injure Bolingbroke in any way, by its publication, which he only objected to because it had not received his last corrections, and there is no conceivable bad motive by which Pope could have been actuated, it is clear that the vindictive rage of his Lordship was excited by another cause, and that cause was Pope's preference of Warburton as the Editor of his works*. Mrs. Blount warmly assured Mr. Spence, that " she could take her oath, that The Patriot King was printed by Pope, out of his excessive esteem for the writer and his abilities," which, as Roscoe remarks, is the only rational mode of accounting for the transaction. Now when we find that Bolingbroke's furious passion made him condescend to connect himself with such a personage as Mallet, of whom Johnson tells us it had been said that "he was the only Scotchman that Scotchmen did not commend," and who was ready for any dirty job;" when we trace the unrelenting acrimony with which, in conjunction with this ready hireling, he endeavoured to blast the memory of his old friend; let it be put to any candid and considerate reader, whether it is not more likely, that Bolingbroke coined or rather confirmed a malignant falsehood, than that Pope was guilty of the corruption imputed to him. It is true, that at first sight, there is something Sir George Rose has a very violent note to the second of the two letters I have already quoted, and does not hesitate to use language respecting Pope that would have been worthy of Mallet himself. He calls him crooked-minded-takes it for granted that he is guilty of all that he is charged with, and describes his treatment of the Duchess as an act of singular baseness and malignity. No allusion is made by the Editor to his father's repetition of the late Lord Marchmont's statement, which it can hardly be supposed he had not seen. Ruff * D'Israeli accounts for Bolingbroke's rage in the same manner. head, however, in his Life of Pope, attributes it entirely to the hostile criticism of Warburton already noticed, and asserts that though Bolingbroke continued after that circumstance to caress Pope, he entertained for him a secret hatred on account of his friendship with Warburton. But this is not credible, for whatever were Bolingbroke's faults he cannot fairly be suspected of such mean and cold-blooded hypocrisy. He might have cloaked the real cause of his anger, but he was not such a consummate hypocrite as to shed tears of apparent tenderness over the man he hated. against this view of the matter in the circumstance of his Lordship's making a kind of appeal to the Earl of Marchmont's knowledge of the bribe; but it must be remembered that we have not the Earl's reply before us, and that it is possible he might have denied the possession of the imputed knowledge, or that at all events, he might only have heard of it as a rumour raised by some of Pope's numerous enemies, and Bolingbroke, to serve his own purpose, alluded to it as an indisputable fact with which they were mutually acquainted. Perhaps Bolingbroke himself was the first who communicated it to the Earl. The public ought not to give too hasty and ready a credence to the assertions of so interested a witness as Lord Bolingbroke, against one, who, whether as a man or a poet, is entitled to our admiration; for his actions were generally of an amiable and honorable character, and his works will delight and instruct mankind, as long as the language in which they are written shall endure*. STANZAS TO A FEMALE FRIEND. I. FAIR Lady, as though friendship's chain seem broken It holds, with wonted force, this faithful heart, I fain reserve's delusive veil would part, * Mrs. Thomson in her "Memoirs of Sarah Duchess of Marlborough," lately published (1839), makes no allusion to the Marchmont Papers, and merely repeats, after Walpole and Warton, the old story of the bribe. Ꮓ II. Fate with no heavier blow nor keener sting III. Alas! I may not meet thee in the crowd, IV. But oh! the deadly pang, the freezing chill, That meets thine ear could say what feelings thrill V. I cannot think that all our mutual dreams Were false as twilight shadows, nor believe Thine heart could change, or words like thine deceive ; I wait and watch for thy returning smile. THE DAY OF LIFE. I. OH! blue were the mountains, And gorgeous the trees, And stainless the fountains, And pleasant the breeze; A glory adorning The wanderer's way, In Life's sunny morning, When young Hope was gay! II. The blue hills are shrouded, The groves are o'ercast, The bright streams are clouded, The breeze is a blast; The light hath departed The dull noon of Life, And Hope, timid-hearted, Hath fled from the strife! III. In fear and in sadness, Poor sports of the storm, Whose shadow and madness Enshroud and deform; Ere Life's day is closing How fondly we crave The dreamless reposing The calm of the grave. STANZAS. I. OH! visit not My couch of dreamless sleep, When even thou shalt be forgot By this so faithful breast; But let the stranger watch my silent rest Oh! come not, Maid! II. I crave no sigh from thee, E'en when my mouldering frame is laid Within the cold dull grave; For the yew shall moan, and the night-wind rave, A fitting dirge for me! And dear, though mournful dreams alone remain Of me and misery! Oh! then, fair Maid! By twilight linger near IV. The rustling trees whose green boughs shade My lonely place of rest; And hallow thou the turf that wraps my breast With pity's purest tear! |