The plan of Liberty, which unfortunately is minutely and circumftantially historical, spreads a camp and langour through several parts of the poem. Its beauties, however, are numerous. The defcription of the feenery of Switzerland, in particular, is a piece of powerful and exquifite painting. The Genius of the deep is perhaps one of the most awful beings ever yet imagined by poetic fancy, and frongly reminds us of the "spirit of the Cape" in the " Lúfiad.” The fubject of the poem is noble, and dear to Britons; yet it has been treated by Dr. Johnfon with a faftidiousnesfs unworthy of a liberal mind. "The poem of Liberty," fays he, " when it firft appeared, I tried to read, and foon defifted. I have never tried again, and therefore will not hazard either praise or cenfure." The opinion of Mr. Heron is more favourable, "This poem is written in a more correct syle than perhaps any of his larger works; it abounds with fublime genuine imagery, and has many ex quifite particular images fcattered through it. It contains much animated eloquence, which may ferve as a model to the orator. It prefents a pleafing view of the progrefs of civilization and refinement, and offers many exhortations to virtuons exertions, which appear to have been poured warm from the heart. Its difadvantages feem to be, that the business of the poem is afligned to an embodied abstract idea, a metaphysical perfonage; that so much of it is employed in relating generally known facts, in the Grecian, the Roman, and the English history; and that it is diversified by to little episodes, which might relieve the tedioufness of uninteresting historic narrative and political declamation." His Cafle of Indolence, is embellished with all the decorations which poetical imagination could confer. The plan is artfully laid, and naturally conducted, and the descriptions rife in a beautiful fucceffion. The charms of indolence, while it only moderates and gives a particular direction to our activity, without unfitting us entirely for social converse and enjoyment, are, in the first part of the poem, moft exquifitely painted; and its loathfome fqualid mifery, when it declines into the languid helplefsnefs of grofs floth, is afterwards most skilfully defcribed. The ftyle and stanza of Spenser, appropriated by custom to all allegorical poems in our language, have been adopted with the happiest till In the Caffle of Indolence, he has characterifed Dr. Murdoch," the oily man of God," Mr. Quin, and other intimate friends. The character of himself, in ftanza LXVIII, was written by ArmBrong. The English language poffeffes nothing more exquifitely delicate than his fongs und odes and his elegies, and smaller pieces have no inconfiderable fhare of merit. The Seafans, his greatest work, have been so often the fubject of critical examination, that general criticifm can fay little of them that has not been faid already. Scott, Dr. Aikin, Mr. Heron, and Mr. Stockdale, have explained their plan and character, and pointed out their beauties and defects with the minuteness and regularity of particular criticism. As there is no great reason to object to Dr. Johnfon's opinion of them, it would be presumptuous to try the fame task, which has already exercised his powers, in hopes of doing more than he has done. "As a writer, Thomson is entitled to one praife of the highest kind,—his mode of thinking, and of preting his thoughts, is original. His blank verfe is no more the blank verfe of Milton, or of any other poet, than the rhymes of Prior are the rhymes of Cowley. His numbers, his pauses, his diction, are of his own growth, without transcription, without imitation. He thinks in a peculiar train, and he thinks always as a man of genius: he looks round on nature, and on life, with the eye which nature only bestows on a poet, the eye that distinguishes in every thing presented to its view, whatever there is on which imagination can delight to be detained, and with a mind that at once comprehends the vast, and attends to the minute. The reader of the Seasons wonders that he never faw before what Thomfon fhows him, and that he never yet felt what Thomson impreffes. "His is one of the works in which blank verse seems properly ufed. Thomson's wide expansion of general views, and his enumeration of circumstantial varieties, would have been obstructed and embarraffed by the frequent intersection of the sense, which are the neceffary effects of rhyme. "His description of extended scenes, and general effects, bring before us the whole magnificence of nature, whether pleasing or dreadful. The gaiety of Spring, the splendor of Summer, the tranquillity of Autumn, and the horrors of Winter, take in their turns poffeffion of the mind. The poet leads us through the appearances of things as they are fucceffively varied by the viciffitudes of the year, and imparts to us fo much of his own enthusiasm, that our thoughts expand with his imagery, and kindle with his fentiments. Nor is the naturalift without his fhare in the entertainment; for he is affifted to recollect and to combine, to arrange his difcoveries, and to amplify the fphere of his contemplation. "The great defect of the Seasons is want of method; but for this I know not that there was any remedy. Of many appearances fubfifting all at once, no rule can be given why one should be mentioned before another; yet the memory wants the help of order, and the curiofity is not exerted by fufpenfe or expectation. "His diction is in the highest degree fluid and luxuriant; fuch as may be faid to be to his images and thoughts, both their luftre and their fhade;' fuch as inveft them with fplendor through which perhaps they are not always cafily difcerned. It is too exuberant, and fometimes may be charged with filling the ear more than the mind. "These poems, with which I was acquainted on their first appearance, I have fince found altered and enlarged by subsequent revisals, as the author fuppofed his judgment to grow more exact, and as books or conversation extended his knowledge and opened his profpects. They are, I think, im proyed in general; yet I know not whether they have not loft part of what Temple calls their "race," a word which, when applied to wine, in its primitive fenfe, means the flavour of the foil. « The highest praise which he has received, ought not to be fuppreffed; it is faid by Lord Lyttle ton, in the prologue to his posthumous play, that his works contained No line which dying he could wish to blot." This account of the "Poet of the Seafons" cannot conclude more properly than with the follow ing "Addrefs to the Shade of Thomfon," written by Mr. Burns, whofe poems in the Scottish dialec are well known among his countrymen, and univerfally admired. While virgin Spring, by Eden's flood, Unfolds her tender mantle green; Or pranks the fod in frolic mood, While Summer, with a matron grace, Yet, oft delighted, flops to trace By Tweed erects her aged head; While maniac Winter rages o'er Or fweeping wild a waste of snows: So long, fweet poet of the year, Shall bloom that wreath thou well haft won, While Scotia, with exulting tear, Proclaims that THOMSON was her fon. The fubje& propofed. Infcribed to the Countefs of Hertford. The feafon is defcribed as it affects the various parts of Nature, afcending from the lower to the higher; with digreffions arifing from the fubject. Its influence on inanimate matter, on vegetables, on brute animals, and, laft, on man; concluding with a diffuafive from the wild and irregular paffion of love, oppofed to that of a pure and happy kind. Come, gentle Spring, ethereal mildness, come, The mountains lift their green heads to the sky. Relenting nature, and his lufty steers [plough, With meafur'd step, and liberal throws the grain The harrow follows harsh, and shuts the fcene. The plough, and greatly independent liv'd. Ye generous Britons, venerate the plough; And o'er your hills, and long withdrawing vales, Let Autumn spread his treasures to the fun, If, brush'd from Ruffian wilds, a cutting gale Joylefs and dead, a wide-dejected waste. Or fcatters o'er the blooms the pungent duft Or, when th' envenom'd leaf begins to curl, The little trooping birds unwifely fcares. Be patient, fwains, thefe cruel feeming winds Blow not in vain. For hence they keep reprefs'd Thofe deepening clouds on clouds, furcharg'd with That, o'er the vaft Atlantic hither borne, [rain, In endlefs train, would quench the fummer-blaze, And, cheerlefs, drown the crude unripened year. The north-eaft fpends his rage; he now shut up Within his iron cave, th' effufive fouth Warms the wide air, and o'er the void of heaven Breathes the big clouds with vernal fhowers difA firft a dusky wreath they feem to rife, [tent. Scarce ftaining ether; but by fwift degrees, In heaps on heaps, the doubling vapour fails Along the loaded fky, and mingled deep Sits on th' horizon round a fettled gloom: Not fuch as wintry storms, on mortals shed, Opprefling life: but lovely, gentle, kind, And full of every hope and every joy, The wifh of nature. Gradual finks the breeze Into a perfect calm, that not a breath Is heard to quiver through the elofing woods, Or rustling turn the many twinkling leaves Of afpin tall. Th' uncurling floods, diffus'd In glaffy breadth, feem through delufive lapfe Forgetful of their course. "Tis filence all, And pleafing expectation. Herds and flocks Drop the dry fprig, and mute-imploring eye The falling verdure. Hush'd in short fufpenfe, The plumy people ftreak their wings with oil, To throw the lucid moisture trickling off; And wait th' approaching fign to strike, at once, Into the general choir. Ev'n mountains, vales, And forests feem, inpatient, to demand. The promis'd fweetnefs. Man fuperior walks Amid the glad creation, mufing praife, And looking lively gratitude. At last, The clouds confign their treasures to the fields; And, foftly fhaking on the dimpled pool Prelufive drops, let all their moisture flow, In large effufion, o'er the freshen'd world. The fealing fhower is fcarce to patter heard, By fuch as wander through the forest walks, Beneath th' umbrageous multitude of leaves. But who can hold the fhade, while Heaven de In univerfal bounty fhedding herbs, [fcends And fruits and flowers, on nature's ample lap? Swift fancy fir'd anticipates their growth; And, while the milky nutriment diftils, Beholds the kindling country colour round. Thus all day long the full-diftended clouds Indulge their genial ftores, and well-shower'd Is deep-enrich'd with vegetable life; [earth Till, in the western fky, the downward fun Looks out, effulgent, from amid the flush Of broken clouds, gay-fhifting to his beam. The rapid radiance inftantaneous strikes Th' illumin'd mountain, through the forest streams, Shakes on the floods, and in a yellow mist, Far fmoking o'er the interminable plain, In twinkling myriads lights the dewy gems. Moift, bright, and green, the landscape laughs around. Full fwell the woods; their very mufic wakes, 1 Meantime refracted from yon eaftern cloud, Beftriding earth, the grand ethereal bow Shoots up immenfe; and every hue unfolds, In fair proportion running from the red, To where the violet fades into the sky. Here, awful Newton, the diffolving clouds Form, fronting on the fun, thy fhowery prism; And to the fage inftructed eye unfold The various twine of light, by that disclos'd From the white mingling maze. Not fo the boy; He wondering views the bright enchantment bend, Delightful, o'er the radiant fields, and runs To catch the falling glory; but amaz'd Beholds th' amufive arch before him fly, Then vanifh quite away. Still night fucceeds, And foften'd hade, and faturated earth Awaits the morning-beam, to give to light, Rais'd through ten thoufand different plaftic tubes, The balmy treafures of the former day. Then fpring the living herbs, profufely wild, O'er all the deep-green earth, beyond the power Of botanifts to number up their tribes: Whether he steals along the lonely dale, In filent fearch; or through the foreft, rank With what the duil incurious weeds account, Buffts his blind way, or climbs the mountain rock, Fir'd by the nodding verdure of its brow. With fuch a liberal hand has nature flung Their feeds abroad, blown them about in winds, Innumerous mixt them with the nurfing mold, The moistening current, and prolific rain. [race But who their virtues can declare? who pierce, With vifion pure, into thefe fecret stores, Of health, and life, and joy? The food of man, While yet he liv'd in innocence, and told A length of golden years; unflesh'd in blood, A ftranger to the favage arts of life, Death, rapine, carnage, furfeit, and disease ; The lord, and not the tyrant, of the world. The first fref dawn then wak'd the gladden'd Of uncorrupted man, nor blufh'd to fee The fluggard fleep beneath its facred beam : For their light flumbers gently fum'd away; And up they rofe as vigorous as the fan, Or to the culture of the willing glebe, Or to the cheerful tendance of the flock. [fport, Meantime the fong went round; and dance and Widom and friendly talk, fucceffive, ftote Their hours away; while in the rofy vale Love breath'd his infant fighs, from anguifh free, And full replete with blifs"; fave the fweet pain, That, inly thrilling, but exalts it more. Not yet injurious act, nor furly deed, Was known among thofe happy fons of heaven; For reafon and benevolence were law. Harmonious nature too look'd fmiling on. Clear fhone the skies, cool'd with eternal gales, And balmy fpirit all. The youthful fun Shot his beft rays, and ftill the gracious clouds Dropp'd fatnefs down; as o'er the fwelling mead, The herds and flocks, commixing, play'd fecure. This when, emergent from the gloomy wood, The glaring lion faw, his horrid heart Was meeken'd, and he join'd his fullen joy. Per mufic held the whole in perfect peace: Sigh'd the flute; the tender voice was heard, Warbling the varied heart; the woodlands round Apply'd their quire; and winds and waters flow'd In confonance. Such were thofe prime of days. But now those white unblemish'd manners, whence The fabling poets took their golden age, And o'er the high-pil'd hills of fractur'd earth The Seafons fince have, with feverer fway, Opprefs'd a broken world; the Winter keen Shook forth his wafte of fnows; and Summer fhot His peftilential heats. Great Spring, before, Green'd all the year; and fruits and bloffoms blush'd, In focial fweetnefs, on the felf-fame bough. Were taught to blow, nor hurricanes to rage; |