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Inspires with rage, or all your cares dissolves;

Can soothe distraction, and almost despair. That power is music: far beyond the stretch

Of those unmeaning warblers on our stage; Those clumsy heroes, those fat-headed gods,

Who move no passion justly but contempt: Who, like our dancers (light indeed and strong!)

In love dissolves you; now in sprightly strains.

Breathes a gay rapture through your thrilling breast;

Or melts the heart with airs divinely sad; Or wakes to horror the tremendous strings. Such was the bard, whose heavenly strains of old

Appeased the fiend of melancholy Saul. Such was, if old and heathen fame say true,

Do wondrous feats, but never heard of The man who bade the Theban domes

grace.

The fault is ours; we bear those monstrous arts;

Good Heaven! we praise them: we, with loudest peals,

ascend,

And tamed the savage nations with his song;'

And such the Thracian, whose melodious lyre,

Applaud the fool that highest lifts his Tuned to soft woe, made all the mountains

heels;

And, with insipid show of rapture, die
Of idiot notes impertinently long.
But he the Muse's laurel justly shares,

A poet he, and touched with Heaven's own fire,

weep;

Soothed even the inexorable powers of hell,

And half redeemed his lost Eurydice. Music exalts each joy, allays each grief, Expels diseases, softens every pain,

Who, with bold rage or solemn pomp of Subdues the rage of poison, and the

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the most probable account, at Dalquhurn House, Dumbartonshire. Yet Bonhill House, a short distance farther up the Vale of Leven, is also assigned as his birthplace.

But he did not despair of literary distinction, and his experience here and elsewhere formed the materials out of which he constructed his Roderick Random.

After leaving the naval service, he resided some time in the West Indies, where he married Miss Lascelles. On his return to London, which took place

physician, but was unsuccessful; he therefore settled in Chelsea, and again took to literature. His first essays were two satires, the Advice and the Reproof, the former published in 1746, and the latter in 1747. But his first popular work was Roderick Random, published in 1748. With little by way of plot or plan, it consists of a series of incidents of the most varied kind, which seldom exceed the bound of probability, related with a profusion of humour, which, though often gross, is never dull or constrained in its flow. Its verisimilitude is even enhanced by its absence of plan or aim, or even moral purpose or principle in the character of its hero. Peregrine Pickle appeared in 1751, and is constructed on the same lines as Roderick Random, but with greater scope, and surpasses its precursor in the richness and grossness of its humour, as well as in the moral unscrupulousness of its hero. His next work, Count Fathom, published in 1754, is a romance.

His father, a younger son of Sir James Smollett of Bonhill, died early in life, and consequently young Smollett was educated by his grandfather, first at the grammar-school of Dumbar-in 1744, he tried to obtain practice as a ton, and afterwards at Glasgow University. After what can hardly be called a regular University course, he was consigned to Dr Gordon, of Glasgow, as a medical apprentice; and at the age of nineteen completed his engagement. The death of his grandfather about this time deprived him of any expectations that he might have built upon his relations; and he resolved to try his fortunes in London, having already tried his literary powers in the form of a tragedy, entitled the Regicide, which he was sanguine enough to expect he would get brought out at one of the London theatres. Arbuthnot, Mallet, and Thomson, had set an example of successful literary adventure to young Scotchmen, which had the effect of inspiring many of them with the confidence to follow their lead; and Armstrong and Smollett, both medical men, were the earliest additions to the Scotch literary colony in London. As might be expected, Smollett's expectations were at first disappointed, and, having Having in 1755 completed his translafailed to storm the citadel of the tragic tion of Don Quixote, he visited Scotland, Muse, he returned to the service of for the first time since he left it. He had Esculapius, and entered the navy as a the pleasure of seeing his mother, and ensurgeon's mate on board an eighty-gun joying the consideration which his liteship, in which he took part in the ill-rary fame gave him in the estimation of fated expedition against Carthagena. his countrymen. After visiting the scenes

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of his boyhood and youth, he returned to London, when he commenced his History of England, which appeared in 1758 in four volumes, the work of fourteen months. He also undertook the editing of the Critical Review. In it he published in 1762 an attack on Admiral Knowles, one of the commanders of the Carthagena expedition. For this article he was tried and condemned to an imprisonment of three months, and to pay a fine of £100. While in prison he wrote the romance of Sir Lancelot Greaves, a travesty of Don Quixote. His health now began to yield to the strain which the number of his literary labours entailed; and the death of his daughter, an only child, at the age of fifteen, accelerated the progress of its decline. He went abroad for two years, and published an account of his travels on his return, which savours of the irritability which impaired health served to aggravate. On his return from the Continent, he again sought the benefits of his native air; and again had the pleasure of seeing his mother, to whom he was much attached.

After residing for some time with his cousin, Mr Smollett of Bonhill, he returned to London and his literary labours, and wrote the Adventures of an Atom, an attack on Lord Bute and the Earl of Chatham.

but he had little more than the satisfaction of seeing it published, when, on the 21st October 1771, he died in his fiftyfirst year. He was buried at Leghorn, where his widow erected a monument to his memory. A similar memorial was erected by his relations in his native Vale of Leven, whose pastoral beauties he so well loved.

ODE TO INDEPENDENCE.

STROPHE.

Thy spirit, Independence, let me share,
Lord of the lion-heart and eagle-eye;
Thy steps I follow, with my bosom bare,
Nor heed the storm that howls along the
sky.

Deep in the frozen regions of the north,
A goddess violated brought thee forth,
Immortal Liberty, whose look sublime
Hath bleached the tyrant's cheek in every
varying clime.

What time the iron-hearted Gaul,
With frantic superstition for his guide,
Armed with the dagger and the pall,
The sons of Woden to the field defied
The ruthless hag, by Weser's flood,
In Heaven's name urged the infernal
blow;

And red the stream began to flow:
The vanquished were baptised with blood!

ANTISTROPHE.

The Saxon prince in horror fled, From altars stained with human gore, His health having become worse, he again resolved to go abroad, and his And Liberty his routed legions led In safety to the bleak Norwegian shore. friend, countryman, and fellow-poet Dr There in a cave asleep she lay, Armstrong engaged a cottage for him Lulled by the hoarse-resounding main, near Leghorn, where his strength someWhen a bold savage passed that way, what rallied. Here he wrote Humphry Impelled by destiny, his name Disdain. Clinker, his last and best work, in which❘ Of ample front the portly chief appeared : he describes the scenes of his boyhood: The hunted bear supplied a shaggy vest;

The drifted snow hung on his yellow Fair Freedom's temple, where he marked beard, her grave. And his broad shoulders braved the He steeled the blunt Batavian's arms

furious blast,

He stopt, he gazed, his bosom glowed, And deeply felt the impression of her

charms :

He seized the advantage Fate allowed, And straight compressed her in his vig

orous arms.

STROPHE.

The curlew screamed, the tritons blew
Their shells to celebrate the ravished rite;
Old Time exulted as he flew ;
And Independence saw the light.
The light he saw in Albion's happy
plains,

Where under cover of a flowering thorn, While Philomel renewed her warbled strains,

The auspicious fruit of stolen embrace was born

The mountain Dryads seized with joy, The smiling infant to their charge consigned;

The Doric muse caressed the favourite boy;

The hermit Wisdom stored his opening

mind.

As rolling years matured his age,

He flourished bold and sinewy as his sire; While the mild passions in his breast assuage

The fiercer flames of his maternal fire.

ANTISTROPHE.

Accomplished thus, he winged his way,
And zealous roved from pole to pole,
The rolls of right eternal to display,
And warm with patriot thought the as-
piring soul.

On desert isles 'twas he that raised
Those spires that gild the Adriatic wave,
Where Tyranny beheld amazed

To burst the Iberian's double chain :
And cities reared, and planted farms,
Won from the skirts of Neptune's wide
domain.

He, with the generous rustics, sat
On Uri's rocks in close divan;
And winged that arrow sure as fate,
Which ascertained the sacred rights of

man.

STROPHE.

Arabia's scorching sands he crossed,
Where blasted nature pants supine,
Conductor of her tribes adust,

To Freedom's adamantine shrine ;
And many a Tartar horde forlorn, aghast
He snatched from under fell Oppression's
wing,

And taught amidst the dreary waste,
The all-cheering hymns of liberty to sing.
He virtue finds, like precious ore,
Diffused through every baser mould;
Even now he stands on Calvi's rocky
shore.

And turns the dross of Corsica to gold;
Pomp's tinsel livery to despise :
He, guardian genius, taught my youth

My lips by him chastised to truth,
Ne'er paid that homage which my heart
denies.

ANTISTROPHE.

Those sculptured halls my feet shall never tread,

Where varnished vice and vanity com

bined

To dazzle and seduce, their banner spread, And forge vile shackles for the free-born mind.

While Insolence his wrinkled front up

rears,

And all the flowers of spurious fancy blow; And Title his ill-woven chaplet wears,

Full often wreathed around the miscre- And taste unspoiled the frugal table ant's brow; spread,

Where ever-dimpling falsehood, pert and And industry supply the humble store,

vain,

Presents her cup of stale profession's froth; And pale disease, with all his bloated train, Torments the sons of gluttony and sloth.

STROPHE.

In Fortune's car behold that minion ride, With either India's glittering spoils oppressed,

So moves the sumpter-mule in harnessed pride,

That bears the treasure which he cannot taste.

For him let venal bards disgrace the bay, And hireling minstrels wake the tinkling string;

Her sensual snares let faithless pleasure lay,

And jingling bells fantastic folly ring: Disquiet, doubt, and dread shall inter

vene;

And nature, still to all her feelings just, In vengeance hang a damp on every scene, Shook from the baleful pinions of disgust.

ANTISTROPHE.

And sleep unbribed his dews refreshing

shed;

White-mantled Innocence, ethereal sprite, Shall chase far off the goblins of the night; And Independence o'er the day preside, Propitious power! my patron and my pride.

ODE TO LEVEN WATER.
ON Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love,
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod the Arcadian plain.

Pure stream, in whose transparent wave
My youthful limbs I wont to lave ;
No torrents stain thy limpid source,
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
With white, round, polished pebbles
spread;

While, lightly poised, the scaly brood
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood;
The springing trout in speckled pride,
The salmon, monarch of the tide ;

Nature I'll court in her sequestered The ruthless pike, intent on war,
haunts,
The silver eel, and mottled par.

By mountain, meadow, streamlet, grove, Devolving from thy parent lake,

A charming maze thy waters make,

or cell; Where the poised lark his evening ditty By bowers of birch, and groves of pine,

chaunts,

And health, and peace, and contemplation dwell.

There, study shall with solitude recline, And friendship pledge me to his fellow

swains,

And toil and temperance sedately twine The slender cord that fluttering life sustains;

And fearless poverty shall guard the door,

And hedges flowered with eglantine.
Still on thy banks so gaily green,
May numerous herds and flocks be seen:
And lasses chanting o'er the pail,
And shepherds piping in the dale;

And ancient faith that knows no guile,

And industry embrowned with toil; And hearts resolved, and hands prepared,

The blessings they enjoy to guard!

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