No murmuring Streams, no sound of distant Sheep,
Or song of Birds invite his eyes to sleep;

By Toil exhausted, when he sinks to rest,
Beneath his Sun-burnt head no flowers are prest;
Down on the Deck his fainting limbs are laid,
No spreading Trees dispense their cooling shade;
No Zephyrs round his aching temples play,
No fragrant Breezes noxious heats allay;

The rude rough Wind which stern EOLUS sends,
Drives on in blasts, and, while it cools, offends:
He wakes; but hears no music from the Grove,
No varied Landscape courts his eye to rove:
O'er the wide Main he looks to distant Skies,

Where nought but Waves on rolling Waves arise."

Many of these expressions are exactly couched in the language of FALCONER, and the same style of complaint prevails, that is visible throughout THE SHIPWRECK: yet if the reader can have any doubt respecting my opinion in this respect, he will surely agree with me in assigning to FALCONER The Description of a Ninety Gun Ship, inserted in the Magazine for May 1759. I can only subjoin a brief extract:

"Lavish in wealth, luxuriant in her pride,
Behold the gilded mass exulting ride!

Her curious Prow divides the silver Waves,

In the salt ooze her radiant sides she laves:

From Stem, to Stern, her wonderous length survey,

Rising a beauteous VENUS from the Sea!

Her Stem, with naval drapery engraved,

Shewed mimic Warriors who the Tempest braved;

Whose visage fierce defied the lashing Surge,

Of Gallic pride the emblematic scourge...

... But leaving feigned armaments, behold!
Eight hundred Youths, of heart and sinew bold,
Mount up her Shrouds, or to her Tops ascend;
Some haul her Braces, some her Foresail bend."

The first lines exactly correspond with the description of the carved work of the merchant Vessel at the close of the first Canto; and the remainder are technical terms, which FALCONER alone is celebrated for having rendered harmonious.

But if we have to lament the loss of many of FALCONER'S Minor Poems, I may also express my astonishment at the uncertainty which still prevails respecting the real Author of Cease rude Boreas: that it was not written by G. A. STEEVENS there can be but little doubt; he was neither versed in the science, nor in the terms of Navigation. It has long been my opinion, and that of many other persons, that this Ode was either composed by FALCONER, or by another Naval Poet who now is scarcely known out of the profession, Captain THOMSON, the celebrated, yet anonymous Author of

* A Life of this Officer appeared in the Naval Chronicle, (vol. vi. p. 237. and vol. vii. p. 93.) He was born at Hull in Yorkshire, and received his education from Dr. Cox at Hampstead. Sir Home Popham, and Sir T. B. Thompson, were brought up under him. He died Commander of the Grampus off the Coast of Africa, January 17, 1786. Captain THOMSON was the Author of The Top Sails shiver in the Wind, written about 1780; and of Loose every Sail to the Breeze,-Behold

many Sea Songs. Some naval officers are of opinion that this Ode, however sublime, is not sufficiently correct in the terms of Navigation to be assigned to so able a seaman as FALCONER: he might not however in these lines have introduced the nicety of that science in so great a degree as he has done in THE SHIPWRECK: thus far, at least, is certain ; that he used to repeat with particular pleasure to his friends, some lines of a similar Poem which had then appeared, and always considered The Storm as a sublime subject for such a composition.

Before I conclude the account of FALCONER'S literary life, previous to the year 1762, I beg leave to present the reader with the following excellent little Poem, descriptive of the abode and sentiments of a Midshipman. It was originally called by our Author simply The Midshipman; which name has since been lost in the more technical one of ORLOP, or the Deck immediately over the Hold: where, far removed from the light of day, and at a considerable distance below the surface of the

upon the gallant Wave, &c. He published, in 1764, a Poem called the Soldier; in 1765, the Courtezan, a Poem, and the Demirep; in 1766, his Sailor's Letters; in 1776, an edition of Whitehead's, and also of Andrew Marvel's Works, and a humourous Poem called the Electric Eel; in 1778, with a Collection of Poems called the Muse's Mirror. He was also the Author of many dramatic Pieces; and in 1773, with Mr. John Macmillan, began the Westminster Magazine.

water, the Cabins, or Births of the Midshipmen

are placed :

THE MIDSHIPMAN.

Aid me, kind MUSE! so whimsical a Theme,
No Poet ever yet pursued for Fame;

Boldly I venture on a Naval Scene,

Nor fear the Critic's frown, the Pedant's spleen:
SONS OF THE OCEAN, we their rules disdain,
Our bosom's honest, and our style is plain :
Let HOMER's heroes, and his gods, delight,
Let MILTON with infernal legions fight;
His favourite Warrior, polished VIRGIL show;
With love, and wine, luxurious HORACE glow-
Be such their subjects; I another choose,
As yet neglected by the laughing Muse.

Deep in that Fabric, where BRITANNIA boasts
O'er Seas to waft her thunder, and her hosts,
A Cavern lies! unknown to cheering day;
Where one small Taper lends a feeble ray:
Where wild Disorder holds her wanton reign,
And careless Mortals frolic in her train-
Bending beneath a Hammock's friendly shade,
See ESCULAPIUs all in arms display'd;

In his right hand th' impending steel he holds,
The other, round the trembling victim folds;
His gaping Myrmidon the deed attends,
Whilst in the pot the crimson stream descends;
Unawed young GALEN bears the hostile brunt,
Pills in his rear, and CULLEN in his front;
Whilst, mustered round the medicinal pile,
Death's grim militia stand in rank, and file.

In neighbouring Mansions, lo! what clouds arise,
It half conceals its Owner from our eyes;
One penny light with feeble lustre shines,
To prove the MID in high Olympus dines;

Let us approach-the preparation view!

A COCKPIT BEAU is surely something new:
To him JAPAN her varnished joys denies;
Nor bloom for him the sweets of Eastern skies:

His rugged limbs no lofty Mirror shows,
Nor tender Couch invites him to repose:
A pigmy glass upon his Toilet stands,

Crack'd o'er, and o'er, by awkward clumsy hands;
CHESTERFIELD's page polite, the Seaman's Guide,
An half-eat biscuit, CONGREVE's Mourning Bride,
Bestrewed with powder, in confusion lie,
And form a chaos to th' intruding eye-
At length this Meteor of an hour is drest,
And rises an ADONIS from his Chest:
Cautious he treads, least some unlucky slip
Defiles his cloaths with Burgou, or with Flip:
These rocks escaped, arrives in statu quo;
Bows; dines and bows; then sinks again below.
Not far from hence a joyous GROUP are met,
For social mirth, and sportive pastime set;
In cheering Grog the rapid course goes round,
And not a care in all the circle's found:
Promotion, Mess-Debts, absent Friends, and Love
Inspired by Hope, in turn their topics prove:
To proud Superiors then, they each look up,
And curse all Discipline in ample cup.

Hark! yonder voice in hollow murmur swells;
Hark! yonder voice the MID to DUTY calls!
Thus summoned by the Gods, he deigns to go,
But first makes known his Consequence below:
At Slavery rails, scorns lawless Sway to Hell,
And damns the power allowed a white lapel:
Vows that he's free!-to stoop, to cringe disdains-
Ascends the Ladder, and resumes his Chains.

In canvassed Birth, profoundly deep in thought, His busy mind with Sines, and Tangents, fraught, A MID reclines!-in calculation lost!

His efforts still by some intruder crost: