Oft at his strains, all natural though rude, breast. Far as the eye could reach, no tree was seen, Earth, clad in russet, scorn'd the lively green. The plague of locusts they secure defy, For in three hours a grasshopper must die. No living thing, whate'er its food, feasts there, But the cameleon, who can feast on air. No birds, except as birds of passage, flew, No bee was known to hum, no dove to coo. No streams as amber smooth, as amber clear, Were seen to glide, or heard to warble here.* Rebellion's spring, which through the country ran, Furnish'd, with bitter draughts, the steady clan. No flow'rs embalm'd the air but one white rose, Which on the tenth of June by instinct blows, By instinct blows at morn, and when the shades Of drizzly eve prevail, by instinct fades. One, and but one poor solitary cave, Too sparing of her favours, nature gave; That one alone (hard tax on Scottish pride!) Shelter at once for man and beast supplied. Their snares without entangling briars spread, And thistles, arm'd against th' invader's head, Stood in close ranks all entrance to oppose, Thistles now held more precious than the rose. All creatures which, on nature's earliest plan, Were form'd to loathe, and to be loathed by man, Which owed their birth to nastiness and spite, Deadly to touch and hateful to the sight, Creatures, which when admitted in the ark, Their saviour shunn'd, and rankled in the dark, Found place within: marking her noisome road With poison's trail, here crawl'd the bloated toad; There webs were spread of more than common size, And half-starved spiders prey'd on half-starved flies; In quest of food, efts strove in vain to crawl; Jock. Sith to this cave, by tempest we're confined, And within ken our flocks, under the wind, [The severity of satire is in its truth; and however treeless her clime may be, or cold her hills, or naked her inhabitants-her streams are as clear as crystal, and dance, and bicker to a music all their own.] [† The Pretender's birth-day. What, Sawney, if by Shepherd's art we try Jock. Still have I known thee for a silly swain: Saw. Full silly swain, I wot, is Jockey now; How didst thou bear thy Maggy's falsehood? how, When with a foreign loon she stole away, Didst thou forswear thy pipe and shepherd's lay? Where was thy boasted wisdom then, when I Applied those proverbs, which you now apply? Jock. O she was bonny! All the Highlands Was there a rival to my Maggy found? [round Nore precious (though that precious is to all) Than the rare med'cine which we brimstone call, Or that choice plant, so grateful to the nose, Which in I know not what far country grows, Was Maggy unto me; dear do I rue, A lass so fair should ever prove untrue. [ear, Saw. Whether with pipe or song to charm the Through all the land did Jamie find a peer? Cursed be that year by ev'ry honest Scot, And in the shepherd's calendar forgot, That fatal year, when Jamie, hapless swain, In evil hour forsook the peaceful plain. Jamie, when our young laird discreetly fled, Was seized and hang'd till he was dead, dead, dead. Jock. Full sorely may we all lament that day; For all were losers in the deadly fray, Five brothers had I on the Scottish plains, swains; [clad Five brothers there I lost, in manhood's pride, of turf, With boils emboss'd, and overgrown with scurf, Vile humours, which, in life's corrupted well, Mix'd at the birth, not abstinence could quell, Pale Famine rear'd the head: her eager eyes, Where hunger ev'n to madness seem'd to rise, Speaking aloud her throes and pangs of heart, All shrivell'd was her skin, and here and there And from a parent hear what Jove ordains! Pent in this barren corner of the isle, Then into bondage by that nation brought, Whom still with unslack'd hate we view, and still, The pow'r of mischief lost, retain the will; A mass till the last moment left behind, Long have we born this mighty weight of ill, There, like the sons of Israel, having trod, Ravage at large, nor ask the owner's leave. For us, the earth shall bring forth her increase; For us, the flocks shall wear a golden fleece; Fat beeves shall yield us dainties not our own, And the grape bleed a nectar yet unknown; For our advantage shall their harvests grow, And Scotsmen reap what they disdain'd to sow; For us, the sun shall climb the eastern hill; For us, the rain shall fall, the dew distil; When to our wishes nature cannot rise, Art shall be task'd to grant us fresh supplies. His brawny arm shall drudging labour strain, And for our pleasure suffer daily pain; Trade shall for us exert her utmost pow'rs, Hers all the toil, and all the profit ours; For us, the oak shall from his native steep Descend, and fearless travel through the deep; The sail of commerce, for our use unfurl'd, Shall waft the treasures of each distant world; For us, sublimer heights shall science reach, For us their statesmen plot, their churchmen preach; Their noblest limbs of counsel we'll disjoint, Fell Discord braying with her brazen tongue, 28 SONG. THE PARTING KISS. ONE kind kiss before we part, Drop a tear and bid adieu: Though we sever, my fond heart Till we meet shall pant for you. Yet, yet weep not so, my love, All my soul will still be here. ROBERT LLOYD. [Born, 1733. Died, 1764 ] ROBERT LLOYD was the son of one of the masters of Westminster school. He studied at Cambridge, and was for some time usher at Westminster, but forsook that employment for the life of an author and the habits of a man of pleasure. His first publication that attracted any notice was the "Actor," the reputation of which stimulated Churchill to his "Rosciad." He contributed to several periodical works; but was unable by his literary efforts to support the dissipated life which he led with Colman, Thornton, and other gay associates. His debts brought him to the Fleet; and those companions left him to moralize on the instability of convivial friendships. Churchill, however, adhered to him, and gave him pecuniary relief to prevent him from starving in prison. During his confinement he published a volume of his poems; wrote a comic opera, "The Capricious Lovers ;" and took a share in translating the Contes Moraux of Marmontel. When the death of Churchill was announced to him, he exclaimed, "I shall follow poor Charles!" fell into despondency, and died within a few weeks. Churchill's sister, to whom he was betrothed, died of a broken heart for his loss.* CHIT CHAT. AN IMITATION OF THEOCRITUS. IDYLL. XV. Ενδοῖ Πραξινόα, &c. Mrs. B. Is Mistress Scot at home, my dear? Serv. Ma'am, is it you? I'm glad you're here. My missess, though resolved to wait, Is quite unpatient 'tis so late. She fancied you would not come down, Mrs. S. Your servant, madam. Well, I swear I vow I'm almost dead with fear. There is such a scrouging and such squeeging, And I was always short of breath. Mrs. S. Lard! ma'am, I left it all to him, To live quite out of all the world. Mrs. B. Hist! lower, pray, The child hears every word you say. See how he looks Mrs. S. Jacky, come here, There's a good boy, look up, my dear. 'Twas not papa we talk'd about. -Surely he cannot find it out. Mrs. B. See how the urchin holds his hands! Upon my life he understands. There's a sweet child, come, kiss me, come, Mrs. S. This person, madam, (call him so His twenty shillings with a friend. [wives [*To Lloyd and Churchill, Mr. Southey has given, in his Life of Cowper, an undue though interesting importance. Lloyd's best productions are his two Odes, to Obscurity and Oblivion. written in ridicule of Gray; and in which the elder Colman had an uncertain share.] Keeps me of cash so short and bare, And then the queen Mrs. S. Ay, ay, you know, Mrs. B. Lard! we've no time for talking now, Mrs. B. That clouded silk becomes you much, I wonder how you meet with such, But you've a charming taste in dress. What might it cost you, madam? Mrs. S. Guess. Mrs. B. Oh! that's impossible-for I Mrs. S. I never love to bargain hard, Mrs. B. Indeed you bargain'd with success, And then 'tis sloped with such an air. Mrs. S. I'm glad you think so,-Kitty, here, And fetch him down the last new toy, -There, go to Kitty-there's a man. Madam, pray. Mrs. B. I can't indeed, now. Mrs. S. Mrs. B. Well then, for once, I'll lead the way. Mrs. S. Lard! what an uproar! what a throng! How shall we do to get along? What will become of us ?-look here, Mrs. B. Don't be afraid, my dear, come on; They kick and prance, and look so bold, Mrs. B. Come you from Palace-yard, old dame? Endeavour. Mrs. S. Can you direct us, dame? Old Woman. Troy could not stand a siege for ever. By frequent trying, Troy, was won, All things, by trying, may be done. Mrs. B. Go thy ways, Proverbs-well, she's Shall we turn back, or venture on? Look how the folks press on before, And throng impatient at the door. [gone Mrs. S. Perdigious! I can hardly stand, Lord bless me, Mrs. Brown, your hand; And you, my dear, take hold of hers, For we must stick as close as burrs, Or in this racket, noise, and pother, We certainly shall lose each other. -Good God! my cardinal and sack Are almost torn from off my back. Lard, I shall faint-O lud-my breastI'm crush'd to atoms, I protest. God bless me I have dropp'd my fan, —Pray, did you see it, honest man? Man. I, madam, no!—indeed, I fear You'll meet with some misfortune here. -Stand back, I say-pray, sir, forbear— Why, don't you see the ladies there? Put yourselves under my direction, Ladies, I'll be your safe protection. Mrs. S. You're very kind, sir; truly few Are half so complaisant as you. We shall be glad at any day This obligation to repay, And you'll be always sure to meet Man. No-don't you hear the people shout? 'Tis Mr. Pitt, just going out. [him? Mrs. B. Ay, there he goes, pray heaven bless Well may the people all caress him. -Lord, how my husband used to sit, And drink success to honest Pitt, And happy, o'er his evening cheer, Cry, "you shall pledge this toast, my dear." Man. Hist silence-don't you hear the drumNow, ladies, now, the king's a coming. [ming? There, don't you see the guards approach? Mrs. B. Which is the king? Mrs. S. Which is the coach? Scotchman. Which is the noble earl of Bute? Geud-faith, I'll gi him a salute. For he's the Laird of aw our clan, Troth he's a bonny muckle man. Man. Here comes the coach so very slow Mrs. S. Upon my word, its monstrous fine! Mrs. B. So painted, gilded, and so large. Man. Large! it can't pass St. James's gate, Could they a body-coachmen get Who'd undertake (and no rare thing) Mrs. S. Lard! what are those two ugly things With naked breasts, and faces swell'd? To put such things to fright the queen? Man. Oh! they are gods, ma'am, which you see, Of the Marine Society, Tritons, which in the ocean dwell, And only rise to blow their shell. Mrs. S. Gods d'ye call those filthy men! Mrs. B. And what are they? those hindmost things, Men, fish, and birds, with flesh, scales, wings? Mrs. S. Lord bless us! what's this noise about? Lord, what a tumult and a rout! How the folks hollow, hiss, and hoot! I cannot stay, indeed, not I, If there's a riot I shall die. Let's make for any house we can, Mrs. B. I wonder'd where you was, my dear, I thought I should have died with fear. This noise and racketing and hurry DAVID MALLET. [Born, 1700. Died, 1765.] Or Mallet's birth-place and family nothing is | alleged time of his being thus employed, was certainly known; but Dr. Johnson's account of his descent from the sanguinary clan of Mac Gregor is probably not much better founded than what he tells us of his being janitor to the High-School of Edinburgh. That officer has, from time immemorial, lived in a small house at the gate of the school, of which he sweeps the floors, and rings the bell.* Mallet, at the [* And is an office always intrusted, we believe, to men technically called up in years.] [t He had no fixed salary at Mr. Home's; at the Duke of Montrose's his encouragement was an allowance yearly of thirty pounds. He was educated at Aberdeen under Professor Ker, through whose influence Mr. Scott so suc private tutor in the family of Mr. Home, of Dreghorn, near Edinburgh. By a Mr. Scott he was recommended to be tutor to the sons of the Duke of Montrose, and after travelling on the Continent with his pupils, and returning to London, made his way, according to Dr. Johnson, into the society of wits, nobles, and statesmen, by the influence of the family in which he had lived.† cessfully interested himself about him. Mallet left Einburgh for London in August, 1723, and did not go abread with the Montrose family. He had gained the friendship of Young in 1725, and in 1726 had changed his name from Malloch to Mallet, for he found no Englishmen who could pronounce the original.] |