MEMOIR OF THE REV. HENRY HART MILMAN. THE life of the scholar united with that of the clergyman, is, in a peculiar manner, barren and inattractive to the general reader, from its being deficient in those stirring incidents which fix the attention and take strong hold upon the memory. There may be every virtue under heaven, all the graces of the mind, and the fullest developement of those tranquil and better qualifications of the heart which are, in truth and reason, men's noblest attributes; but there must be stir and bustle, animation and variety, to enchain the indifferent reader to the biographical page. Why the purer virtues alone are so inattractive, is perhaps owing to the superior charm they possess in the social circle. They must be experienced to be valued, and interest from immediate contact and personal observation, becoming mere verbiage on paper, because they are there seen divested of their simple charms; the chaste beauty of their hues being, like the transitory expression on the features of the orator or the actor, untransferable, and only truly engaging in actual observation. To this tranquil order of biographical subjects belongs the memoir of the Rev. HENRY HART MILMAN, a clergyman of the church of England, and Professor of Poetry in the University of Oxford. He was born in London, February 10th, 1791; and was the youngest son of Sir Francis Milman, a very eminent physician, considered to have been much in the confidence of the late king and queen of England. The name of Mr. Milman's mother was Hart. Our poet was first sent to school at Greenwich, where he had for a master the well-known Dr. Charles Burney. From the tutorage of Dr. Burney he was removed to Eton. In that celebrated seminary he remained about nine years. In the year 1810 he went to Oxford, and entered at Brazen-Nose College. At this university he obtained the greatest number of prizes that ever fell to the lot of one individual. One of these was for English verse, one for Latin verse, and a third and fourth for English and Latin essays, while he was distinguished for the first honours in the examinations. In the year 1815, Mr. Milman became a fellow of Brazen-Nose College, and in 1817 entered into holy orders. It was in the year 1817 that the vicarage of St. Mary in the town of Reading was conferred upon him. In 1821 he was elected professor of poetry in the university,—an office usually held for five years, but the professor is customarily re-elected for the same term. In 1824, Mr. Milman married Mary Anne, the youngest. daughter of Lieutenant-General Cockell. In the foregoing lines are comprised all the events of the peaceful and virtuous life of a distinguished man, up to the period when his name came forth to the world in his writings. In the time preceding that period, to arrive at such honours there must have been as arduous, nay more arduous mental labour, than he encounters who overruns kingdoms, or whose adventures and hair-breadth escapes by sea and land fill a folio over which the reader bends with admiration and intercst. How little does the one attract, compared with the other! Yet how enchaining and useful, how much matter for contemplation would be afforded to the world, were it practicable to record all the workings of the student's mind, which have passed away in secret. The strugglings after knowledge, the satisfaction at successful progress, the despair of conquering a difficulty at one time, and the triumph over ob. stacles at another; the aspirations after distinction, the perseverance in toil and the glory of success. The first appearance of Mr. Milman before the public was in the tragedy of "Fazio," which was written before he went into orders, and was af terwards performed with distinguished success. It appeared on the scene at Drury-Lane, on the 5th of February, 1818; but it had been previously published by its author, and had passed through three editions. The plot of this drama is more than commonly interesting, and has the recommendation of being simple, and consequently more noble in character in proportion to its simplicity. The imagery is natural and chaste, the diction pure and elegant. The poetry is of the highest order, and abounds in passages of chastened beauty and great felicity of expression. The "Fall of Jerusalem," the next dramatic work of this poet, appeared in 1820. Perhaps there is more of nature and pathos, more to affect the heart and feelings in this poem than in " Fa 240 MEMOIR OF THE REV. HENRY HART MILMAN. zio," or, rather, more that strikes the mind of the reader, and produces profounder impressions. The time is limited to thirty-six hours; and the subject admitting powerful descriptions, the author has not neglected to avail himself of all which was within his grasp, to enhance the effect of the performance. There is a happy substitution of prophecy for the ancient government of destiny, and all the various characters are forcibly and nobly conceived. This poem is well worthy the pen of a clergyman, gifted, as its author undeniably is, with genius and learning far above the common lot of dramatic writers. These works may be said to have established their author's fame upon an immovable basis, and, with others which he has undertaken since, to have earned him a celebrity of no mean grade. Mr. Milman assiduously performs the duties of a clergyman, and is greatly respected by all who know him in that character. They are things not a little to be envied, in journeying through the wild of life, the possessing that blamelessness of character, and the attracting that affection from our fellow-citizens which is so seldom the lot of celebrity. Thus is doubled the sum of rational enjoyment. In these respects Mr. Milman is to be envied, if envy it be lawful to indulge towards any of our fellow-creatures; and, if report say true, no one more merits to enjoy the delightful feeling of conscious virtue than the author of "Fazio." Several articles in the "Quarterly Review," in its better literary days, are attributed to the pen of Mr. Milman; but none of them are tainted with the asperity which was so long the besetting sin of that publication. The Oxford professor of poetry would be as far above the meanness of personal abuse, as his talents are above those of most who laboured in that work in its days of rabid criticism. Mr. Milman's articles were literary, temperate, and such as might be expected from the pen of the Christian and the poet. (250) THE POETICAL WORKS OF HENRY HART MILMAN. Fazio; A TRAGEDY. ADVERTISEMENT. THE following attempt at reviving our old national drama with greater simplicity of plot, was written with some view to the stage. Circumstances and an opinion of considerable weight induced me to prefer the less perilous ordeal of the press: as in the one case, if its merits are small or moderate, the quiet sleep of oblivion will be infinitely less grating to an author's feelings, than a noisy and tumultuous execution in a public theatre; if, on the other hand, public opinion be in its favour, its subsequent appearance on the stage would be at least under favourable auspices. I am aware, that there is a prejudice at the theatre against plays which have first appeared in print; but whence it originates I am at a loss to conceive. It being impossible, on the present scale of our theatres, for more than a certain proportion of those present to see or hear with sufficient distinctness to form a judgment on a drama, which is independent of show and hurry; it surely would be an advantage that a pre- A Room with Crucibles and Apparatus of Alchymy. vious familiarity with the language and incidents should enable the audience to catch those lighter and fainter touches of character, of passion, and of poetry, on which dramatic excellence so mainly depends. I put entirely out of the question those who go to a play from mere desire of novelty, whose opinions either way would be of very slight value. The Play is founded on a story, which was quoted in the Annual Register for 1795, from the "Varieties of Literature;" but great liberties have been taken with it. Enter FAZIO and BIANCA. FAZIO. WHY what a peevish envious fabulist, BIANCA. Which of thy smooth looks Teacheth this harmony of bland deceit ? Oh, my own Fazio! if a serpent told me That it was stingless in a tone like thine, I should believe it. Oh, thou sweetly false! That at cold midnight quitt'st my side to pore O'er musty tomes, dark sign'd and character'd. O'er boiling skellets, crucibles and stills, FAZIO. Ay, chide on, my love; The nightingale's complaining is more sweet, Than half the dull unvarying birds that pipe Perpetual amorous joy.-Tell me, Bianca, How long is 't since we wedded. BIANCA. With tatter'd remnants of a money-bag, Thy right and title to thy weariness?— FAZIO. Days, days, Bianca! Love That yellow wretch, that looks as he were stain'd FAZIO. And thank'd my God that I had braver riches. BIANCA. Oh then, let that black furnace burst: dash down [She clings to him FAZIO (looking fondly at her.) Who girt Jove's bride in that voluptuous zone, BIANCA. So courtly and so fanciful, my Fazio! FAZIO. Nay, taunt not her, Bianca, taunt not her! Yet he, Bianca, he is of our rich ones. BIANCA. A proud loose wanton! She wanton! FAZIO. Aldabella loose!-Then, then Since that bad devil walk'd fair Paradise. Already silent? Hath your idol quaff'd FAZIO. Nay, unjust! Ungenerous Bianca! who foregoes, For the gay revel of a golden harp, Its ecstasies and rich enchanting falls, His own domestic lute's familiar pleasing? snatch a look How the great crucible doth its slow work, FAZIO (solus.) Oh, what a star of the first magnitude [A groan without. Holy St. Francis! what a groan was there! Voice without. A confessor! one of your black smooth talkers, FAZIO. Why e'en lie there, as foul a mass of earth Within there!--Oh! within there, neighbour!- Death, Methinks these fingers are not coarse nor clumsy. Philosophy, Philosophy! thou 'rt lame sects Suspicion 's of the quickest and the keenest — |