Cyclopædia of English Literature: A History, Critical and Biographical, of ...

JOHN DYER.

Near the pavilions where we slept, still ran

To thee belongs the rural reign ; Soft tinkling streams, and dashing waters fell,

Thy cities shall with commerce shine; And sobbing breezes sighed, and oft began

All shall be subject to the main, (So worked the wizard) wintry storms to swell,

And every shore it circles thine..
As heaven and earth they would together mell;

Rule Britannia, &c.
At doors and windows threatening seemed to call
The demons of the tempest, growling fell,

The muses, still with freedom found,
Yet the least entrance found they none at all;

Shall to thy happy coast repair; Whence sweeter grew our sleep, secure in massy hall.

Blest isle, with matchless beauty crowned,

And manly hearts to guard the fair.
And hither Morpheus sent his kindest dreams,

Rule Britannia, &c.
Raising a world of gayer tinct and grace ;
O'er which were sbadowy cast Elysian gleams,
That played in waving lights, from place to place,
And shed a roseate smile on nature's face.

John Dyer, a picturesque and moral poet, was a Not Titian's pencil e'er could so array,

native of Wales, being born at Aberglasslyn, CarSo fierce with clouds, the pure

ethereal
space;

marthenshire, in 1700. His father was a solicitor, Ne could it e'er such melting forms display, and intended his son for the same profession. The As loose on flowery beds all languishingly lay. latter, however, had a taste for the fine arts, and

rambled over his native country, filling his mind No, fair illusions! artful phantoms, no!

with a love of nature, and his portfolio with sketches My muse will not attempt your fairy land;

of her most beautiful and striking objects. The She has no colours that like you can glow;

sister art of poetry also claimed his regard, and To catch your vivid scenes too gross her hand.

during his excursions he wrote Grongar Hill, the But sure it is, was ne'er a subtler band

production on which his fame rests, and where it Than these same guileful angel-seeming sprights, Who thus in dreams voluptuous, soft, and bland,

rests securely. Dyer next made a tour to Italy, to Poured all the Arabian heaven upon our nights,

study painting. He does not seem to have excelled And blessed them oft besides with more refined delights. his return in 1740, he published another poem, The

as an artist, though he was an able sketcher. On They were, in sooth, a most enchanting train, Ruins of Rome, in blank verse.

One short passage, Even feigning virtue; skilful to unite

often quoted, is conceived, as Johnson remarks, With evil good, and strew with pleasure pain.

'with the mind of a poet:But for those fiends whom blood and broils delight,

The pilgrim oft Who hurl the wretch, as if to hell outright,

At dead of night, ʼmid his orison, hears, Down, down black gulfs, where sullen waters sleep;

Aghast, the voice of time, disparting towers, Or hold him clambering all the fearful night

Tumbling all precipitate down dashed, On beetling cliffs, or pent in ruins deep;

Rattling around, loud thundering to the moon. They, till due time should serve, were bid far hence to keep

Seeing, probably, that he had little chance of suc

ceeding as an artist, Dyer entered the church, and Ye guardian spirits, to whom man is dear, obtained successively the livings of Calthrop, in LeiFrom these foul demons shield the midnight gloom ; cestershire, of Conningsby, in Huntingdonshire, and Angels of fancy and of love be near,

of Belchford and Kirkby, in Lincolnshire. He pub-
And o'er the blank of sleep diffuse a bloom; lished in 1757 his longest poetical work, The Fleece,
Evoke the sacred shades of Greece and Rome, devoted to
And let them virtue with a look impart:

The care of sheep, the labours of the loom.
But chief, awhile, oh lend us from the tomb
Those long-lost friends for whom in love we smart,

The subject was not a happy one. How can a man And fill with pious awe and joy-mixt wo the heart. write poetically, as was remarked by Johnson, of

serges and druggets? One critic asked Dodsley

how old the author of The Fleece' was; and learnRule Britannia.

ing that he was in advanced life, He will,' said the

critic, be buried in woollen.' The poet did not When Britain first at Heaven's command,

long survive the publication, for he died next year, Arose from out the azure main,

on the 24th of July 1758. The poetical pictures of This was the charter of the land,

Dyer are happy miniatures of nature, correctly And guardian angels sung the strain : drawn, beautifully coloured, and grouped with the Rule Britannia, Britannia rules the waves ! taste of an artist. His moral reflections arise naBritons never shall be slaves.

turally out of his subject, and are never intrusive.

All bear evidence of a kind and ntle heart, and a The nations not so blest as thee,

true poetical fancy,
Must in their turn to tyrants fall,
Whilst thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.

Grongar Hill.
Rule Britannia, &c.

Silent nymph, with curious eye,
Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

Who, the purple evening, lie More dreadful from each foreign stroke;

On the mountain's lonely van, As the loud blast that tears the skies,

Beyond the noise of busy man;
Serves but to root thy native oak.

Painting fair the form of things,
Rule Britannia, &c.

While the yellow linnet sings;

Or the tuneful nightingale Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame;

Charms the forest with her tale; All their attempts to bend thee down

Come, with all thy various hues, Will but arouse thy generous flame,

Come, and aid thy sister Muse;
And work their wo and thy renown.

Now, while Phæbus, riding high,
Rule Britannia, &c.
Gives lustre to the land and sky!

Grongar Hill invites my song,
Draw the landscape bright and strong ;
Grongar, in whose mossy cells,
Sweetly musing, Quiet dwells;
Grongar, in whose silent shade,
For the modest Muses made;
So oft I have, the evening still,
At the fountain of a rill,
Sat upon a flowery bed,
With my hand beneath my head;
While strayed my eyes o'er Towy's flood,
Over mead, and over wood,
From house to house, from hill to hill,
Till contemplation had her fill.

About his chequered sides I wind,
And leave his brooks and meads behind,
And groves, and grottos where I lay,
And vistas shooting beams of day:
Wide and wider spreads the vale,
As circles on a smooth canal:
The mountains round, unhappy fate,
Sooner or later, of all height,
Withdraw their summits from the skies,
And lessen as the others rise :
Still the prospect wider spreads,
Adds a thousand woods and meads;
Still it widens, widens still,
And sinks the newly-risen hill.

Now I gain the mountain's brow,
What a landscape lies below!
No clouds, no vapours intervene,
But the gay, the open scene,
Does the face of nature show,
In all the hues of heaven's bow;
And, swelling to embrace the light,
Spreads around beneath the sight.

Old castles on the cliffs arise,
Proudly towering in the skies !
Rushing from the woods, the spires
Seem from hence ascending fires !
Half his beams Apollo sheds
On the yellow mountain heads !
Gilds the fleeces of the flocks,
And glitters on the broken rocks!

Below me trees unnumbered rise,
Beautiful in various dyes :
The gloomy pine, the poplar blue,
The yellow beech, the sable yew,
The slender fir, that taper grows,
The sturdy oak, with broad-spread boughs..
And beyond the purple grove,,
Haunt of Phyllis, queen of love!
Gaudy as the opening dawn,
Lies a long and level lawn,
On which a dark hill, steep and high,
Holds and charms the wandering eye !
Deep are his feet in Towy's flood,
His sides are clothed with waving wood,
And ancient towers crown his brow,
That cast an awful look below;
Whose ragged walls the ivy creeps,
And with her arms from falling keeps :.
So both 2. safety from the wind
On mutual dependence find..
'Tis now the raven's bleak abode ;
Tis now the apartment of the toad;
And there the fox securely feeds,
And there the poisonous adder breeds,
Concealed in ruins, moss, and weeds;
While, ever and anon, there falls
Huge heaps of hoary mouldered walls.
Yet time has seen, that lifts the low,
And level lays the lofty brow,
Big with the vanity of state;

,
But transient is the smile of fate!

A little rule, a little sway,
A sunbeam in a winter's day,
In all the proud and mighty have
Between the cradle and the grave.

And see the rivers, how they run
Through woods and meads, in shade and sun,
Sometimes swift, sometimes slow,
Wave succeeding wave, they go
A various journey to the deep,
Like human life, to endless sleep!
Thus is nature's vesture wrought,
To instruct our wandering thought;
Thus she dresses green and gay,
To disperse our cares away.

Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view !
The fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody valleys, warm and low;
The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky!
The pleasant seat, the ruined tower,
The naked rock, the shady bower;
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Æthiop's arm.

See, on the mountain's southern side,
Where the prospect opens wide,
Where the evening gilds the tide,
How close and small the hedges lie!
What streaks of meadows cross the eye!
A step, methinks, may pass the stream,
So little distant dangers seem ;
So we mistake the future's face,
Eyed through hope's deluding glass ;
Ås

18 yon summits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear;
Still we tread the same coarse way,
The present's still a cloudy day.*

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I see!
Content me with a humble shade,
My passions tamed, my wishes laid';
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul:
'Tis thus the busy beat the air,
And misers gather wealth and care.

Now, even now, my joys run high,
As on the mountain turf I lie;
While the wanton zephyr sings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;
While the waters murmur deep,
While the shepherd charms his sheep,
While the birds unbounded fly,
And with music fills the sky,
Now, even now, my joys run high.

Be full, ye courts ; be great who will;
Search for peace with all your skill;
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor:
In vain you search, she is not there;
In vain you search the domes of care !
Grass and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain heads,
Along with Pleasure close allied,
Ever by each other's side ::
And often, by the murmuring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is still,
Within the groves of Grongar Hilla.

** Byron thought the lines here printed in Italics the original of Campbell's far-famed lines at the opening of The Pleasures of Hope:

• "Tis distance lends enchantment to the view,
And robes the mountain in its azure hue.'

WILLIAM HAMILTON.

Others of his amatory strains are full of quaint

conceits and exaggerated expressions, without any WILLIAM HAMILTON of Bangour, a Scottish gentle- trace of real passion. His ballad of The Braes of man of education, rank, and accomplishments, was Yarrow is by far the finest of his effusions : it has born of an ancient family in Ayrshire in 1704. He real nature, tenderness, and pastoral simplicity. was the delight of the fashionable circles of his As the cause of the composition of Wordsworth's native country, and became early distinguished for three beautiful poems, “ Yarrow Unvisited,' Yarrow his poetical talents. In 1745, struck, we may sup- Visited,' and Yarrow Revisited,' it has, moreover, pose, with the romance of the enterprise, Hamilton some external importance in the records of British joined the standard of Prince Charles, and became literature. The poet of the lakes has copied some the volunteer laureate' of the Jacobites, by cele- of its lines and images. brating the battle of Gladsmuir. On the discomfiture of the party, Hamilton succeeded in effecting

The Braes of Yarrow. his escape to France; but having many friends and admirers among the royalists at home, a pardon A. Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, was procured for the rebellious poet, and he was Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow! soon restored to his native country and bis paternal Busk ye, busk ye, my bonny bonny bride, estate. He did not, however, live long to enjoy his And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. good fortune. His health had always been delicate, and a pulmonary complaint forced him to seek the B. Where gat ye that bonny bonny bride ? warmer climate of the continent. He gradually A. I gat her where I darena weil be seen,

Where gat ye that winsome marrow ? declined, and died at Lyons in 1754. Hamilton's first and best strains were dedicated

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. to lyrical poetry. Before he was twenty, he had Weep not, weep not, my bonny bonny bride, assisted Allan Ramsay in his ‘Tea-Table Miscellany.” Weep not, weep not, my winsome marrow! In 1748, some person, unknown to him, collected Nor let thy heart lament to leave and published his poems in Glasgow; but the first Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow. genuine and correct copy did not appear till after the author's death, in 1760, when a collection was B. Why does she weep, thy bonny bonny bride? made from his own manuscripts. The most attrac- Why does she weep, thy winsome marrow ? tive feature in his works is his pure English style, And why dare ye nae mair weil be seen, and a somewhat ornate poetical diction. He had Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow? more fancy than feeling, and in this respect his A. Lang maun she weep, lang maun she, maun she amatory songs resemble those of the courtier poets

weep, of Charles II.'s court. Nor was he more sincere, if

Lang maun she weep with dule and sorrow, we may credit an anecdote related of him by Alex- And lang maun I nae mair weil be seen ander Tytler in his life of Henry Home, Lord Kames.

Pouing the birks on the Braes of Yarrow.
One of the ladies whom Hamilton annoyed by his
perpetual compliments and solicitations, consulted For she has tint her lover lover dear,
Home how she should get rid of the poet, who she

Her lover dear, the cause of sorrow, was convinced had no serious object in view. The And I hae slain the comeliest swain philosopher advised her to dance with him, and show That e'er poued birks on the Braes of Yarrow. him every mark of her kindness, as if she had re- Why runs thy stream, O Yarrow, Yarrow, red ! solved to favour his suit. The lady adopted the counsel, and the success of the experiment was com

Why on thy braes heard the voice of sorrow?

And why yon melancholious weeds plete. Hamilton wrote a serious poem, entitled Contemplation, and a national one on the Thistle, which

Hung on the bonny birks of Yarrow ? is in blank verse :

What's yonder floats on the rueful rueful flude ? How oft beneath

What's yonder floats? O dule and sorrow! Its martial influence have Scotia's sons,

'Tis he, the comely swain I slew Through every age, with dauntless valour fought

Upon the duleful Braes of Yarrow. On every hostile ground! While o'er their breast, Wash, oh wash his wounds his wounds in tears, Companion to the silver star, blest type

His wounds in tears with dule and sorrow, Of fame, unsullied and superior deed,

And wrap his limbs in mourning weeds,
Distinguished ornament ! this native plant

And lay him on the Braes of Yarrow.
Surrounds the sainted cross, with costly row
Of gems emblazed, and flame of radiant gold, Then build, then build, ye sisters sisters sad,
A sacred mark, their glory and their pride!

Ye sisters sad, his tomb with sorrow,
Professor Richardson of Glasgow (who wrote a

And weep around in waeful wise,

His helpless fate on the Braes of Yarrow.
critique on Hamilton in the ‘Lounger') quotes the
following as a favourable specimen of his poetical Curse ye, curse ye, his useless useless shield,
powers :-

My arm that wrought the deed of sorrow,
In everlasting blushes seen,

The fatal spear that pierced his breast,
Such Pringle shines, of sprightly mien;

His comely breast, on the Braes of Yarrow,
To her the power of love imparts,

Did I not warn thee not to lue,
Rich gift! the soft successful arts,

And warn from fight, but to my sorrow;
That best the lover's fire provoke,

O'er rashly bauld a stronger arm
The lively step, the mirthful joke,

Thou met'st, and fell on the Braes of Yarrow.
The speaking glance, the amorous wile,
The sportful laugh, the winning smile.

Sweet smells the birk, green grows, green grows the
Her soul awakening every grace,

grass,
Is all abroad upon her face ;

Yellow on Yarrow bank the gowan,
In bloom of youth still to survive,

Fair hangs the apple frae the rock,
All charms are there, and all alive.

Sweet the wave of Yarrow flowan.

Flows Yarrow sweet! as sweet, as sweet flows Tweed,

As green its grass, its gowan as yellow,
As sweet smells on its braes the birk,

The apple frae the rock as mellow.
Fair was thy love, fair fair indeed thy love,

In flowery bands thou him didst fetter;
Though he was fair and weil beloved again,

Than me he never lued thee better.
Busk ye, then busk, my bonny bonny bride,

Busk ye, busk ye, my winsome marrow,
Busk ye, and lue me on the banks of Tweed,

And think nae mair on the Braes of Yarrow. C. How can I busk a bonny bonny bride,

How can I busk a winsome marrow, How lue him on the banks of Tweed,

That slew my love on the Braes of Yarrow. O Yarrow fields ! may never never rain,

Nor dew thy tender blossoms cover,
For there was basely slain my love,

My love, as he had not been a lover.
The boy put on his robes, his robes of green,

His purple vest, 'twas my ain sewing,
Ah! wretched me! I little little kenned

He was in these to meet his ruin. The boy took out his milk-white milk-white steed,

Unheedful of my dule and sorrow, But e'er the to-fall of the night

He lay a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow. Much I rejoiced that waeful waeful day;

I sang, my voice the woods returning, Bat lang ere night the spear was flown

That slew my love, and left me mourning. What can my barbarous barbarous father do,

But with his cruel rage pursue me ? My lorer's blood is on thy spear,

How canst thou, barbarous man, then woo me? My happy sisters may be may be proud ;

With cruel and ungentle scoffin,
May bid me seek on Yarrow Braes

My lover nailed in his coffin,
My brother Douglas may upbraid, upbraid,

And strive with threatening words to move me,
My lover's blood is on thy spear,

How canst thou ever bid me love thee? Yes, yes, prepare the bed, the bed of love,

With bridal sheets my body cover,
Unbar, ye bridal maids, the door,

Let in the expected husband lover,
But who the expected husband husband is ?

His hands, methinks, are bathed in slaughter.
Ah me! what ghastly spectre's yon,

Comes, in his pale shroud, bleeding after? Pale as he is, here lay him lay him down,

O lay his cold head on my pillow;
Take aff take aff these bridal weeds,

And crown my careful head with willow.
Pale though thou art, yet best yet best beloved,

O could my warmth to life restore thee !
Ye'd lie all night between my breasts,

No youth lay ever there before thee. Pale pale, indeed, 0 lovely lovely youth,

Forgive, forgive so foul a slaughter,
And lie all night between my breasts,

No youth shall ever lie there after.
A. Return, retum, O mournful mournful bride,

Return and dry thy useless sorrow :
Thy lover heeds nought of thy sighs,

He lies a corpse on the Braes of Yarrow.

Song.
Ye shepherds of this pleasant vale,

Where Yarrow streams along,
Forsake your rural toils, and join

In my triumphant song.
She grants, she yields; one heavenly smile

Atones her long delays,
One happy minute crowns the pains

Of many suffering days.
Raise, raise the victor notes of joy,

These suffering days are o'er;
Love satiates now his boundless wish

From beauty's boundless store:
No doubtful hopes, no anxious fears,

This rising calm destroy
Now every prospect smiles around,

All opening into joy.
The sun with double lustre shone

That dear consenting hour,
Brightened each hill, and o'er each vale

New coloured every flower :
The gales their gentle sighs withheld,

No leaf was seen to move,
The hovering songsters round were mute,

And wonder hushed the grove. The hills and dales no more resound

The lambkin's tender cry ;
Without one murmur Yarrow stole

In dimpling silence by:
All nature seemned in still repose

Her voice alone to hear,
That gently rolled the tuneful wave,

She spoke and blessed my ear.
Take, take whate'er of bliss or joy

You fondly fancy mine;
Whate'er of joy or bliss I boast,

Love renders wholly thine:
The woods struck up to the soft gale,

The leaves were seen to move,
The feathered choir resumed their voice,

And wonder filled the grove;
The hills and dales again resound

The lambkins' tender cry,
With all his murmurs Yarrow trilled

The song of triumph by;
Above, beneath, around, all on

Was verdure, beauty, song;
I snatched her to my trembling breast,

All nature joyed along.

Song.
Ah, the poor shepherd's mournful fate,

When doomed to love and doomed to languish, To bear the scornful fair one's hate,

Nor dare disclose his anguish!
Yet eager looks and dying sighs

My secret soul discover,
While rapture, trembling through mine eyes,

Reveals how much I love her.
The tender glance, the reddening cheek,

O’erspread with rising blushes,
A thousand various ways they speak

A thousand various wishes.
For, oh! that form so heavenly fair,

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling,
That artless blush and modest air,
So fatally beguiling;

DR SAMUEL JOHNSON.

Thy every look, and every grace,

his love of argument and society, into which he So charm, whene'er 1 view thee,

poured the treasures of a rich and full mind-his Till death o'ertake me in the chase,

wit, repartee, and brow-beating-his rough manners Still will my hopes pursue thee.

and kind heart-his curious household, in which Then, when my tedious hours are past,

were congregated the lame, blind, and despised-his Be'this last blessing given,

very looks, gesticulation, and dress—have all been Low at thy feet to breathe my last,

brought so vividly before us by his biographer, BosAnd die in sight of heaven.

well, that to readers of every class Johnson is as well known as a member of their own family. His

heavy form seems still to haunt Fleet Street and the In massive force of understanding, multifarious Strand, and he has stamped his memory on the re

In literature his knowledge, sagacity, and moral intrepidity, no writer mote islands of the Hebrides.

influence has been scarcely less extensive. No prose writer of that day escaped the contagion of his peculiar style. He banished for a long period the naked simplicity of Swift and the idiomatic graces of Addison; he depressed the literature and poetry of imagination, while he elevated that of the understanding; he based criticism on strong sense and solid judgment, not on scholastic subtleties and refinement; and though some of the higher qualities and attributes of genius eluded his grasp and observation, the withering scorn and invective with which he assailed all affected sentimentalism, immorality, and licentiousness, introduced a pure and healthful and invigorating atmosphere into the crowded walks of literature. These are solid and substantial benefits which should weigh down errors of taste or the caprices of a temperament constitutionally prone to melancholy and ill health, and which was little sweetened by prosperity or applause at that period of life when the habits are formed and the manners become permanent. As a man, Johnson was an admirable representative of the Englishman--as an author, his course was singularly pure, high-minded, and independent. He could boast with more truth than Burke, that he had no arts but manly arts.' At every step in his progress his passport was talent

and virtue; and when the royal countenance and Dr Samuel Johnson.

favour were at length extended to him, it was but a of the eighteenth century surpassed DR SAMUEL ratification by the sovereign of the wishes and opiJohnson. His various works, with their senten- nions entertained by the best and wisest of the tious morality and high-sounding sonorous periods nation. -his manly character and appearance—his great Johnson was born at Lichfield, September 18, virtues and strong prejudices—his early and severe 1709. His father was a bookseller, and in circumstruggles, illustrating his own noble verse- stances that enabled him to give his son a good eduSlow rises worth by poverty depressed

cation. In his nineteenth year he was placed at Pem

Street Scene in Lichfield, including the birthplace of Johnson (being the under part of the lighted side of the large house on the right hand side of the picture )

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Cyclopædia of English Literature: A History, Critical and ..., 第 2 卷