though among the follies of my life, building and planting have not been the least, and have cost me more than I have the conscience to own; yet they have been fully recompensed by the sweetness and satisfaction of this retreat, where, since my resolution taken of never entering again into any public employments, I have passed five years without ever going once to town, though I am almost within sight of it, and have a house there always ready to receive me. Nor has this been any sort of affectation, as some have thought it, but a mere want of desire or humour to make so small a remove; for when I am in this corner, I can truly say with Horace, "Me quoties reficit gelidus Digentia rivus, Quid sentire putas, quid credis amice precare? Sit mihi quod nunc est etiam minus, ut mihi vivam, "Me when the cold Digentian stream revives, May I have books enough, and one year's store, Sir William Temple has always been held in much esteem as a prose writer: but his claims to the distinction of a poet have been little noticed. Yet neither Nature nor Art had been niggardly in quali fying him to excel in this high gift: as is proved by the following very pleasing and powerful poem, written with great vigour of sentiment, language, and versification. Many of the lines have the simple force of Dryden's last and best style: and some of them have the polish, and mellifluence of Pope. The thorny paths of the Statesman, in which the succeeding twenty years were passed, probably extinguished as well the enthusiasm, as the literary habits of the Muse. Indeed the sober, moral, and practical style of his poetry, seemed to take that statesmanlike view of the national manners, which best fits a man to conduct public affairs with talent and wisdom. Upon the Approach of the Shore at Harwich, in January, 1658. Begun under the Mast. "WELCOME the fairest and the happiest Earth, Pinch'd with the frost, and parched with the wind; ་་་་་་་་་་་་་འ་་་་་་ As haste me home, with an account, that brings Welcome as health, and cheerful as the light. To cover cruel deeds, and give a shade To savage beasts, who on the weaker prey, Or human savages more wild than they. Only relieve the heats, and cover loves, Shelt ring no other thefts or cruelties, But those of killing or beguiling eyes. Their famish'd hinds, by cruel Lords enslav'd, Ruin'd by taxes, and by soldiers brav'd, Know no more ease than just what sleep can give; Have no more heat and courage but to live: Thy brawny clowns, and sturdy seamen, fed With manly food, that their own fields have bred, When they are call'd away from herd and plough When twenty subjects beat an hundred slaves. How much thou do'st to Heaven and Nature owe! Thy forces, and as blest thy soil and seat: But then with numbers thou would'st be o'er-run; Command the waves to cease their rough alarms, To close so many of thy children's eyes; But all about thee Health and Plenty vie, 1 No XXI. a Continuation of a singular Character, described by himself. a TO THE EDITOR OF "THE SYLVAN WANDERER." 66 "SIR, Sept. 5, 1815. A DREARY length of time has been endured, since I wrote my first letter to you. I know not if I have now the strength or spirits to tell you, what I then intended to communicate. "The melancholy winter, which I passed after the event that I last related, I am unwilling to recall to my memory. As the first days of Spring reanimated Nature, my spirits revived a little in the common glow of life. I resolved to seek out Julia Bruce and her family, of whom I had for some months lost all trace. "On horseback, with no attendant but my groom, I set out on a journey, which I determined should not end, till I had accomplished my object. I had a strong suspicion, that this interesting family were secluded in one of the numerous sea-bathing places on the English coast. I traversed day after day, and week after week, from the Eastern to the Western shore, • See N° VIII. |