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riage. He never recovered the blow which this loss dealt him; and unhappily he strove to mitigate its severity by acts of intemperance, which precipitated his malady into a fatal disease. He died at Chester, when on his way to Ireland, in 1718.

Parnell was an accomplished scholar, and as such considerably trusted by Pope, for whom he wrote the Life prefixed to the translation of the Iliad of Homer. Goldsmith, his countryman, who wrote his life, was proud of Parnell as being the last of the great school that had modelled "itself upon the ancients." His versification is pleasing, simple, and harmonious. Of his works, which are miscellaneous in character translations, songs, hymns, epistles—“ The Hermit" is at once the most celebrated and the most familiarly known. Pope pronounced it to be "very good;" and the ease and melody of its rhythm, the gracefulness of its movement, and its cheery way of exhibiting the workings of a departmental Providence, deserve this encomium. It is only when it is estimated according to what it professes to be, or else professes nothing-an exhaustive and philosophical explanation of God's government of the world-that it becomes inevitably obnoxious to the charge of impertinent quackery.


Propitious Son of God, to Thee
With all my soul I bend my knee;
My wish I send, my want impart,
And dedicate my mind and heart:
For, as an absent parent's son,
Whose second year is only run
When no protecting friend is near,
Void of wit, and void of fear,

With things that hurt him fondly plays,
Or here he falls, or there he strays;
Lo, should my soul's eternal guide,
The Sacred Spirit, be denied,

Thy servant soon the loss would know,
And sink in sin, or run to woe.
O Spirit, bountifully kind,
Warm, possess, and fill my mind;
Disperse my sins with light divine,
And raise the flames of love with thine;
Before thy pleasures rightly prized,
Let wealth and honour be despised;
And let the Father's glory be
More dear than life itself to me.
Sing of Jesus! virgins, sing
Him, your everlasting King!
Sing of Jesus! cheerful youth,
Him, the God of love and truth!
Write and raise a song divine,
Or come and hear, and borrow mine.
Son eternal, Word supreme,
Who made the universal frame,
Heaven, and all its shining show,
Earth, and all it holds below:
Bow with mercy, bow thine ear,
While we sing thy praises here.
Son eternal, ever blest,

Resting on the Father's breast,
Whose tender love for all provides,
Whose power over all presides;
Bow with pity, bow thine car,
While we sing thy praises, hear!
Thou, by pity's soft extreme,
Moved, and won, and set on flame,
Assumed the form of man, and fell
In pains, to rescue man from hell;
How bright thine humble glories rise,
And match the lustre of the skies!
From death and hell's dejected state
Arising, Thou resumed thy seat,
And golden thrones of bliss prepared
Above, to be thy saints' reward.

How bright thy glorious honours rise, And with new lustre grace the skies!

For Thee the sweet seraphic choir
Raise the voice and tune the lyre,
And praises with harmonious sound
Through all the highest heaven rebound.
O make our notes with theirs agree,
And bless the souls that sing of Thee!
To Thee the churches here rejoice,
The solemn organs aid the voice:
To sacred roofs the sound we raise :
The sacred roofs resound thy praise;
And while our notes in one agree,
O bless the Church that sings to Thee!


The sun is swiftly mounted high,
It glitters in the southern sky!
Its beams with force and glory beat,
And fruitful earth is filled with heat.
Father! also with thy fire

Warm the cold, the dead desire,

And make the sacred love of Thee

Within my soul a sun to me!

Let it shine so fairly bright

That nothing else be took for light;
That worldly charms be seen to fade,
And in its lustre find a shade!

Let it strongly shine within,
To scatter all the clouds of sin,

That drive when gusts of passion rise,
And intercept it from our eyes!
Let its glory more than vie
With the sun that lights the sky!
Let it swiftly mount in air,

Mount with that, and leave it there;
And soar, with more aspiring flight,
To realms of everlasting light!
Thus while here I'm forced to be
I daily wish to live with Thee;
And feel that union which thy love
Will, after death, complete above,

From my soul I send my prayer—
Great Creator, bow thine ear!
Thou, for whose propitious sway
The world was taught to see the day;
Who spake the word, and earth begun,
And showed its beauties in the sun;
With pleasure I thy creatures view,
And would with good affection too;
Good affection sweetly free,

Loose from them and move to Thee:
O! teach me due returns to give,
And to thy glory let me live!

And then my days shall shine the more,
Or pass more blessed than before.

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THE birth of Prior is variously referred to the city of London and to Wimborne, in Dorsetshire. What is ascertained is, that his father died early, and that he owed his first training to his uncle, a vintner at Charing Cross, who sent him to Westminster School. He went to Cambridge at the expense of the Earl of Dorset, who further, after his publication, jointly with Charles Montague, of the " City Mouse and the Country Mouse," written in ridicule of Dryden's "Hind and Panther," caused him to be appointed secretary to the English embassy at the Hague. In 1697 he was Secretary of Legation at the treaty of Ryswick; and in the following year was appointed ambassador at the court of Versailles. On his

return he was made Under-secretary of State, and on losing his place at the Earl of Jersey's removal, he was made, in 1701, a commissioner of trade. Soon after this he went over to the Tory party, and was employed by the Government during the reign of Queen Anne in high political and diplomatic functions. Upon the accession of the House of Hanover, he was impeached by the Whigs for his conduct in reference to the peace of Utrecht, and committed to custody for two years. After his release, he found a refuge from pecuniary distress in the publication of his poems by subscription, and in the patronage of Lord Harley, who purchased an estate for him. He died in 1721, at Wimpole, a seat of the Earl of Oxford.

His poems consist of epistles, humorous tales, fables, epigrams, and other miscellaneous works. His style is graceful and sparkling, and full of a pleasant banter. "Dear Mat Prior's easy jingle," celebrated by Cowper, is not more loose than the average morals of his pieces. Perhaps the occurrence of the name of the author of "Hans Carvel" and "Paulo Purganti" on the scroll of sacred poets is to be attributed to the fact that man, as man, cannot live without a recognition of religious obligation, which, if circumstances favour such a method of exhibition, may assume a vocal or a rhythmical form.



Did sweeter sounds adorn my flowing tongue
Than ever man pronounced or angel sung;
Had I all knowledge, human and divine,
That thought can reach, or science can define;
And had I power to give that knowledge birth
In all the speeches of the babbling earth;


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