might probably have caught the popular taste more; | as his visiter was a man of rank, his patron, and but this does not prove that they would have been his friend; and as persuasion had no effect on him, better. The opinion of the Duke of Grafton, they took him, one by the right hand, and the other however, was of more worth than all the opinions by the left, and led him to the garden-gate. He of the wits, if it be true as related by Mr. Spence, then laid his hand upon his heart, and in the exthat his grace presented the author with two thou-pressive manner, for which he was so remarkable, sand pounds. "Two thousand pounds for a po- uttered the following lines:

em!" said one of the Duke's friends: to whom his grace replied, that he had made an excellent bargain, for he thought it worth four.

"Thus Adam look'd when from the garden driven,

And thus disputed orders sent from Heav'n; Like him I go, but yet to go am loth: Like him I go, for angels drove us both. On the accession of George I., Young flattered Hard was his fate, but mine still more unkind: him with an Ode, called Ocean, to which was preHis Eve went with him, but mine stays behind." fixed an introductory Ode to the King, and an esAnother striking instance of his wit is related say on Lyric Poetry of these the most observa- in reference to Voltaire: who, while in England, ble thing is, that the poet and the critic could not (probably at Mr. Doddington's seat in Dorsetshire,) agree: for the Rules of the Essay condemned the ridiculed, with some severity, Milton's allegorical Poetry, and the Poetry set at defiance the maxims of the Essay. The biographer of British Poets who was one of the company, immediately adpersonages, Sin and Death; on which Young, has truly said, "he had least success in his lyric dressed him in the following extemporaneous disattempts, in which he seems to have been under tich: some malignant influence: he is always labouring to be great, and at last is only turgid."

"Thou art so witty, profligate, and thin,

these lines,

"On Dorset downs, when Milton's page

Thou seem'st a Milton, with his Death and Sin." We now leave awhile the works of our author, Soon after his marriage, our author again in to contemplate the conduct of the man. About dulged his poetical vein in two odes, called The this time his studies took a more serious turn; and, Sea Peace, with a poetical Dedication to Voltaire forsaking the law, which he had never practised, in which the above incident seems alluded to in when he was almost fifty, he entered into orders, and was, in 1728, appointed Chaplain to the King. One of Pope's biographers relates, that, on this occasion Young applied to his brother poet for direction in his studies, who jocosely recommended Thomas Aquinas, which the former taking seriously, he retired to the suburbs with the angelic doctor, till his friend discovered him, and brought him back.

With Sin and Death provok'd thy rage." In 1734 he printed an Argument for Peace, which afterward, with several of his smaller pieces, and most of his dedications, was consigned by his own hand to merited oblivion: in which circum stance he deserves both the thanks and imitation of posterity.

His Vindication of Providence, and Estimate About the year 1741 he had the unhappiness to of Human Life, were published in this year; they lose his wife; her daughter by Colonel Lee, and have gone through several editions, and are gene- this daughter's husband, Mr. Temple. What afrally regarded as the best of his prose compositions: fliction he felt for their loss, may be seen in his but the plan of the latter never was completed. Night Thoughts, written on this occasion. They The following year he printed a very loyal sermon are addressed to Lorenzo, a man of pleasure, and on King Charles' Martyrdom, entitled, An Apo- of the world; and who, it is generally supposed, logy for Princes. In 1730, he was presented by was his own son, then labouring under his father's his college to the rectory of Welwyn, in Hertford- displeasure. His son-in-law is said to be characshire, worth about 300l. a year, beside the lordship terized by Philander, and his lady's daughter was of the manor annexed to it. This year he relaps- certainly the person he speaks of under the appeled again to poetry, and published a loyal Naval lation of Narcissa. (See Night III.) In her last Ode, and Two Epistles to Pope, of which nothing illness, which was a consumption, he accompani particular need be said. ed her to Montpellier, or, as Mr. Croft says, to Lyons, in the south of France, at which place she died soon after her arrival.

He was married, in 1731, to Lady Elizabeth Lee, widow of Colonel Lee, and daughter to the Earl of Litchfield; and it was not long before she brought him a son and heir.

Sometime before his marriage, the Doctor walking in his garden at Welwyn, with his lady and another, a servant came to tell him a gentleman wished to speak to him. "Tell him," said the Doctor, "I am too happily engaged to change my situation." The ladies insisted that he should go,

Being regarded as an heretic, she was denied christian burial, and her afflicted father was obliged to steal a grave, and inter her privately with his own hands;* (See Night III.) In this celebrated poem he thus addresses Death:

I take the liberty of inserting here a passage from a lette written by Mr. W. Taylor, from Montpeller, to his sister

1

"Insatiate archer! could not one suffice?

Thy shaft flew thrice, and thrice my peace was slain;
And thrice, ere thrice yor, moon nad filled her horn."

"Narcissa follows e'er his tomb is closed."

|Night Thoughts was written; for Night Seventh

is dated, in the original edition, July 1744.

For the literary merits of this work we shall These lines have been universally understood again refer to the criticism of Dr. Johnson, which of the above deaths; but this supposition can no is seldom exceptionable, when he is not warped by way be reconciled with Mr. Croft's dates, who political prejudices. "In his Night Thoughts," says, Mrs. Temple died in 1736, Mr. Temple in says the Doctor, speaking of our author, "he has 1740, and Lady Young in 1741. Which quite in- exhibited a very wide display of original poetry, verts the order of the poet, who makes Narcissa's variegated with deep reflections and striking allu death follow Philander's: sions; a wilderness of thought, in which the fertility of fancy scatters flowers of every hue, and Night III. of every odour. This is one of the few poems in There is no possible way to reconcile these con- which blank verse could not be changed for rhyme, tradictions: either we must reject Mr. Croft's but with disadvantage. The wild diffusion of the dates, for which he gives us no authority, or we sentiments and the digressive sallies of imaginamust suppose the characters and incidents, if not tion, would have been compressed and restrained entirely fictitious, as the author assures us that by confinement to rhyme. The excellence of this they are not, were accommodated by poetic licence work is not exactness, but copiousness: particular to his purpose. As to the character of Lorenzo, whether taken from real life, or moulded purely in the author's imagination, Mr. Croft has sufficiently proved that it could not intend his son, who was but eight years old when the greater part of the

Mrs. Mouncher, in the preceding year 1789, which may be considered as curious, and will be interesting and affecting to the admirers of Dr. Young and his Narcissa:

"I know you, as well as myself, are not a little partial to

Dr. Young. Had you been with me in a solitary walk the

lines are not to be regarded; the power is in the
whole; and in the whole there is a magnificence
like that ascribed to Chinese plantations, the mag-
nificence of vast extent and endless diversity.”

So far Dr. Johnson.-Mr. Croft says, "Of
these poems the two or three first have been perused
more eagerly and more frequently than the rest.
When he got as far as the fourth or fifth, his ori-
ginal motive for taking up the pen was answered:
his grief was naturally either diminished or ex-
hausted. We still find the same pious poet; but
we hear less of Philander and Narcissa, and less
of the mourner whom he loved to pity."

other day, you would have shed a tear over the remains of his
dear Narcissa. I was walking in a place called the King's
Garden; and there I saw the spot where she was interred.
Mr. J————, Mrs. II—, and myself, had some conversation
Notwithstanding one might be tempted, from
with the gardener respecting it; who told us, that about 45
years ago, Dr. Young was here with his daughter for her some passages in the Night Thoughts, to suppose
health; that he used constantly to be walking backward and he had taken his leave of terrestrial things, in the
forward in this garden (no doubt as he saw her gradually de- alarming year 1745, he could not refrain from re-
clining, to find the most solitary spot, where he might show turning again to politics, but wrote Poetical Re-
his last token of affection, by leaving her remains as secure flections on the State of the Kingdom, originally
as possible from those savages, who would have denied her a
christian burial: for at that time, an Englishman in this appended to the Night Thoughts, but never re-
country was looked upon as an heretic, infidel, and devil. printed with them.
They begin now to verge from their bigotry, and allow them In 1753, his tragedy of The Brothers, written
at least to be men, though not christians, I believe;) and that thirty years before, now first appeared upon the
he bribed the under gardener, belonging to his father, to let
stage. It had been in rehearsal when Young took
him bury his daughter, which he did; pointed out the most
solitary place, and dug the grave. The man, through a pri- orders, and was withdrawn on that occasion. The
vate door, admitted the Doctor at midnight, bringing his be- Rector of Welwyn devoted 1000l. to "The So-
loved daughter, wrapped up in a sheet, upon his shoulder: he ciety for the propagation of the Gospel," and esti-
laid her in the hole, sat down, and (as the man expressed it) mating the probable produce of this play at such a
'rained tears! With pious sacrilege a grave I stole.' The
man who was thus bribed is dead, but the master is still living. sum, he perhaps thought the occasion might sancti-
Before the man died, they were one day going to dig, and set fy the means; and not thinking so unfavourably
some flowers, &c. in this spot where she was buried. The of the stage as other good men have done, he com-
man said to his master, 'Don't dig there; for, so many years mitted the monstrous absurdity of giving a play for
ago, I buried an English lady there.' The master was much the propagation of the gospel! The author was,
surprised; and as Doctor Young's book had made muc noise (as is often the case with authors) deceived in his
years ago it was known for a certainty that that was the place, calculation. The Brothers was never a favourite
and in this way: There was an English nobleman here, who with the public: but that the society might not
was acquainted with the governor of this place; and wishing suffer, the doctor made up the deficiency from his
to ascertain the fact, he obtained permission to dig up the
own pocket.
ground, where he found some bones, which were examined

in France, it led him to inquire into the matter; and only two

by a surgeon, and pronounced to be the remains of a human bony: this, therefore, puts the authenticity of it beyond a Doubt." See Evan. Mag. for 1797, p. 444.

The Centaur not fabulous; in Six letters to a
His next was a prose performance, entitled,
Friend on the Life in Vogue." The third of these

letters describes the death-bed of "the gay, young, |April 12, 1765, and was buried, according to his noble, ingenious, accomplished, and most wretched desire, by the side of his lady, under the altar-piece Altamont," whom report supposed to be Lord of that church, which is said to be ornamented in Euston. But whether Altamont or Lorenzo were a singular manner with an elegant piece of needlereal or fictitious characters, it is certain the author could be at no loss for models for them among the gay nobility, with whom he was acquainted.

In 1759, appeared his lively "Conjectures on Original Composition;" which, according to Mr. Croft, appear "more like the production of untamed, unbridled youth, than of jaded fourscore." This letter contains the pleasing account of the death of Addison, and his dying address to Lord Warwick," See how a Christian can die!"

work by Lady Young, and some appropriate inscriptions, painted by the direction of the doctor.

His best monument is to be found in his works; but a less durable one in marble was erected by his only son and heir, with a very modest and sensible inscription. This son, Mr. Frederick Young, had the first part of his education at Winchester school, and becoming a scholar upon the foundation, was sent, in consequence thereof, to New College, in Oxford; but there being no vacancy (though In 1762, but little before his death, Young pub- the society waited for one no less than two years, lished his last, and one of his least esteemed poems, he was admitted in the mean time in Baliol, where "Resignation," which was written on the follow- he behaved so imprudently as to be forbidden the ing occasion:-Observing that Mrs. Boscawen, in college. This misconduct disobliged his father so the midst of her grief for the loss of the admiral, much, that it is said he would never see him afterderived consolation from a perusal of the Night Thoughts, her friend Mrs. Montague, proposed a visit to the author, by whom they were favourably received; and were pleased to confess that his "unbounded genius appeared to greater advantage in the companion than even in the author; that the Christian was in him a character still more inspired, more enraptured, more sublime than the poet, and that in his ordinary conversation,

-"Letting down the golden chain from high, He drew his audience upward to the sky." On this occasion, at the request of these ladies, the author produced his Resignation, above-mentioned, and which has been so unmercifully treated by the critics, but it has, in some measure, been rescued from their hands by Dr. Johnson, who says, "It was falsely represented as a proof of decayed faculties. There is Young in every stanza, such as he often was in his highest vigour."

wards: however, by his will he bequeathed to him the bulk of his fortune, which was considerable, reserving only a legacy to his friend Stevens, the hatter at Temple-gate, and 1000l. to his house-keeper, with his dying charge to see all his manuscripts destroyed; which may have been some loss to posterity, though none, perhaps, to his own fame.

Dr. Young, as a christian and divine, has been reckoned an example of primeval piety. He was an able orator, but it is not known whether he composed many sermons, and it is certain that he published very few. The following incident does honour to his feelings: when preaching in his turn one Sunday at St. James's, finding he could not gain the attention of his audience, his pity for their folly got the better of all decorum; he sat back in the pulpit, and burst into a flood of tears.

INVISIBILIA NON DECIPIUNT.

His turn of mind was naturally solemn; and he usually when at home in the country, spent many We now approach the closing scene of our au- hours walking among the tombs in his own church thor's life of which, unhappily, we have few par- yard. His conversation, as well as writings, had ticulars. For three or four years before his death, all a reference to a future life; and this turn of he appears to have been incapacitated, by the in- mind mixed itself even with his improvements in firmities of age for public duty; yet he perfectly en- gardening; he had, for instance, an alcove, with a joyed his intellects to the last, and even his vivaci- bench so well painted in it, that at a distance it ty; for in his last illness, a friend mentioning the seemed to be real; but upon a nearer approach the recent decease of a person who had long been in a deception was perceived, and this motto appeared: decline, and observing "that he was quite worn to a shell before he died;"" very likely," replied the doctor; "but what is become of the kernel ?"-He is said to have regretted to another friend, that his Night Thoughts, of all his works most calculated to do good, were written so much above the understanding of common readers, as to contract their sphere of usefulness: This, however, ought not, perhaps to be regretted, since there is a great sufficiency of good books for common readers, and the style of that work will always introduce it where Painer compositions would not be read.

He died at the Parsonage House, at Welwyn,

The things unseen do not deceive us.

In another part of his garden was also this in scription:

• Mr. Croft denies this circumstance, and calls the poet's so his friend.-He does not, however, pretend to vindicate the conduct of the youth; but he relates his repentance and regret, which is far better. Perhaps it is not possible wholly to vin dicate the father. Great genius, even accompanied with piety. is not always most ornamental to domestic life; and "the prose of ordinary occurrences," says Croft, "is eneath the dignity of poets."

AMBULANTES IN HORTO AUDIERUNT VOCEM DEI.
They heard the voice of God walking in the garden.

This seriousness occasioned him to be charged with gloominess of temper; yet he was fond of rural sports and innocent amusements. He would sometimes visit the assembly and the bowling

green; and we see in his satires that he knew how to laugh at folly. His wit was poignant, and always levelled at those who showed any contempt for decency or religion; an instance of which we have remarked in his extemporary epigram on Vol

taire.

eminence to be passed over without notice. In all his works, the marks of strong genius appear. His animated conciseness of style, and lively descripUniversal Passion, possesses the full merit of that tion of character, which I mention as requisite in wit may often be thought too sparkling, and his satirical and didactic compositions. Though his sentences too pointed, yet the vivacity of his fancy Night Thoughts there is much energy of expresis so great, as to entertain every reader. In his sion; in the three first, there are several pathetic passages; and scattered through them all, happy images and allusions, as well as pious reflections, occur. But the sentiments are frequently overstrained, and turgid; and the style is too harsh and obscure to be pleasing."

The same critic has said of our author in ano

Dr. Young rose betimes, and engaged with his domestics in the duties of Morning Prayer. He is said to have read but little; but he noted what he read, and many of his books were so swelled with folding down his favourite passages, that they ther place, that his "merit in figurative language would hardly shut. He was moderate in his meals, is great, and deserves to be remarked. No writer, and rarely drank wine, except when he was ill; being (as he used to say) unwilling to waste the ancient or modern, had a stronger imagination succours of sickness on the stability of health. than Dr. Young, or one more fertile in figures of After a slight refreshment, he retired to rest early every kind; his metaphors are often new, and often natural and beautiful. But his imagination was in the evening, even though he might have comstrong and rich, rather than delicate and correct." pany who wished to prolong his stay.

commendation of an admirer. The following is the conclusion of Dr. Johnson's critique, and shall conclude these memoirs.

These strictures may be thought severe; but it He lived at a moderate expense, rather inclined should be remembered, that an author derives far to parsimony than profusion; and seems to have possessed just conceptions of the vanity of the more honour from such a discriminate character, world; yet (such is the inconsistency of man!) he from a judicious critic, than from the indiscriminate courted honours and preferments at the borders of the grave, even so late as 1758; but none were then conferred. It has, however, been asserted, that he had a pension of 2001. a year from government, conferred under the auspices of Walpole. A: last, when he was full fourscore, the author of the Night Thoughts,

"Who thought e'en gold itself might come a day too late,"

was made Clerk of the Closet to the Princess Dowager of Wales. What retarded his promotion so long is not easy to determine. Some attribute it to his attachment to the Prince of Wales and his friends; and others assert, that the King thought him sufficiently provided for. Certain it is, that he knew no straits in pecuniary matters; and that in the method he has recommended of estimating human life, honours are of little value.

His merits as an author have already been considered in a review of his works; and nothing seems necessary to be added, but the following general characters of his composition, from Blair and Johnson.

Dr. Blair says, in his celebrated lectures: "Among inoral and didactic poets, Dr.. Young is of too great

abounds in thought, but without much accuracy "It must be allowed of Young's poetry, that it of selection.-When he lays hold on a thought, he pursues it beyond expectation, [and] sometimes happily, as in his parallel of quicksilver and plea ... which is very ingenious, very subtle, and almost exact . . . . . .

sure....

"His versification is his own; neither his blank nor his rhyming lines have any resemblance to those of former writers; he picks up no hemisticks, he copies no favourite expressions; he seems to have laid up no stores of thought or diction, but to owe all to the fortuitous suggestions of the present moment. Yet I have reason to believe that, when he once formed a new design, he then laboured it with very patient industry, and that he composed with great labour and frequent revisions.

"His verses are formed by no certain model; he is no more like himself in his different productions than he is like others. He seems never to have studied prosody, nor to have any direction, but from his own ear. But with all his defects, he was a man of genius, and a poet."

THE

POETICAL WORKS

OF

DR. EDWARD YOUNG.

The Complaint.

PREFACE.

As the occasion of this Poem was real, not fictitious, so the method pursued in it was rather imposed by what sponta neously arose in the Author's mind on that occasion, than meditated or designed; which will appear very probable from the nature of it; for it differs from the common mode of poetry, which is, from long narrations to draw short morals: here, on the contrary, the narrative is short, and the morality arising from it makes the bulk of the Poem. The reason of it is that the facts mentioned did naturally pour these moral reflections on the thoughts of the writer.

NIGHT I.

ON LIFE, DEATH, AND IMMORTALITY.

To the Right Hon. Arthur Onslow, Esq., Speaker of the
House of Commons.

TIRED Nature's sweet restorer, balmy Sleep!
He, like the world, his ready visit pays,
Where Fortune smiles; the wretched he forsakes;
Swift on his downy pinion flies from wo,
And lights on lids unsullied with a tear.

From short (as usual) and disturbed repose
I wake: how happy they who wake no more!
Yet that were vain, if dreams infest the grave.
I wake, emerging from a sea of dreams
Tumultuous, where my wrecked desponding
thought

From wave to wave of fancied misery
At random drove, her helm of reason lost.
Though now restored, 'tis only change of pain,
(A bitter change!) severer for severe;
The day too short for my distress; and night,
Ev'n in the zenith of her dark domain,
Is sunshine to the colour of my fate.
Night, sable goddess! from her ebon throne,
In rayless majesty now stretches forth
Her leaden sceptre o'er a slumbering world.
Silence how dead! and darkness how profound!
Nor eye nor listening ear an object finds;
Creation sleeps. 'Tis as the general pulse
Of life stood still, and Nature made a pause;
An awful pause! prophetic of her end.
And let her prophecy be soon fulfilled:
rate drop the curtain; I can lose no more.
Silence and Darkness! solemn sisters! twins
From ancient Night, who nurse the tender thought

To reason, and on reason build resolve,
(That column of true majesty in man)
Assist me: I will thank you in the grave;

The grave your kingdom: there this frame shall

fall

A victim sacred to your dreary shrine.
But what are ye?—

Thou who did'st put to flight
Primeval Silence, when the morning stars,
Exulting, shouted o'er the rising ball;

O Thou! whose word from solid darkness struck
That spark, the sun, strike wisdom from my soul;
My soul, which flies to thee, her trust her treasure,
As misers to their gold, while others rest.

Through this opaque of nature and of soul,
This double night, transmit one pitying ray,
To lighten and to cheer. O lead my mind,
(A mind that fain would wander from its wo)
Lead it through various scenes of life and death,
And from each scene the noblest truths inspire,
Nor less inspire my conduct than my song;
Teach my best reason, reason; my best will
Teach rectitude; and fix my firm resolve
Wisdom to wed, and pay her long arrear:
Nor let the phial of thy vengeance, poured
On this devoted head, be poured in vain.

The bell strikes one. We take no note of time
| But from its loss: to give it then a tongue
Is wise in man. As if an angel spoke

I feel the solemn sound. If heard aright,
It is the knell of my departed hours.
Where are they? With the years beyond the
flood.

It is the signal that demands despatch:
How much is to be done? My hopes and fears
Start up alarmed, and o'er life's narrow verge