, more amusing, more ready to awake the poetical enthusiasm, the philosophical reflection, and the moral sentiment than the works of Nature. Where can we meet To insist no further on this head, let poetry with such variety, such beauty, such magnificence? once more be restored to her ancient truth and All that enlarges and transports the soul? What purity; let her be inspired from heaven; and, in more inspiring than a calm, wide survey of them? return, her incense ascend thither: let her exchange In every dress Nature is greatly charming! whether her low, venal, trifling subjects for such as are she puts on the crimson robes of the morning! the fair, useful, and magnificent; and let her execute strong effulgence of noon! the sober suit of the these so as at once to please, instruct, surprise, and evening! or the deep sables of blackness and temastonish; and then, of necessity, the most invete-pest! How gay looks the Spring! how glorious the rate ignorance and prejudice shall be struck dumb, and poets yet become the delight and wonder of mankind.

Summer! how pleasing the Autumn! and how venerable the Winter!-But there is no thinking of these things without breaking out into poetry, which is, by the by, a plain and undeniable argument of their superior excellence.

But this happy period is not to be expected till some long-wished illustrious man, of equal power and beneficence, rise on the wintry world of let- For this reason the best, both ancient and moters; one of a genuine and unbounded greatness dern, poets have been passionately fond of retireand generosity of mind; who, far above all the ment and solitude. The wild romantic country pomp and pride of fortune, scorns the little, ad- was their delight. And they seem never to have dressful flatterer, pierces through the disguised de-been more happy than when lost in unfrequented signing villain, discountenances all the reigning fields, far from the little busy world, they were at fopperies of a tasteless age, and who, stretching leisure to meditate, and sing the works of Nature. his views into late futurity, has the true inter- The Book of Job, that noble and ancient poem,

est of virtue, learning, and mankind entirely at which even strikes so forcibly through a mangling heart. A character, so nobly desirable! that, to translation, is crowned with a description of the an honest heart, it is almost incredible so few grand works of Nature, and that, too, from the should have the ambition to deserve it. mouth of their Almighty Author. Nothing can have a better influence towards the It was this devotion to the works of Nature, that, revival of poetry than the choosing of great and in his Georgics, inspired the rural Virgil to write

so inimitably; and who can forbear joining with to give the reader some of that true pleasure which him in this declaration of his, which has been the they, in their agreeable succession, are always sure rapture of ages? to inspire into my heart.

Me vero primum dulces ante omnia Musa,
Quarum sacra fero ingenti perculsus amore,
Accipiant; Cœlique vias et sidera monstrent,
Defectus solis varios, lunæque labores:
Unde tremor terris: qua vi maria alta tumescant
Obicibus ruptis, rursusque in seipsa residant:
Quid tantum oceano properent se tingere soles
Hyberni: vel quæ tardis mora noctibus obstat.
Sin, has ne possim naturæ accedere partes,
Frigidus obstiterit circum præcordia sanguis;
Rura mihi et rigui placeant in valibus amnis
Flumina amem silvasque inglorius.

Which may be Englished thus:

Me may the Muses, my supreme delight!
Whose priest I am, smit with immense desire,
Snatch to their care; the starry tracts disclose,
The sun's distress, the labours of the moon;

COMMENDATORY VERSES.

TO MR. THOMSON,

DOUBTFUL TO WHAT PATRON HE SHOULD ADDRESS
HIS POEM CALLED WINTER.

SOME peers, perhaps, have skill to judge, 'tis true,
Yet no mean prospect bounds the Muse's view.
Firm in your native strength, thus nobly shown,
Slight such delusive props, and stand alone;
Fruitless dependance oft has found too late
That greatness rarely dwells among the great.
Patrons are Nature's nobles, not the state's,
And wit's a title no broad seal creates:

Whence the earth quakes; and by what force the deeps E'en kings, from whose high source all honours

Heave at the rocks, then on themselves reflow.

Why winter-suns to plunge in ocean speed;
And what retards the lazy summer-night.

But, lest I should these mystic truths attain,
If he cold current freezes round my heart,
The country me, the brooky vales may please
Mid woods and streams unknown.

I can not put an end to this Preface without taking the freedom to offer my most sincere and grateful acknowledgments to all those gentlemen who have given my first performance so favourable a reception.

flow,

Are poor in power when they would souls bestow

Heedless of fortune then look down on state, Balanced within by reason's conscious weight: Divinely proud of independent will, Prince of your passions, live their sovereign still. He who stoops safe beneath a patron's shade Shines, like the moon, but by another's aid; Free truth should open, and unbias'd steer, Strong as heaven's heat, and as its brightness clear. O, swell not then the bosoms of the vain It is with the best pleasure, and a rising ambi-With false conceit that you protection gain; tion, that I reflect on the honour Mr. Hill has Poets, like you, their own protectors stand, done me in recommending my poem to the world Placed above aid from pride's inferior hand. after a manner so peculiar to himself, than whom Time, that devours the lord's unlasting name, none approves and obliges with a nobler and more Shall lend her soundless depth to float your fame. unreserving promptitude of soul. His favours are the very smiles of humanity, graceful and easy, flowing from and to the heart. This agreeable train of thought awakens naturally in my mind all the other parts of his great and amiable character, which I know not well how to quit, and yet dare not here pursue.

Every reader who has a heart to be moved, must feel the most gentle power of poetry in the lines with which Mira has graced my poem.

It perhaps might be reckoned vanity in me, to say how richly I value the approbation of a gentleman of Mr. Malloch's fine and exact taste, so justly dear and valuable to all those that have the happiness of knowing him; and who, to say no more of him, will abundantly make good to the world the early promise his admired piece of William and Margaret has given.

I only wish my description of the various appearance of Nature in Winter, and, as I purpose, in the other Seasons, may have the good fortune 29 2N 2

On verse like yours no smiles from power expect,
Born with a worth that doomed you to neglect;
Yet, would your wit be noised, reflect no more,
Let the smooth veil of flattery silk you o'er;
Aptly attach'd the court's soft climate try,
Learn your pen's duty from your patron's eye.
Ductile of soul, each pliant purpose wind,
And, tracing interest close, leave doubt behind:
Then shall your name strike loud the public ear;
For through good fortune virtue's self shines clear.

But, in defiance of our taste to charm!
And fancy's force with judgment's caution arm!
Disturb, with busy thought, so ¡ull'd an age!
And plant strong meanings o'er the peaceful page!
Impregnate sound with sense! teach nature art'
And warm e'en Winter till it thaws the heart'
How could you thus your country's rules transgress,
Yet think of patrons, and presume success?

A. HILL.

TO MR. THOMSON,

ON HIS BLOOMING WINTER.

Он gaudy summer, veil thy blushing head,
Dull is thy sun, and all thy beauties dead;
From thy short nights, and noisy mirthful day,
My kindling thoughts, disdainful, turn away.

Majestic Winter with his floods appears,
And o'er the world his awful terrors rears:
From north to south his train dispreading slow,
Blue frost, bleak rain, and fleecy-footed snow.

In thee, sad Winter, I a kindred find,
Far more related to poor human kind;
To thee my gently drooping head I bend,
Thy sigh my sister, and thy tear my friend;
On thee I muse, and in thy hastening sun,
See life expiring ere 'tis well begun.

Thy sickening ray and venerable gloom
Shows life's last scene, the solitary tomb;
But thou art safe, so shaded by the bays,
Immortal in the noblest poet's praise;
From time and death he will thy beauties save;
Oh may such numbers weep o'er Mira's grave!
Secure and glorious would her ashes lie,
Till Nature fade-and all the Seasons die.

TO MR. THOMSON,

MIRA.

For this, the wise, the knowing few commend
With zealous joy-for thou art virtue's friend:
Even age and truth severe, in reading thee,
That Heaven inspire's the muse, convinced agree.

Thus I dare sing of merit faintly known,
Friendless-supported by itself alone:
For those whose aided will could lift thee high
In fortune, see not with discernment's eye.
Nor place nor power bestows the sight refined,
And wealth enlarges not the narrow mind.

How couldst thou think of such and write so
well?

Or hope reward by daring to excel!
Unskilful of the age! untaught to gain
Those favours which the fawning base obtain?
A thousand shameful arts to thee unknown,
Falsehood and flattery must be first thy own.
If thy loved country lingers in thy breast,
Thou must drive out the unprofitable guest;
Extinguish each bright aim that kindles there,
And centre in thyself thy every care.

But hence that vileness-pleased to charm man
kind,

Cast each low thought of interest far behind:
Neglected into noble scorn-away

From that worn path where vulgar poets stray;
Inglorious herd! profuse of venal lays!

And by the pride despised, they stoop to praise!
Thou, careless of the statesman's smile or frown,
Tread that straight way that leads to fair renown.

ON HIS PUBLISHING THE SECOND EDITION OF HIS By virtue guided, and by glory fired,

POEM, CALLED WINTER.

CHARM'D and instructed by thy powerful song,
I have, unjust, withheld my thanks too long;
This debt of gratitude at length receive,
Warmly sincere, 'tis all thy friend can give.

Thy worth new lights the poet's darken'd name, And shows it, blazing, in the brightest fame. Through all thy various Winter full are found, Magnificence of thought and pomp of sound, Clear depth of sense, expression's heightening

grace,

And goodness, eminent in power and place!

And by reluctant envy slow admired,
Dare to do well, and in thy boundless mind
Embrace the general welfare of thy kind;
Enrich them with the treasures of thy thought,
What Heaven approves and what the Muse has
taught,

Where thy power fails, unable to go on,
Ambitious, greatly will the good undone.
So shall thy name, through ages, brightening
shine,

And distant praise from worth unborn be thine:
So shalt thou, happy! merit Heaven's regard,
And find a glorious, though a late reward.

D. MALLOCH.

THE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

JAMES THOMSON.

THE SEASONS.

Spring.

Et nunc omnis ager, nunc omnis parturit arbos,
Nunc frondent silvæ, nunc formosissimus annus.- Virg

ARGUMENT.

The subject proposed. Inscribed to the Countess of Hertford. The Season is described as it affects the various parts of Nature, ascending from the lower to the higher; with digressions arising from the subject. Its influence on inanimate Matter, on Vegetables, on brute Animals, and last on Man; concluding with a dissuasive from the wild and irregular passion of Love, opposed to that of a pure and happy kind.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
THE COUNTESS OF HERTFORD.

MADAM,

and adorn society. To whom then could these sheets be more properly inscribed than to you, Madam, whose influence in the world can give them the protection they want, while your fine imagi nation, and intimate acquaintance with rural naI HAVE always observed that, in addresses of ture, will recommend them with the greatest adthis nature, the general taste of the world demands vantage to your favourable notice? Happy! if I ingenious turns of wit, and disguised artful peri-hit any of those images, and correspondent sentiods, instead of an open sincerity of sentiment flow-ments, your calm evening walks, in the most deing in a plain expression. From what secret im-lightful retirement, have oft inspired. I could add patience of the justest praise, when bestowed on too, that as this Poem grew up under your encourotners, this often proceeds, rather than a pretend-agement, it has therefore a natural claim to your ed delicacy, is beyond my purpose here to inquire. patronage. Should you read it with approbation, But as nothing is more foreign to the disposition its music shall not droop; and should it have the of a soul sincerely pleased with the contemplation good fortune to deserve your smiles, its roses shall of what is beautiful, and excellent, than wit and not wither. But, where the subject is so tempting, turn; I have too much respect for your Ladyship's lest I begin my Poem before the Dedication is endcharacter, either to touch it in that gay, trifling ed, I here break short, and beg leave to subscribe manner, or venture on a particular detail of those myself, with the highest respect,

truly amiable qualities of which it is composed. A mind exalted, pure, and elegant, a heart overflowing with humanity, and the whole train of virtues

Madam,

Your most obedient, humble servant,
JAMES THOMSON.

SPRING.

And from the bosom of yon dropping cloud,
While music wakes around, veil'd in a shower
Of shadowing roses, on our plains descend.

thence derived, that give a pleasing spirit to conversation, an engaging simplicity to the manners, and form the life to harmony, are rather to be felt, and silently admired, than expressed. I have at-COME, gentle Spring! ethereal Mildness! come, tempted, in the following Poem, to paint some of the most tender beauties and delicate appearances of nature; how much in vain, your Ladyship's taste will, I am afraid, but too soon discover: yet would it still be a much easier task to find expression for all that variety of colour, form, and fragrance, which enrich the season I describe, than to speak the many nameless graces and native riches of a Which thy own Season paints; when Nature all mind capable so much at once to relish solitude, Is blooming and benevolent, like thee.

O Hertford, fitted or to shine in courts
With unaffected grace, or walk the plain
With innocence and meditation join'd
In soft assemblage, listen to my song,

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