It is likely that he lived on discontented through the rest of queen Anne's reign; but the time came at last when he found kinder friends. At the accession of king George he was made poet-laureat; I am afraid by the ejection of poor Nahum Tate, who (1716) died in the Mint, where he was forced to seek shelter by extreme poverty. He was made likewise one of the land surveyors of the customs of the port of London, The prince of Wales chose him clerk of his council; and the lord chancellor Parker, as soon as he received the seals, appointed him, unasked, secretary of the presentations. Such an accumulation of employments undoubtedly produced a very considerable revenue. Having already translated some parts of Lucan's Pharsalia, which had been published in the Miscellanies, and doubtless received many praises, he undertook a version of the whole work, which he lived to finish, but not to publish. It seems to have been printed under the care of Dr. Welwood, who prefixed the author's life, in which is contained the following character: "As to his person, it was graceful and well-made; his face regular, and of a manly beauty. As his soul was well lodged, so its rational and animal faculties excelled in a high degree. He had a quick and fruitful invention, a deep penetration, and a large compass of thought, with singular dexterity and easiness in making his thoughts to be understood. He was master of most parts of polite learning, especially the classical authors, both Greek and Latin; understood the French, Italian, and Spanish languages; and spoke the first fluently, and the other two tolerably well. "He had likewise read most of the Greek and Roman histories in their original languages, and most that are wrote in English, French, Italian, and Spanish. He had a good taste in philosophy; and, having a firm impression of religion upon his mind, he took great delight in divinity and ecclesiastical history, in both which he made great advances in the times he retired into the country, which was frequent. He expressed, on all occasions, his full persuasion of the truth of revealed religion; and being a sincere member of the established church himself, he pitied, but condemned not, those that dissented from it. He abhorred the principles of persecuting men upon the account of their opinions in religion; and, being strict in his own, he took it not upon him to censure those of another persuasion. His conversation was pleasant, witty, and learned, without the least tincture of affectation or pedantry; and his inimitable manner of diverting and enlivening the company made it impossible for any one to be out of humour when he was in it. Envy and detraction seemed to be entirely foreign to his constitution; and whatever provocations he met with at any time, he passed them over without the least thought of resentment or revenge. As Homer had a Zoilus, so Mr. Rowe had sometimes his; for there were not wanting malevolent people, and pretenders to poetry too, that would now-and-then bark at his best performances; but he was conscious of his own genius, and had so much good-nature as to forgive them; nor could he ever be tempted to return them an answer. "The love of learning and poetry made him not the less fit for business, and nobody applied himself closer to it, when it required his attendance. The late duke of Queensberry, when he was secretary of state, made him his secretary for public affairs; and when that truly great man came to know him well, he was never so pleased as when Mr. Rowe was in his company. After the duke's death, all avenues were stopped to his preferment; and, during the rest of that reign, he passed his times with the Muses and his books, and sometimes the conversation of his friends. "When he had just got to be easy in his fortune, and was in a fair way to make it better, death swept him away, and in him deprived the world of one of the best men, as well as one of the best geniuses of the age. He died like a christian and a philosopher, in charity with all mankind, and with an absolute resignation to the will of God. He kept up his good-humour to the last; and took leave of his wife and friends, immediately before his last agony, with the same tranquillity of mind, and the same indifference for life, as though he had been upon taking but a short journey, He was twice married; first to a daughter of Mr. Parsons, one of the auditors of the revenue; and afterwards to a daughter of Mr. Devenish, of a good family in Dorsetshire. By the first he had a son; and by the second a daughter, married afterwards to Mr. Fane. He died the 6th of December, 1718, in the forty-fifth year of his age; and was buried the 19th of the same month in Westminster-abbey, in the aile where many of our English poets are interred, over against Chaucer, his body being attended by a select number of his friends, and the dean and choir officiating at the funeral." To this character, which is apparently given with the fondness of a friend, may be added the testimony of Pope, who says in a letter to Blount," Mr. Rowe accompanied me, and passed a week in the forest. I need not tell you how much a man of his turn entertained me; but I must acquaint you, there is a vivacity and gaiety of disposition, almost peculiar to him, which make it impossible to part from him without that uneasiness which generally succeeds all our pleasure." Pope has left behind him another mention of his companion, less advantageous, which is thus reported by Dr. Warburton. "Rowe, in Mr. Pope's opinion, maintained a decent character, but had no heart. Mr. Addison was justly offended with some behaviour which arose from that want, and estranged himself from him; which Rowe felt very severely. Mr. Pope, their common friend, knowing this, took an opportunity, at some juncture of Mr. Addison's advancement, to tell him how poor Rowe was grieved at his displeasure, and what satisfaction he expressed at Mr. Addison's good fortune, which he expressed so naturally, that he (Mr. Pope) could not but think him sincere. Mr. Addison replied, I do not suspect that he feigned; but the levity of his heart is such, that he is struck with any new adventure; and it would affect him just in the same manner, if he heard I was going to be hanged.'-Mr. Pope said he could not deny but Mr. Addison understood Rowe well." This censure time has not left us the power of confirming or refuting; but observation daily shows, that much stress is not to be laid on hyperbolical accusations, and pointed sentences, which even he that utters them desires to be applauded rather than credited. Addison can hardly be supposed to have meant all that he said. Few characters can bear the microscopic scrutiny of wit quickened by anger; and perhaps the best advice to authors would be, that they should keep out of the way of one. another. Rowe is chiefly to be considered as a tragic writer and a translator. In his attempt at comedy he failed so ignominiously, that his Biter is not inserted in his works; and his occasional poems and short compositions are rarely worthy of either praise or cenfor they seem the casual sports of a mind seeking rather to amuse its leisure than to exercise its powers. sure; In the construction of his dramas, there is not much art; he is not a nice observer of the unities. He extends time and varies place as his convenience requires. To vary the place is not, in my opinion, any violation of nature, if the change be made between the acts; for it is no less easy for the spectator to suppose himself at Athens in the second act, than at Thebes in the first; but to change the scene, as is done by Rowe, in the middle of an act, is to add more acts to the play, since an act is so much of the business as is transacted without interruption. Rowe, by this licence, easily extricates himself from difficulties; as, in Jane Gray, when we have been terrified with all the dreadful pomp of public execution, and are wondering how the heroine or the poet will proceed, no sooner has Jane pronounced some prophetic rhymes, than-pass and be gone-the scene closes, and Pembroke and Gardiner are turned out upon the stage. I know not that there can be found in his plays any deep search into nature, any accurate discriminations of kindred qualities or nice display of passion in its progress; all is general and undefined. Nor does he much interest or affect the auditor, except in Jane Shore, who is always seen and heard with pity. Alicia is a character of empty noise, with no resemblance to real sorrow or to natural madness. Whence, then, has Rowe his reputation? From the reasonableness and propriety of some of his scenes, from the elegance of his diction, and the suavity of his verse. He seldom moves either pity or terrour, but he often elevates the sentiments; he seldom pierces the breast, but he always delights the ear, and often improves the under standing. His translation of the Golden Verses, and of the first book of Quillet's Poem, have nothing in them remarkable. The Golden Verses are tedious. The version of Lucan is one of the greatest productions of English poetry; for there is perhaps none that so completely exhibits the genius and spirit of the original. Lucan is distinguished by a kind of dictatorial or philosophic dignity, rather, as Quintilian observe, declamatory than poetical; full of ambitious morality and pointed sentences, comprised in vigorous and animated lines. This character Rowe has very diligently and successfully preserved. His versification, which is such as his contemporaries practised, without any attempt at innovation or improvement, seldom wants either melody or force. His author's sense is sometimes a little diluted by additional infusions, and sometimes weakened by too much expansion. But such faults are to be expected in all translations, from the constraint of measures and dissimilitude of languages. The Pharsalia of Rowe deserves more notice than it obtains, and as it is more read will be more esteemed". • The Life of Rowe is a very remarkable instance of the uncommon strength of Dr. Johnson's memory. When I received from him the MS. he complacently observed, "that the criticism was tolerably well done, considering that he had not seen Rowe's works for thirty years." N. POEMS NICHOLAS ROWE. THE GOLDEN VERSES OF PYTHAGORAS. Bear all thou canst, still with his failings strive, TRANSLATED FROM THE GREEK. TO THE READER. I hope the reader will forgive the liberty I have taken in translating these verses somewhat at large, without which it would have been almost impossible to have given any kind of turn in English poetry to so dry a subject. The sense of the author is, I hope, no where mistaken; and if there seems in some places to be some additions in the English verses to the Greek text, they are only such as may be justified from Hierocles's Commentary, and delivered by him as the larger and explained sense of the author's short precept. I have in some few places ventured to differ from the learned Mr. Dacier's French interpretation, as those that shall give themselves the trouble of a strict comparison will find. How far I am in the right, is left to the reader to determine. FIRST to the gods thy humble homage pay; Due rights perform and honours to the dead, And to the utmost still, and still forgive; For strong necessity alone explores The secret vigour of our latent powers, Rouses and urges on the lazy heart, Force, to itself unknown before, t' exert. By use thy stronger appetites asswage, Thy gluttony, thy sloth, thy lust, thy rage: From each dishonest act of shame forbear; of others, and thyself, alike beware. Let reverence of thyself thy thoughts control, And guard the sacred temple of thy soul. Let justice o'er thy word and deed preside, And reason e'en thy meanest actions guide: For know that death is man's appointed doom, Know that the day of great account will come, When thy past life shall strictly be survey'd, Each word, each deed, be in the balance laid, And all the good and all the ill most justly be reFor wealth, the perishing, uncertain good, [paid. Ebbing and flowing like the fickle flood, That knows no sure, no fix'd abiding-place, But wandering loves from hand to hand to pass; Revolve the getter's joy and loser's pain, And think if it be worth thy while to gain. Of all those sorrows that attend mankind, With patience bear the lot to thee assign'd: Nor think it chance, nor murmur at the load; For know what man calls fortune is from God. In what thou may'st, from wisdom seek relief, And let her healing hand asswage thy grief; Yet still whate'er the righteous doom ordains, What cause soever multiplies thy pains, Let not those pains as ills be understood; For God delights not to afflict the good. The reasoning art, to various ends apply'd, Is oft a sure, but oft an erring guide. Thy judgment therefore sound and cool preserve, Nor lightly from thy resolution swerve; The dazzling pomp of words does oft deceive, And sweet persuasion wins the easy to believe. When fools and liars labour to persuade, Be dumb, and let the babblers vainly plead. This above all, this precept chiefly learn, This nearly does, and first, thyself concern; Let not example, let no soothing tongue, Prevail upon thee with a Syren's song, To do thy soul's immortal essence wrong. Of good and ill by words or deeds exprest Choose for thyself, and always choose the best. Let wary thought each enterprise forerun, And ponder on thy task before begun, Lest folly should the wretched work deface, And mock thy fruitless labours with disgrace. Fools huddle on, and always are in haste, [waste. Act without thought, and thoughtless words they But thou, in all thou dost, with early cares Strive to prevent at first a fate like theirs ; That sorrow on the end may never wait, Nor sharp repentance make thee wise too late. Beware thy meddling hand in ought to try, That does beyond thy reach of knowledge lie; But seek to know, and bend thy serious thought To search the profitable knowledge out. So joys on joys for ever shall increase, Wisdom shall crown thy labours, and shall bless Thy life with pleasure, and thy end with peace. Nor let the body want its part, but share A just proportion of thy tender care: For health and welfare prudently provide, And let its lawful wants be all supply'd. Let sober draughts refresh, and wholesome fare Decaying nature's wasted force repair; And sprightly exercise the duller spirits cheer. In all things still which to this care belong, Observe this rule, to guard thy soul from wrong. By virtuous use thy life and manners frame, Manly and simply pure, and free from blame. Provoke not Envy's deadly rage, but fly The glancing curse of her malicious eye. Seek not in needless luxury to waste Thy wealth and substance with a spendthrift's haste. Yet, flying these, be watchful, lest thy mind, Prone to extremes, an equal danger find, And be to sordid avarice inclin'd. Distant alike from each, to neither lean, But ever keep the happy golden mean. Be careful still to guard thy soul from wrong, And let thy thought prevent thy hand and tongue. Let not the stealing god of sleep surprise, Nor creep in slumbers on thy weary eyes, Ere every action of the former day Strictly thou dost and righteously survey. With reverence at thy own tribunal stand, And answer justly to thy own demand. Where have I been? In what have I transgress'd? What good or ill has this day's life express'd? Where have I fail'd in what 1 ought to do? In what to God, to man, or to myself I owe? Inquire severe what-e'er from first to last, [past. From morning's dawn, till evening's gloom, has If evil were thy deeds, repenting mourn, And let thy soul with strong remorse be torn. If good, the good with peace of mind repay, And to thy secret self with pleasure say, "Rejoice, my heart, for all went well to-day." These thoughts, and chiefly these my mind should Employ thy study, and engage thy love. [move, These are the rules which will to virtue lead, And teach thy feet her heavenly paths to tread. This by his name I swear, whose sacred lore First to mankind explain'd the mystic four, Source of eternal nature and almighty power. In all thou dost first let thy prayers ascend, And to the gods thy labours first commend: [end. From them implore success, and hope a prosperous So shall thy abler mind be taught to soar, And wisdom in her secret ways explore; To range through Heaven above and Earth below, Immortal gods and mortal men to know. So shalt thou learn what power does all control, What bounds the parts, and what unites the whole: And rightly judge in all its wondrous frame, How universal nature is the same; So shalt thou ne'er thy vain affections place On hopes of what shall never come to pass, Man, wretched man, thou shalt be taught to know, Who bears within himself the inborn cause of woe. Unhappy race! that never yet could tell, How near their good and happiness they dwell, Depriv'd of sense, they neither hear nor see; Fetter'd in vice, they seek not to be free, But stupid, to their own sad fate agree: Like ponderous rolling-stones, oppress'd with ill, The weight that loads them makes them roll on still, Bereft of choice and freedom of the will; For native strife in every bosom reigns, And secretly an impious war maintains: Provoke not this, but let the combat cease, And every yielding passion sue for peace. [kind, Would'st thou, great Jove, thou father of manReveal the demon for that task assign'd, The wretched race an end of woes would find. And yet be bold, O man, divine thou art, And of the gods celestial essence part. Nor sacred Nature is from thee conceal'd, But to thy race her mystic rules reveal'd. These if to know thou happily attain, Soon shalt thou perfect be in all that I ordain. Thy wounded soul to health thou shalt restore, And free from every pain she felt before. Abstain, I warn, from meats unclean and foul, So keep thy body pure, so free thy soul; So rightly judge; thy reason to maintain; Reason which Heaven did for thy guide ordain, Let that best reason ever hold the rein. Then if this mortal body thou forsake, The tyrant Death securely shalt thou brave, А РОЕМ, ON THE LATE GLORIOUS SUCCESSES, &c. HUMBLY WHILE kings and nations on thy counsels wait, |