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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.
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,
Contemplative—on God to fix
Serene—to sow the seeds of peace,
Strong—in the Lord, who could desy
Constant—in love to God, the Truth,
Pleasant—and various as the year;
Wise—in recovery from his fall,
His muse, bright angel of his verse,
He sang of God—the mighty source
Angels—their ministry and meed,
Of man—the semblance and effect
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
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