Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, No wailing ghost shall dare appear, No wither'd witch shall here be seen, The red-breast oft' at evening hours With hoary moss and gather'd flow'rs the distinguished excellencies of such pieces as bewail departed friendship or beauty, he was an almost unequalled master. He knew perfectly to exhibit such circumstances, peculiar to the objects, as awaken the influances of pity; and while, from his own great sensibility, he felt what he wrote, he naturally addressed himself to the feelings of others. To read such lines as the following, all beautiful and tender as they are, without corresponding emotions of pity, is surely impossible : The tender thought on thee shall dwell : O'er all the man conflicting passions rise, Rage grasps the sword, while Pity melts the eyes! By thee dispos'd no farther toil demand, So spread o'er Greece th' harmonious whole unknown, E'en Homer's numbers charm'd by parts alone: DIRGE IN CYMBELINE,* Sung by Guiderius and Arviragus over Fidele, Supposed to be dead. TO fair Fidele's grassy tomb Soft maids and village hinds shall bring * Mr. Collins had skill to complain of that mournful melody and those tender images which are Each opening sweet of earliest bloom, No wailing ghost shall dare appear, No wither'd witch shall here be seen, The red-breast oft' at evening hours With hoary moss and gather'd flow'rs the distinguished excellencies of such pieces as bewail departed friendship or beauty, he was an almost unequalled master. He knew perfectly to exhibit such circumstances, peculiar to the objects, as awaken the influances of pity; and while, from his own great sensibility, he felt what he wrote, he naturally addressed himself to the feelings of others. To read such lines as the following, all beautiful and tender as they are, without corresponding emotions of pity, is surely impossible : The tender thought on thee shall dwell : And mourn'd till Pity's self be dead. When howling winds and beating rain Each lonely scene shall thee restore, Belov'd till life can charm no more, VERSES Written on a paper which contained a piece of YE curious hands that, hid from vulgar eyes, By search profane shall find this hallow'd cake, With virtue's awe forbear the sacred prize, Nor dare a theft for love and pity's sake! This precious relic, form'd by magic pow'r, The Cyprian queen at Hymen's fond request With rosy hand the spicy fruit she brought And temper'd sweet with these the melting thought, Ambiguous looks, that scorn and yet relent, Sleep, wayward God! hath sworn while these remain If, bound by vows to Friendship's gentle side, Sweet Peace, who long hath shun'd my plaintive day |