dulation of blank verse. What some critics have remarked of its uniformity, growing at last tiresome to the ear, will be found to hold true, only when the poetry is faulty in other respects." The introductory lines to this poem have been greatly admired:.,..

Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb

The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar;
Ah! who can tell how many a soul sublime
Has felt the influence of malignant star,

And wag'd with Fortune an eternal war;

Check'd by the scoff of Pride, by Envy's frown,

And Poverty's unconquerable bar,

In life's low vale remote has pined alone,

Then dropt into the grave, unpitied and unknown!"

After mentioning the parents who lived in innocent simplicity, and of whom we are told, that

"Beyond the lowly vale of shepherd life

They never roam'd

he makes us acquainted with the "Minstrel" himself, while yet an infant:

XV.

"The wight whose tale these artless lines unfold,
Was all the offspring of this humble pair.
His birth no oracle or seer foretold :.
No prodigy appear'd in earth or air, /
Nor aught that might a strange event declare.

You guess each circumstance of EDWIN's birth,
The parent's transport, and the parent's care;

The gossip's prayer for wealth, and wit, and worth, And one long summer-day of indolence and mirth.

XVI.

"And yet poor Edwin was no vulgar boy; Deep thought oft seem'd to fix his infant eye. Dainties he heeded not, nor gaude, nor toy,

Save one short pipe of rudest minstrelsy."

Silent when glad; affectionate, though shy;

And now his look was most demurely.sad,

And now he laugh'd aloud, yet none knew why.

I

The neighbours star'd and sigh'd, yet bless'd the lad: Some deem'd him wond'rous wise, and some believ'd him mad."

XVII.

"But why should I his childish feats display? Concourse, and noise, and toil, he ever fied; Nor car'd to mingle in the clamorous fray

Of squabbling imps, but to the forest sped, Or roam'd at large the lonely mountain's head; Or, where the maze of some bewilder'd stream

To deep untrodden groves his footsteps led,

There would he wander wild 'till Phoebus beam,
Shot from the western cliff, released the weary team."

XVIII.

"Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed,

To him nor vanity nor joy could bring.
His heart from cruel sport estranged, would bleed
To work the woe of any living thing,

By trap or net; by arrow or by sling;

These he detested, those he scorn'd to wield:

He wish'd to be the guardian, not the king,

Tyrant far less, or traitor of the field.

And sure the sylvan reign unbloody joy might yield.”

We now find the youthful Edvin inspired by the

Muses':

LVII.

"For Edwin Fate a nobler doom had plann'd;

Song was his favourite and first pursuit,

The wild harp rang to his adventurous hand,

And languish'd to his breath the plaintive flute.

His infant muse, though artless, was not mute :

Of elegance as yet he took no care,

For this of time and culture is the fruit;

And Edwin gain'd at last this fruit so rare:

As in some future verse I purpose to declare."

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LVIII.

Meanwhile, whate'er of beautiful or new,
Sublime or dreadful, in earth, sea, or sky,
By chance or search, was offer'd to his view,
He scan'd with curious and romantic eye.
Whate'er of lore tradition could supply

From Gothic tale, or song, or fable old,
Roused him, still keen to listen and to pry.
At last though long by penury control'd,
And solitude, his soul her graces 'gan unfold."

In 1770 the public deemed itself highly favoured by a work we shall recur to hereafter, and which we only notice in this place to observe, that Mr. Gray's last letter to the author contained a high eulogium on that performance:

"I am happy," says he" to hear of your success, because I think you are serving the cause of human nature, and the true interests of mankind; your book is read here too (in England) with just applause."+

In

"An essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth, in opposition to Sophistry and Scepticism."

+ So far moderate men may approve what Mr. Gray says, but when he turns from Hume's tenets to his genius, and proclaims him "shallow," and an "infant," we are bound rather to respect the piety than the liberality of the poet :

"I have often thought David Hume" says he, "a pernicious writer, and believe he has done as much mischief here as he bas done in his own country: a turbid and shallow stream often appears to our apprehensions very deep. A professed sceptic can be guided by nothing but his present passions (if he has any) and interests; and to be masters of his philosophy, we need not his books or advice, for every child is capable of the same thing without any study at all. Is not that naiveté and good humour which his admirers

In 1771 appeared part of a work which we have already noticed, viz. Book I. of “the Minstrel; or the progress of Genius," in 4to. and in 1774, Book II. was published.* The whole has since been reprinted several times, and in a variety of sizes.

· In

celebrate in him owing to this, that he has continued all his days an infant, but one that unhappily has been taught to read and write. That childish nation the French have given him vogue and fashion; we, as usual, have learned from them to admire him at second hand."

* It was about this time that many of the most distinguished of his own countrymen began to cultivate a friendship with, and pay respect to the talents of Mr. Beattie. We accordingly find that Several of them addressed their poetical effusions to him, and we the more readily insert the following verses, written by Dr. Geddes, no less celebrated for his profound learning, than his playful genius, as we hope to be able to publish a memoir respecting himself in our next volume:

THE GRUMBLERS."

FROM A SATIRE OF HORACE.-BY MR, GEDDES.

Whence is it, Beattie, that we find

Searce one of all the human kind,

Content with that particular lot

Which choice procur'd, or chance begot;
Each dreaming still, if he possess'd

His neighbour's place, he should be bless'd?
"Happy the man," the soldier says,
"Worn out with toils, and broke with days,
"Who snug behind his compter lies,
"And sees his thousands round him rise!"
"More happy soldier!" cries again

The trader, trembling on the main,
"He marches-fights-and, in a breath,

'Tis victory-or a glorious death:

In the mean time the merits of Mr. B. began to attract public notice. But something better than barren admiration was produced, for the Earl of Errol, who lived at Slains Castle, in the vicinity of

Aberdeen,

1

"While I must live in constant fear,
"And shrink at every blast I hear."
The Country Squire, whom knotty cause
To London and the Chancery draws,.
Oblig'd from earliest morn to wait,
Till twelve o'clock, at lawyer's gate;.
Exclaims, with many a peevish frown-
"How lucky those who live in town!"

The Lawyer, stunn'd with dire debate,
Would just as gladly rusticate;
And talks, in the most rapt'rous strains,
Of rural seats, and verdant plains.

The Doctor--but the plaints of all,
Not Luttrell, in St. Stephen's Hall, ́
Were able fully to describe,

So numerous is the grumbling tribe!

But should some God (the gods, with case,
Can do whate'er their godships please)
Proclaim- 'Tis granted-Henceforth, be
"A Merchant thou, a Soldier he;
"A Lawyer this, and that a Squire ;.
"Each have his relative desire--

"Why stand ye mute? 'Tis given to chuse
"Your envied lots."? All, all refuse.

Sure Jove might burn, with holy ire,

To see them sneakingly retire;
And, in his well-tim'd fury, swear--

He'd never more indulge their prayer.

This is supposed to have been the handsome and magnificent Earl of Errol, who ruined his fortune in one single day: that on which his present Majesty was crowned, when he appeared in

the