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he did not love clean linen; and I have no passion for it.’ During his confinement, it is said, writing materials were denied him, and Smart used to indent his poetical thoughts with a key on the wainscot of | his walls. A religious poem, the Song to David, written at this time in his saner intervals, possesses passages of considerable power and sublimity, and must be considered as one of the greatest curiosities of our literature. What the unfortu, nate poet did not write down (and the whole could not possibly have been committed to the walls of his apartment) must have been composed and retained from memory alone. Smart was afterwards released from his confinement; but his ill fortune (following, we suppose, his intemperate habits) again | pursued him. He was committed to the King's Bench prison for debt, and died there, after a short illness, in 1770.

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To fasting and to fear— Clean in his gestures, hands, and feet, To smite the lyre, the dance complete,

To play the sword and spear.

Sublime—invention ever young,
Of vast conception, towering tongue,
To God the eternal theme;
Notes from yon exaltations caught,
Unrivalled royalty of thought,
O'er meaner strains supreme.

Contemplative—on God to fix
His musings, and above the six
The Sabbath-day he blest;
‘Twas then his thoughts self-conquest pruned,
And heavenly melancholy tuned,
To bless and bear the rest.

Serene—to sow the seeds of peace,
Remembering when he watched the fleece,
How sweetly Kidron purled—
To further knowledge, silence vice,
And plant perpetual paradise,
When God had calmed the world.

Strong—in the Lord, who could desy
Satan, and all his powers that lie
In sempiternal night;
And hell, and horror, and despair
Were as the lion and the bear
To his undaunted might.

Constant—in love to God, the Truth,
Age, manhood, infancy, and youth—
To Jonathan his friend
Constant, beyond the verge of death;
And Ziba, and Mephibosheth,
His endless fame attend.

Pleasant—and various as the year;
Man, soul, and angel without peer,
Priest, champion, sage, and boy;
In armour, or in ephod clad,
His pomp, his piety was glad;
Majestic was his joy.

Wise—in recovery from his fall,
Whence rose his eminence o'er all,
Of all the most reviled;
The light of Israel in his ways,
Wise are his precepts, prayer, and praise,
And counsel to his child.

His muse, bright angel of his verse,
Gives balm for all the thorns that pierce,
For all the pangs that rage;
Blest light, still gaining on the gloom,
The more than Michal of his bloom,
The Abishag of his age.

He sang of God—the mighty source
Of all things—the stupendous force
On which all strength depends;
From whose right arm, beneath whose eyes,
All period, power, and enterprise
Commences, reigns, and ends.

Angels—their ministry and meed,
Which to and fro with blessings speed,
Or with their citterns wait;
Where Michael, with his millions, bows,
Where dwells the seraph and his spouse,
The cherub and her mate.

Of man—the semblance and effect
Of God and love—the saint elect
For infinite applause—
To rule the land, and briny broad,
To be laborious in his laud,
And heroes in his cause.

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dignity and patriotic elevation in “Leonidas,' which might even yet find admirers. Thomson is said to have exclaimed, when he heard of the work of Glover, “He write an epic poem, who never saw a mountain' Yet Thomson himself, familiar as he was in his youth with mountain scenery, was tame and commonplace when he ventured on classic or epic subjects. The following passage is lofty and energetic:—

[Address of Leonidas.] He alone Remains unshaken. Rising, he displays

His godlike presence. Dignity and grace Adorn his frame, and manly beauty, joined With strength Herculean. On his aspect shines Sublimest virtue and desire of fame, Where justice gives the laurel; in his eye | The inextinguishable spark, which fires The souls of patriots; while his brow supports Undaunted valour, and contempt of death. Serene he rose, and thus addressed the throng: “Why this astonishment on every face, | Ye men of Sparta ? Does the name of death Create this fear and wonder O my friends ! Why do we labour through the arduous paths | Which lead to virtue? Fruitless were the toil. Above the reach of human feet were placed The distant summit, if the fear of death Could intercept our passage. But in vain His blackest frowns and terrors he assumes To shake the firmness of the mind which knows That, wanting virtue, life is pain and wo; | That, wanting liberty, even virtue mourns, And looks around for happiness in vain. Then speak, O Sparta! and demand my life; | My heart, exulting, answers to thy call, And smiles on glorious fate. To live with fame The gods allow to many; but to die With equal lustre is a blessing Heaven Selects from all the choicest boons of fate, And with a sparing hand on few bestows.” | Salvation thus to Sparta he proclaimed. Joy, wrapt awhile in admiration, paused, Suspending praise; nor praise at last resounds In high acclaim to rend the arch of heaven; A reverential murmur breathes applause.

The nature of the poem affords scope for interesting

situations and descriptions of natural objects in a romantic country, which Glover occasionally avails himself of with good effect. There is great beauty

and classic elegance in this sketch of the fountain at the dwelling of Oileus:—

| Beside the public way an oval fount
Of marble sparkled with a silver spray
Of falling rills, collected from above.
The army halted, and their hollow casques
Dipped in the limpid stream. Behind it rose
An edifice, composed of native roots,
And oaken trunks of knotted girth unwrought.
Within were beds of moss. Old battered arms
Hung from the roof. The curious chiefs approach.
These words, engraven on a tablet rude,
Megistias reads; the rest in silence hear:
“Yon marble fountain, by Oileus placed,
|To thirsty lips in living water flows;
| For weary steps he framed this cool retreat;
A grateful offering here to rural peace,
His dinted shield, his helmet he resigned.
| 0 ger! if born to noble deeds,
| Thou would'st obtain perpetual grace from Jove,
Devote thy vigour to heroic toils,
And thy decline to hospitable cares.
| Rest here; then seek Oileus in his vale.”

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0 sun thou o'er Athenian towers, The citadel and fanes in ruin huge, Dost, rising now, illuminate a scene More new, more wondrous to thy piercing eye Than ever time disclosed. Phaleron's wave Presents three thousand barks in pendants rich; Spectators, clustering like Hymettian bees, Hang on the burdened shrouds, the bending yards, The reeling masts; the whole Cecropian strand, Far as Eleusis, seat of mystic rites, Is thronged with millions, male and female race, Of Asia and of Libya, ranked on foot, On horses, camels, cars. Ægalcos tall, Half down his long declivity, where spreads A mossy level, on a throne of gold, Displays the king, environed by his court, In oriental pomp; the hill behind By warriors covered, like some trophy huge, Ascends in varied arms and banners clad ; Below the monarch's feet the immortal guard, Line under line, erect their gaudy spears; The arrangement, shelving downward to the beach, Is edged by chosen horse. With blazing steel Of Attic arms encircled, from the deep Fo lifts her surface to the sight, Like Ariadne's heaven-bespangling crown, A wreath of stars; beyond, in dread array, The Grecian fleet, four hundred galleys, fill The Salaminian Straits; barbarian prows In two divisions point to either mouth Six hundred brazen beaks of tower-like ships, Unwieldy bulks; the gently-swelling soil Of Salamis, rich island, bounds the view. Along her silver-sanded verge arrayed, The men-at-arms exalt their naval spears, Of length terrific. All the tender sex, Ranked by Timothea, from a green ascent, Look down in beauteous order on their sires, Their husbands, lovers, brothers, sons, prepared To mount the rolling deck. The younger dames In bridal robes are clad ; the matrons sage, In solemn raiment, worn on sacred days; But white in vesture, like their maiden breasts, Where Zephyr plays, uplifting with his breath The loosely-waving folds, a chosen line Of Attic graces in the front is placed; From each fair head the tresses fall, entwined


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