My helpless infancy, left not my youth In balms and powerful herbs. He taught me things Creusa. What things were those? Ilyssus. They were for exercise, and to confirm My growing strength. And yet I often told him The exercise he taught resembled much What I had heard of war. He was himself A warrior once. Creusa. And did those sports delight thee? Whene'er I grasped the osier-plaited shield, I felt I know not what of manhood in me. Ryssus. He only smiled at my too forward zeal; Nay, seemed to think such sports were necessary To soften, what he call'd, more rigorous studies. Creusa. Suppose when I return to Athens, youth, Thou should'st attend me thither! wouldst thou To me thy future fortunes? [trust Lyssus. Oh most gladly!' -But then to leave these shades where I was nursed The servant of the god, how might that seem? And good Aletes too, the kind old man Of whom I spake ?-But wherefore talk I thus, You only throw these tempting lures to try Th' ambition of my youth.-Please you, retire. Creusa. Ilyssus, we will find a time to speak More largely on this subject; for the present Let all withdraw and leave us. Youth, farewell, I see the place, and will retire at leisure. Lycea, Phorbas, stay. VARIETY. A TALE FOR MARRIED PEOPLE. A GENTLE maid of rural breeding, By Nature first, and then by reading, Was fill'd with all those soft sensations Which we restrain in near relations, Lest future husbands should be jealous, And think their wives too fond of fellows. The morning sun beheld her rove Yet shrewd observers still declare, The world, no doubt, was well enough Not that she wish'd to "be alone," Fate heard her pray'r: a lover came, Ran o'er the catalogue by rote Of who might marry, and who not; Consider, sir, we're near relations-" "I hope so in our inclinations."—— In short, she look'd, she blush'd consent; He grasp'd her hand, to church they went; And every matron that was there, With tongue so voluble and supple, Said for her part, she must declare, She never saw a finer couple. O Halcyon days! 'Twas Nature's reign, Two smiling springs had waked the flow'rs The days grew hot, the evenings cool, Full oft, unknowing why they did, A courteous neighbour at the door At morn, at noon, at eve, at night: Yet neighbors were not quite the thing; What joy, alas! could converse bring With awkward creatures bred at homeThe dog grew dull, or troublesome. " The cat had spoil'd the kitten's merit, And then, my dear, I can't abide This always sauntering side by side." Agreed. A rich old uncle dies, The rosy morn had raised her head Roll swift, ye wheels! to willing eyes New objects every moment rise. Each carriage passing on the road, From the broad waggon's pond'rous load To the light car, where mounted high The giddy driver seems to fly, Were themes for harmless satire fit, And gave fresh force to Jenny's wit. Whate'er occurred, 'twas all delightful, No noise was harsh, no danger frightful. The dash and splash through thick and thin, The hair-breadth 'scapes, the bustling inn, (Where well-bred landlords were so ready To welcome in the 'squire and lady,) Dirt, dust, and sun, they bore with ease, Determined to be pleased, and please. Now nearer town, and all agog, They know dear London by its fog. Bridges they cross, through lanes they wind, Leave Hounslow's dang'rous heath behind, Through Brentford win a passage free By roaring," Wilkes and Liberty !” At Knightsbridge bless the short'ning way, Why should we paint, in tedious song, Of streets on streets, and squares on squares, Scarce less astonishment arose Th' enormous loads that clothed their head. Whilst the black ewes, who own'd the hair, When Night her murky pinions spread, O London, thou prolific source, Parent of vice, and folly's nurse! I know not which, that livelier dunce To crush domestic bliss at once. Of thee, Pantheon, let me speak Let architects of humbler name On frail materials build their fame, But what are these to scenes which lie Secreted from the vulgar eye, And baffle all the powers of song?— A brazen throat, an iron tongue, Where even Democritus, thy sneer They reach'd all heights, and rose with ease; From the grave cautious few who live Advanced to fashion's wavering head, A tête-à-tête across the fire; The ruddy health, which wont to grace Silence is eloquence, 'tis said. Both wish'd to speak, both hung the head. At length it burst."Tis time," he cries, "When tired of folly, to be wise. Are you too tired?"-then check'd a groan. She wept consent, and he went on. "How delicate the married life! You love your husband, I my wife! We left the lonesome place; and found, In dissipation's giddy round, A thousand novelties to wake "Behold us now, dissolving quite In the full ocean of delight, In pleasures every hour employ, Of all that's gay, and all that's great: As makes our home the more our own. RICHARD GLOVER. [Born, 1712. Died, 1785.J RICHARD GLOVER was the son of a Hamburgh merchant in London, and was born in St. Martin's-lane, Canon-street. He was educated at the school of Cheam, in Surrey; but being intended for trade, was never sent to the university. This circumstance did not prevent him from applying assiduously to classical learning; and he was, in the competent opinion of Dr. Warton, one of the best Greek scholars of his time. This fact is worth mentioning, as it exhibits how far a determined mind may connect the pursuits, and even distinctions of literature, with an active employment. His first poetical effort was a poem to the memory of Sir Isaac Newton, which was written at the age of sixteen; and which his friend Dr. Pemberton thought fit to prefix to a "View of the Newtonian Philosophy," which he published. Dr. Pemberton, who was a man of more science than taste on this and on some other occasions, addressed the public with critical eulogies, on the genius of Glover, written with an excess of admiration, which could be pardoned only for its sincerity. It gives us a higher idea of the youthful promises of his mind, to find that the intelligent poet Green had the same prepossession in his favour. Green says of him in the " 'Spleen," "But there's a youth, that you can name, The birth of Pallas may explain." At the age of twenty-five he published nine books of his "Leonidas." The poem was immediately taken up with ardour by Lord Cobham, to whom it was inscribed, and by all the readers of verse, and leaders of politics, who professed the strongest attachment to liberty. It ran rapidly through three editions, and was publicly extolled by the pen of Fielding, and by the lips of Chatham. Even Swift in one of his letters from Ireland, drily inquires of Pope, "who is this Mr. Glover, who writ Leonidas,' which is reprinting here, and hath great vogue?”* Overrated as Leonidas" might be, Glover stands acquitted of all attempts or artifice to promote its popularity by false means. He betrayed no irritation in the disputes which were raised about its merit; and his personal character appears as respectable in the ebb as in the flow of his poetical reputation. [* Pope's answer does not appear: "It would have been curious," says Dr. Warton, "to have known his opinion concerning a poem that is written in a taste and manner so different from his own, in a style formed on the Grecian school, and with the simplicity of the ancient."] In the year 1739 he published his poem "London; or the Progress of Commerce," in which, instead of selecting some of those interesting views of the progress of social life and civilization, which the subject might have afforded, he confined himself to exciting the national spirit against the Spaniards. This purpose was better effected by his nearly contemporary ballad of "Hosier's Ghost." His talents and politics introduced him to the notice and favour of Frederick, Prince of Wales, whilst he maintained an intimate friendship with the chiefs of the opposition. In the mean time, he pursued the business of a merchant in the city, and was an able auxiliary to his party, by his eloquence at public meetings, and by his influence with the mercantile body. Such was the confidence in his knowledge and talents, that in 1743 the merchants of London deputed him to plead, in behalf of their neglected rights, at the bar of the House of Commons, a duty which he fulfilled with great ability. In 1744, he was offered an employment of a very different kind, being left a bequest of 500l. by the Duchess of Marlborough, on condition of his writing the duke's life, in conjunction with Mallet. He renounced this legacy, while Mallet accepted it, but never fulfilled the terms. Glover's rejection of the offer was the more honourable, as it came at a time when his own affairs were so embarrassed as to oblige him to retire from business for several years, and to lead a life of the strictest economy. During his distresses, he is said to have received from the Prince of Wales a present of 500. In the year 1751, his friends in the city made an attempt to obtain for him the office of city chamberlain; but he was unfortunately not named as a candidate, till the majority of votes had been engaged to Sir Thomas Harrison. The speech which he made to the livery on this occasion did him much honour, both for the liberality with which he spoke of his successful opponent, and for the manly but unassuming manner in which he expressed the consciousness of his own integrity, amidst his private misfortunes, and asserted the merit of his public conduct as a citizen. The name of Guildhall is certainly not apt to inspire us with high ideas either of oratory or of personal sympathy; yet there is something in the history of this transaction which increases our respect, not only for Glover, but for the scene itself, in which his eloquence is said to have warmly touched his audience with a feeling of his worth as an individual, of his spirit as a politician, and of his powers as an accomplished speaker. He carried the sentiments and endowments of a polished scholar into the most popular meeting of trading life, and showed that they could be welcomed there. Such men elevate the character of a mercantile country. During his retirement from business, he finished his tragedy of "Boadicia," which was brought out at Drury Lane in 1753, and was acted for nine nights, it it said "successfully," perhaps a misprint for successively. Boadicea is certainly not a contemptible drama: it has some scenes of tender interest between Venusia and Dumnorix; but the defectiveness of its incidents, and the frenzied character of the British queen render it, upon the whole, unpleasing. Beaumont and Fletcher, in their play on the same subject, have left Boadicia, with all her rashness and revengeful disposition, still a heroine; but Glover makes her a beldam and a fury, whom we could scarcely condemn the Romans for having carted. The disgusting novelty of this impression is at variance with the traditionary regard for her name, from which the mind is unwilling to part. It is told of an eminent portrait-painter, that the picture of each individual which he took had some resemblance to the last sitter: when he painted a comic actress, she resembled a doctor of divinity, because his imagination had not yet been delivered of the doctor. The converse of this seems to have happened to Glover. He anticipated the hideous traits of Medea, when he produced the British queen. With a singular degree of poetical injustice, he leans to the side of compassion in delineating Medea, a monster of infanticide, and prepossesses us against a high-spirited woman, who avenged the wrongs of her country, and the violation of her daughters. His tragedy of "Medea" appeared in 1761; and the spirited acting of Mrs. Yates gave it considerable effect. merce, In his later years, his circumstances were greatly improved, though we are not informed from what causes. He returned again to public life; was elected to parliament; and there distinguished himself, whenever mercantile prosperity was concerned, by his knowledge of comand his attention to its interests. In 1770 he enlarged his "Leonidas" from nine to twelve books, and afterward wrote its sequal, the "Athenaid," and a sequel to "Medea." The latter was never acted, and the former seldom read. The close of his life was spent in retirement from business, but amidst the intimacy of the most eminent scholars of his time. Some contemporary writers, calling themselves critics, preferred "Leonidas" in its day to "Paradise Lost;" because it had smoother versification, and fewer hard words of learning. The re-action of popular opinion, against a work that has been once over-rated, is apt to depress it beneath its just estimation. It is due to "Leonidas" to say, that its narrative, descriptions, and imagery, have a general and chaste congruity with the Grecism of its subject. It is far, indeed, from being a vivid or arresting picture of antiquity; but it has an air of classical taste and propriety in its design; and it sometimes places the religion and manners of Greece in a pleasing and impressive light. The poet's description of Dithyrambus making his way from the cave of Eta, by a secret ascent, to the temple of the Muses, and bursting, unexpectedly, into the hallowed presence of their priestess Melissa, is a passage fraught with a considerable degree of the fanciful and beautiful in superstition. The abode of Oïleus is also traced with a suavity of local description, which |