'what occafion he mentions them. He would fay that all the world is fast asleep, but only Medea; and then his mariners, who are gazing from their fhips on He-, lice and Orion, can ferve but little for his purpose, unless they may be fsuppo fed to fleep with their eyes open. Neither dares he fay that the traveller and porter are yet taking a nap, but only that they have a good mind to it; and after all, we find none but the good woman who had loft her child (and fhe indeed is faft afleep) unless the dogs may be fuppofed to be fo, because they had left off barking. And thefe, methinks, were fcarce worthy to be taken notice of in an heroic poem, except we may believe, that, in the old time, or that in Greek, they bark heroically." *

The

* Vol. ii. p. 122.

Mr. Warton, in his

Obfervations on Spencer, has refuted the abfurdity

of

The Love elegies of Mr. Hammond have very great merit. My Lord Chef

terfield,

of Rymer's criticifm; but I cannot agree with this ingenious gentleman, in fuppofing that the following lines of Dryden are a burlesque.

All things are huth'd, as Nature's felf lay dead
The mountains feem to nod their drowsy head :
The little birds in dreams their fongs repeat,
And fleeping flowers beneath the night-dew fweat.
Ev'n luft and envy fleep.

The third of these lines does not raise any idea of tillness in our minds, but the reft are picturesque; and the thought of making even luft and envy fleep is certainly very expreffive. Otway, in his Orphan, has alfo given us a description of night, which has fome picturefque ftrokes.

All is hufh'd, as Nature were retir'd, And the perpetual motion standing ftill.

So

terfield, in the preface prefixed to them, gives them a just character.

He fat

down," fays he, "to write what he thought, not to think what he fhould write: 'twas nature and fentiment only that dictated to a real miftrefs, not youthful and poetic fancy, to an imaginary one. Elegy therefore fpeaks her own proper native language, the unaffected plaintive language of the tender paffions united, the one without pride, the other without meannefs. Tibullus feems to have been

So much fhe from her work appears to cease,
And ev'ry warring element's at peace;
All the wild herds are in their coverts couch'd
The fishes to their banks or ooze repair'd,
And to the murmurs of the waters fleep;
The feeling air's at reft, and feels no noife,
Except of fome foft breaths
Rocking the harmlefs birds that reft upon 'em,

among

the trees,

A& iii. fc. 1.

VOL. II. PART II. K

the

themodel our author, judicioufly preferred to Ovid; the former writing directly from the heart to the heart; the latter too often yielding and addreffing. himself to the imagination." Mr. Hammond is certainly one of thofe poets formed almost merely by love; and this may be the reafon of our difcerning fo many ftrokes of the pathetic, but none of genius. Mr. Warton very justly fays, "That nature is more powerful than fancy; that we can always feel more than we can imagine; and that the most artful fiction must give way to truth.” * The best of Mr. Hammond's elegiesis that beginning with this verfe:

He who could first two gentle hearts unbind,
And rob a lover of his weeping fair,

• Effay on Pope, p. 253.

Hard

Hard was the man, but harder in my mind,
The lover ftill who dy'd not of despair.

Lord Littleton's monody to the memory of his lady, juftly deferves being ranked with the best elegies in cur language. It is a beautiful poem, full of tender and pathetic fentiments, frong imagery, and a most poetic verfification. It breathes the fineft ftrokes of refignation, piety, and affecting fancy: it is fo well known, that I fhall only felect a few lines from it that are remarkably beautiful.

1. Ye tufted groves, ye gently falling rills,
Ye high o'er-fhadowing hills,

Ye lawns gay-fmiling with eternal green,
Oft have you my Lucy feen!

But never fhall you now behold her more:
Nor will the now with fond delight,

And tafte refin'd, your rural charms explore;
Clos'd are thofe beautecus eyes in endless night!