persuasion of Swift, with his treasurer's staff in his hand, to inquire for him, and to bid him welcome; and, as may be inferred from Pope's dedication, admitted him as a favourite companion to his convivial hours, but, as it seems often to have happened in those times to the favourites of the great, without attention to his fortune, which, however, was in no great need of improvement. Parnell, who did not want ambition or vanity, was desirous to make himself conspicuous, and to show how worthy he was of high preferment. As he thought himself qualified to become a popular preacher, he displayed his elocution with great success in the pulpits of London; but the queen's death putting an end to his expectations, abated his diligence; and Pope represents him as falling from that time into intemperance of wine. That in his latter life he was too much a lover of the bottle, is not denied; but I have heard it imputed to a cause more likely to obtain forgiveness from mankind, the untimely death of a darling son; or, as others tell, the loss of his wife, who died (1712) in the midst of his expectations. He was now to derive every future addition to his preferments from his personal interest with his private friends, and he was not long unregarded. He was warmly recommended by Swift to archbishop King, who gave him a prebend in 1713; and in May 1716 presented him to the vicarage of Finglass, in the diocese of Dublin, worth four hundred pounds a year. Such notice from such a man inclines me to believe, that the vice of which he has been accused was not gross, or not notorious. But his prosperity did not last long. His end, whatever was its cause, was now approaching. He enjoyed his preferment little more than a year; for in July 1717, in his thirty-eighth year, he died at Chester on his way to Ireland. He seems to have been one of those poets who take delight in writing. He contributed to the papers of that time, and probably published more than he owned. He left many compositions behind him, of which Pope selected those which he thought best, and dedicated them to the earl of Oxford. Of these Goldsmith has given an opinion, and his criticism it is seldom safe to contradict. He bestows just praise upon The Rise of Woman, The Fairy Tale, and the Pervigilium Veueris; but has very properly remarked, that in The Battle of Mice and Frogs the Greek names have not in English their original effect, He tells us, that The Book Worm is borrowed from Beza; but he should have added with modern applications; and, when he discovers that Gay Bacchus is translated from Augurellus, he ought to have remarked, that the latter part is purely Parnell's. Another poem, When Spring comes on, is, he says, taken from the French. I would add, that the description of Barrenness, in his verses to Pope, was borrowed from Secundus; but lately searching for the passage, which I had formerly read, I could not find it. The Night-piece on Death is indirectly preferred by Goldsmith to Gray's Church-yard; but, in my opinion, Gray has the advantage of dignity, variety, and originality of sentiment. He observes, that the story of the Hermit is in More's Dialogues and Howell's Letters, and supposes it to have been originally Arabian. Goldsmith has not taken any notice of the Elegy to the old Beauty, which is, perhaps, the meanest; nor of the Allegory on Man, the happiest of Parnell's performances. The hint of the Hymn to Contentment I suspect to have been borrowed from Cleiveland. The general character of Parnell is not great extent of comprehension, or fertility of mind. Of the little that appears still less is his own. His praise must be derived from the easy sweetness of his diction: in his verses there is more happiness than pains; he is sprightly without effort, and always delights, though he never ravishes; every thing is proper, yet every thing seems casual. If there is some appearance of elaboration in the Hermit, the narrative, as it is less' airy is less pleasing. Of his other compositions it is impossible to say whether they are the productions of Nature, so excellent as not to want the help of Art, or of Art so refined as to resemble Nature. This criticism relates only to the pieces published by Pope. Of the large appendages which I find in the last edition, I can only say, that I know not whence they came, nor have ever inquired whither they are going. They stand upon the faith of the compilers. Dr. Warton asks, "less than what?" C. AND EARL MORTIMER. SUCH were the notes thy once-lov'd poet sung, Till death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. Oh, just beheld, and lost! admir'd, and mourn'd! With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd! Blest in each science, blest in every strain; Dear to the Muse, to Harley dear-in vain! For him thou oft hast bid the world attend, Fond to forget the statesman in the friend: For Swift and him, despis'd the farce of state, The sober follies of the wise and great; Dextrous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit, And pleas'd to 'scape from flattery to wit. Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, And sure, if aught below the seats divine In vain to deserts thy retreat is made; A. POPE. HESIOD: OR, THE RISE OF WOMAN. WHAT ancient times (those times we fancy wise) In days of yore (no matter where or when, He said, and Vulcan straight the sire commands, To temper mortar with etherial hands; In such a shape to mould a rising fair, As virgin goddesses are proud to wear; To make her eyes with diamond-water shine, And form her organs for a voice divine. 'Twas thus the sire ordain'd; the power obey'd; And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath, Now made to seem, now more than seem to breathe. As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms: From that embrace a fine complexion spread, Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red. ; Then in a kiss she breath'd her various arts, Gold scepter'd Juno next exalts the fair; Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung, And fond persuasion tipp'd her easy tongue; He gave her words, where oily flattery lays The pleasing colours of the art of praise; And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone, Which frets another's spleen to cure its own. Those sacred Virgins whom the bards revere Tun'd all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, To make her sense with double charms abound, Or make her lively nonsense please by sound. To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought A robe in all the dies of beauty wrought, And plac'd their boxes o'er a rich brocade, Where pictured Loves on every cover play'd; Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art Had fram'd to merit Cytherea's heart; The wire to curl, the close indented comb To call the locks, that lightly wander, home; And chief, the mirror, where the ravish'd maid Beholds and loves her own reflected shade. Fair Flora lent her stores; the purpled Hours Confin'd her tresses with a wreath of flowers; Within the wreath arose a radiant crown; A veil pellucid hung depending down; Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold, The purfled border deck'd the floor with gold. Her robe (which closely by the girdle brac'd Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist) Flow'd to the feet, to copy Venus' air, When Venus' statues have a robe to wear. The new-sprung creature, finish'd thus for Adjusts her habit, practises her charms, [harms, With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles, Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles: Then, conscious of her worth, with easy pace Glides by the glass, and turning views her face. A finer flax than what they wrought before, Through Time's deep cave, the sister Fates explore, Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave, "Flow from the rock, my flax! and swiftly flow, "Men born to labour, all with pains provide; Women have time to sacrifice to pride: They want the care of man, their want they know, And dress to please with heart-alluring show; A loitering race the painful bee supports; Thus sung the sisters, while the gods admire Or swears that Venus' must be such as hers. "This box thy portion, and myself the bride." At first the creature man was fram`d alone, |