But O! how altered was its sprightlier tone, When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemmed with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, Peeping from forth their alleys green : Brown Exercise rejoiced to hear; And Sport leapt up, and seized his beechen spear. Last came Joy's ecstatic trial: He, with viny crown advancing, First to the lively pipe his hand addrest ; But soon he saw the brisk, awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he loved the best : They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw, in Tempè's vale, her native maids, Amidst the festal sounding shades, To some unwearied minstrel dancing, While, as his flying fingers kissed the strings, Love framed with Mirth, a gay fantastic round: Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound; As if he would the charming air repay, Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings. Oh, Music! sphere-descended maid, Thy mimic soul, oh, nymph endeared, Where is thy native simple heart, Confirm the tales her sons relate! Collins's grand lines, The Patriot's Grave, are among the finest of their class: How sleep the brave, who sink to rest, SHENSTONE'S highest effort was his Schoolmistress. extract: Here is an In every village marked with little spire, A matron old, whom we schoolmistress name, Awed by the power of this relentless dame; For unkempt hair, or task unconned, are sorely shent. And all in sight doth rise a birchen tree, Which Learning near her little dome did stowe; Though now so wide its waving branches flow, But their limbs shuddered, and their pulse beat low : Near to this dome is found a patch so green, And at the door imprisoning board is seen, Lest weakly wights of smaller size should stray, The noises intermixed, which thence resound, Where sits the dame, disguised in look profound, Her cap, far whiter than the driven snow, Her apron dyed in grain, as blue, I trow, Tway birchen sprays; with anxious fear entwined, A russet stole was o'er her shoulders thrown; 'Twas simple russet, but it was her own; 'Twas her own country bred the flock so fair! 'Twas her own labour did the fleece prepare; And, sooth to say, her pupils, ranged around, Through pious awe, did term it passing rare; For they in gaping wonderment abound, And think, no doubt, she been the greatest wight on ground. In elbow-chair (like that of Scottish stem, By the sharp tooth of cankering eld defaced, Our sovereign prince and liefest liege is placed) But love each other dear, whatever them betide. Unlike most other poets, YOUNG preferred to dilate upon themes connected with the shady side of life, rather than its cheerful aspects. This gloomy proclivity of his pen is the more remarkable from the fact that he was, even to old age, far from being insensible to worldly influences and enjoyments. Schlegel thinks that he was affected in his misanthropy, and unnatural in his pathos. The following incident does not seem to conflict with that opinion : Young was one day walking in his garden at Welwyn, in company with two ladies (one of whom he afterwards married); the servant came to acquaint him that a gentleman wished to speak with him. "Tell him," said the doctor, "I am too happily engaged to change my situation.” The ladies insisted he should go, as his visitor was a man of rank, his patron and his friend; but as persuasion had no effect, one took him by the right arm and the other by the left, and led him to the garden gate; when, finding resistance |