On thy distorted root, with hearers none, One man alone, the father of us all, With the thought-tracing quill, or task'd his mind THE CAST-AWAY. OBSCUREST night involv'd the sky; Th' Atlantic billows roar'd, No braver chief could Albion boast, He lov'd them both, but both in vain, Not long beneath the whelming brine, But wag'd with death a lasting strife, He shouted; nor his friends had fail'd They left their outcast mate behind, And scudded still before the wind. Some succor yet they could afford; And, such as storms allow, The cask, the coop, the floated cord, But he, they knew, nor ship nor shore, Nor, cruel as it seem'd, could he Their haste himself condemn, Aware that flight, in such a sea, Alone could rescue them; Yet bitter felt it still to die Deserted, and his friends so nigh. He long survives, who lives an hour In ocean, self-upheld: And so long he, with unspent pow'r, His destiny repell'd: And ever as the minutes flew, Entreated help, or cried-" Adieu!" At length, his transient respite past, Could catch the sound no more. For then, by toil subdued, he drank The stifling wave, and then he sank. No poet wept him; but the page That tells his name, his worth, his age, I therefore purpose not, or dream, A more enduring date. No voice divine the storm allay'd, JAMES BEATTIE. the "Gothic days" in which he is placed are not historically to be recognized, yet there is great beauty, both moral and descriptive, in the delineation, and perhaps no writer has managed the Spenserian stanza with more dexterity and harmony. The second part of this poem, which contains the maturer part of the education of the young bard, did not appear till 1774, and then left the work a fragment. But whatever may be the defects of the Minstrel, it possesses beauties which will secure it a place among the approved productions of the British muse. JAMES BEATTIE, an admired poet and a moralist, priety applied to such a person as he represents, and was born about 1735, in the county of Kincardine, in Scotland. His father was a small farmer, who, though living in indigence, had imbibed so much of the spirit of his country, that he procured for his son a literary education, first at a parochial school, and then at the college of New Aberdeen, in which he entered as a bursar or exhibitioner. In the intervals of the sessions, James is supposed to have added to his scanty pittance by teaching at a country-school. Returning to Aberdeen, he obtained the situation of assistant to the master of the principal grammarschool, whose daughter he married. From youth he had cultivated a talent for poetry; and in 1760 he ventured to submit the fruit of his studies in this walk to the public, by a volume of "Original Poems and Translations." They were followed, in 1765, by "The Judgment of Paris;" and these performances, which displayed a familiarity with poetic diction, and harmony of versification, seem to have made him favorably known in his neighborhood. Beattie visited London for the first time in 1771, where he was received with much cordiality by the admirers of his writings, who found equal cause to love and esteem the author. Not long afterwards, the degree of LL. D. was conferred on him by his college at Aberdeen. In 1777 a new edition, by subscription, was published of his "Essay on Truth," to which were added three Essays on subjects of polite literature. In 1783 he published "DisserThe interest of the Earl of Errol acquired for him tations Moral and Critical," consisting of detached the post of professor of moral philosophy and logic essays, which had formed part of a course of lecin the Marischal College of Aberdeen; in which tures delivered by the author as professor. His last capacity he published a work, entitled "An Essay on work was Evidences of the Christian Religion, the Nature and Immutability of Truth, in opposition briefly and plainly stated,” 2 vols. 1786. His time to Sophistry and Scepticism," 1770. Being written was now much occupied with the duties of his in a popular manner, it was much read, and gained station, and particularly with the education of his the author many admirers, especially among the most eldest son, a youth of uncommon promise. His distinguished members of the Church of England; death, of a decline, was a very severe trial of the and, at the suggestion of Lord Mansfield, he was father's fortitude and resignation; and it was folrewarded with a pension of 2001. from the King's lowed some years after by that of his younger son. privy-purse. These afflictions, with other domestic misfortunes, In 1771 his fame was largely extended by the entirely broke his spirits, and brought him to his first part of his "Minstrel," a piece the subject of grave at Aberdeen, in August, 1803, in the 68th which is the imagined birth and education of a poet. year of his age. Although the word Minstrel is not with much pro THE MINSTREL; OR, THE PROGRESS OF GENIUS. PREFACE. The design was, to trace the progress of a poetical genius, born in a rude age, from the first dawning of fancy and reason, till that period at which he may be supposed capable of appearing in the world as a Minstrel, that is, as an itinerant poet and musician;—a character which, according to the notions of our forefathers, was not only respectable but sacred. While from his bending shoulder, decent hung Fret not thyself, thou glittering child of pride, I have endeavored to imitate Spenser in the measure of his verse, and in the harmony, simplicity, and variety of his composition. Antique expressions I have avoided; admitting, however, some old words, where they seemed to suit the subject: but I hope none will be found that are now obsolete, or in any degree not intelligible to a reader of English poetry. To those who may be disposed to ask, what could Liberal, not lavish, is kind Nature's hand; induce me to write in so difficult a measure, I can Nor was perfection made for man below. only answer, that it pleases my ear, and seems, Yet all her schemes with nicest art are plann'd, from its Gothic structure and original, to bear Good counteracting ill, and gladness woe. some relation to the subject and spirit of the poem. With gold and gems if Chilian mountains glow; It admits both simplicity and magnificence of sound If bleak and barren Scotia's hills arise; and of language, beyond any other stanza that I There plague and poison, lust and rapine grow; am acquainted with. It allows the sententiousness Here peaceful are the vales, and pure the skies, of the couplet, as well as the more complex modu- And freedom fires the soul, and sparkles in the eyes lation of blank verse. What some critics have remarked, of its uniformity growing at last tiresome to the ear, will be found to hold true, only when Vouchsafes a portion of celestial fire: the poetry is faulty in other respects. Book I. AH! who can tell how hard it is to climb In life's low vale remote has pined alone, And yet the languor of inglorious days, Then grieve not, thou, to whom th' indulgent Muse Nor blame the partial Fates, if they refuse Canst thou forego the pure ethereal soul O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Would shrink to hear th' obstreperous trump of The warbling woodland, the resounding shore, Fame; Supremely blest, if to their portion fall The rolls of fame I will not now explore; The pomp of groves, and garniture of fields; These charms shall work thy soul's eternal health, But why should I his childish feats display? team. Th' exploit of strength, dexterity, or speed, His heart, from cruel sport estranged, would bleed By trap, or net; by arrow, or by sling; Lo! where the stripling, wrapt in wonder, roves And Echo swells the chorus to the skies. And oft he traced the uplands, to survey, But lo! the Sun appears! and heaven, earth, ocean, smile. And oft the craggy cliff he lov'd to climb, And hear the voice of mirth and song rebound, found! In truth he was a strange and wayward wight, 66 ye wild groves, O where is now your bloom! (The Muse interprets thus his tender thought,) "Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom, Of late so grateful in the hour of drougnt! Why do the birds, that song and rapture brought See, in the rear of the warm sunny shower And the dead foliage flies in many a shapeless flake. The rainbow brightens to the setting Sun! Fond fool, that deem'st the streaming glory nigh, Yet couldst thou learn, that thus it fares with age," When the long-sounding curfew from afar Or blast that shrieks by fits the shuddering isles along Or, when the setting Moon, in crimson dyed, Anon in view a portal's blazon'd arch With merriment, and song, and timbrels clear, "Let man's own sphere," said he, "confine his view, And loud enlivening strains provoke the dance. Be man's peculiar work his sole delight." "And from the prayer of Want, and plaint of Woe, O never, never turn away thine ear! Forlorn, in this bleak wilderness below, They meet, they dart away, they wheel askance ; The dream is fled. Proud harbinger of day, Ah! what were man, should Heaven refuse to hear? Fell chanticleer! who oft hath reft away To others do (the law is not severe) All human weal and woe learn thou to make thine own." My fancied good, and brought substantial ill! |