It will not be supposed that a man who was connected with the determined enemies of the House of Hanover, attained high dignities in the church; but he was ftill favoured with the patronage of the Duke of Beaufort, and retained the friendship and frequented the conversation of a very numetous and fplendid fet of acquaintance, of every rank and party From this time, he seems to have led a quiet and inoffenfive life; unambitious of any acceffion of poetical fame, and unfufpected of any participation in the defperate machinations of Jacobitism. He died July 10. 1736, in the 67th year of his age. Most of his occafional poems and translations were first printed in 3d, 4th, and 5th volumes of Tonfon's "Mifcellanies." As many of them as could be met with were inferted by Mr. Nichols in the collection of “The English Poets" 1779, by the recommendation of Dr. Johnson. Farther researches have discovered what are here printed from the edition of "The English Poets" 1790; but The Temple of Fame, and the poem on the late Queen's accession, which Jacob calls " excellent pieces," have eluded every inquiry. The Medicine, a Tale for the Ladies, printed in the fecond number of "The Tatler," and generally ascribed to Valden, is given by Mr. Nichols (on the authority of Dr. Warton, who received the information from Young) to William Harrison, Esq. "a little pretty fellow (as Swift expreffes it) with a great deal of wit, good nature, and good fenfe," Secretary to the Congress at Utrecht, the professed editor (under the patronage of Bolingbroke and Swift) of the 5th volume of "The Tatler,” and author of “ Woodstock Park," in Dodfley's "Collection," and fome smaller pieces, preferved by Mr. Nichols in his "Select Collection of Poems," 1781. He died in Holland, Feb. 14th, 1713. Swift, in the " Journal to Stella" laments his lofs with unaffected fincerity. Tickell mentions him with refpect in his "Profpect of Peace," and Young in the clofe of his "Epiftle to Lord Lanfdowne." The private character of Yalden feems to have been very refpectable. His temper was cheerful, his conversation pleafing and inftructive, his learning extensive, and his manners polite. How much his company was defired, appears from the extenfivenefs of his connections, and the number of his friends; among whom he reckoned Congreve and Addison, Hopkins and Atterbury. As a poet, he cannot be placed in a high clafs. He is entitled to rank with Sprat, Stepney, Walsh, and King, and perhaps a little higher. He imitates Cowley; but he is inferior to him in the grace of wit, and in the vigour of nature. His two hymns, however, to the Morning, and to Darkness, are equal to the best lyric pieces of that poet. The laft is admirable. His State Fables, his longest work, cannot be approved without thinking well of his political opinions. His panegyrical Fffay on the Character of Sir Willoughby Afton has fome characteristical paffages, but is liable to the fame objection. In his verses on the reprinting Milton's Profe Works. the loyalty and political bigotry are more confpicuous than the poetry or the liberality of fentiment. His Epifle to Sir Humphry Mackworth on the Mines late of Sir Garbery Price, is a very commendable attempt to unite poetry and science, which have been fince more fuccefsfully united in the "Mine" of Mr. Sargent," and the "Botanic Garden" of Dr. Darwin. His verfes Again Enjoyment, have fome vigorous and fome happy lines. The thoughts are borrowed from Suckling's verfes " Against Fruition." His tranflations are fometimes fpirited and claffical, and fometimes feeble and paraphrastical. "Of his poems," fays Dr Johnson, " many are of that irregular kind, which, when he formed. his poetical character, was fuppofed to be Pindaric. Having fixed his attention on Cowley as a model, he has attempted, in fome fort, to rival him, and has written a Hymn to Darkness, evidently as a counter part to Cowley's "Hymn to Light." "This Hymn feems to be his best performance, and is, for the most part, imagined with great vigour, and expreffed with great propriety. The feven first stanzas are good; but the 3d, 4th, and 7th are the beft; the 8th feems to involve a contradiction; the 10th is exquifitely beautiful; the 13th, 14th, and 15th are partly mythological, and partly religious, and therefore not fuita ble to each other; he might better have made the whole merely philofophical, There are two ftanzas in this poem, where Yalden may be suspected, though hardly convicted, of having confulted the Hymnus ad Umbram of Wowerus, in the 6th ftanza, which answers, in fome fort, to these lines: Ulla fuo præeft nocturnis numine facris Perque vias errare novis dat spectra figuris, And again, at the conclusion: Illa fuo fenfura fecludit corpore toto, Et prifco imperio, rurfus dominabitur UMBRA. His Hymn to Light is not equal to the other. He feems to think there is an East absolute and pofitive where the morning rifes. In the last stanza, having mentioned the fudden eruption of new created light, he says, Awhile th' Almighty wondering stood. He ought to have remembered, that Infinite Knowledge can never wonder. All wonder is the effect of novelty upon ignorance. "Of his other poems, it is fufficient to say, that they deserve perufal, though they are not always exactly polished; though the rhymes are fometimes very ill forted; and though his faults feem rather the omiffions of idleness, than the negligences of enthusiasm. AGAINST IMMODERATE GRIEF. To a Young Lady Weeping —An Ode in Imitation of COULD mournful fighs, or floods of tears, prevent And weep my troubled thoughts away : But, fince infulting cares are most inclin'd To triumph o'er th' afflicted mind; Since fighs can yield us no relief, And tears, like fuitful showers, but nourish grief; Then ceafe, fair mourner, to complain, Nor lavish such bright ftreams in vain : But ftill with cheerful thoughts thy cares beguile, And tempt thy better fortunes with a smile. The generous mind is by its fufferings known, Which no affliction tramples down; But when opprefs'd will upward move, Spurn down its clog of cares, and foar above. Thus the young royal eagle tries On the fun-beams his tender eyes, And, if he shrinks not at th' offenfive light, He's then for empire fit, and takes his foaring flight. Though cares affault thy breaft on every fide, Yet bravely stem th' impetuous tide : But with kind hopes fupport thy mind, Then, lovely mourner, wipe those tears away, But keep thy looks and mind ferene, gay without, all calm within; For fate is aw'd, and adverfe fortunes fly HYMN TO THE MORNING. IN PRAISE OF LIGHT. PARENT of day! whose beauteous beams of light Thou firft effay of light, and pledge of day! Rival of shade, eternal fpring of light! Thou art the genuine fource of it: From thy bright unexhausted womb, The beauteous race of days and seasons come. Thy beauty ages cannot wrong, But, fpight of time, thou'rt ever young: Thou art alone heaven's modeft virgin light, Whofe face a veil of blufhes hides from human fight. Like fome fair bride thou rifeft from thy bed, With gloomy smiles thy rival night Not all the wealth the views in mines below At thy approach, nature erects her head, The drowsy earth and feas awake, And, from thy beams, new life and vigour take: Horror, despair, and all the fons of night Retire before thy beams, and take their hafty flight. To thee, the grateful eaft their altars raise, And fing with early hymns thy praise; Thou doft their happy foil beftow, Enrich the heavens above, and earth below: Thou rifeft in the fragrant east, Like the fair Phenix from her balmy neft: No altar of the gods can equal thine, [fhrine! The air's thy richest incenfe, the whole land thy But yet thy fading glories foon decay. Thine's but a momentary stay; Too foon thou'rt ravifh'd from our fight, Borne down the stream of day, and overwhelm'd with light. Thy beams to their own ruin haste, Before th' Almighty Artist fram'd the sky, His first command was for thy light; In purple fwaddling-bands it struggling lay, Old Chaos then a cheerful fmile put on, Though folid bodies dare exclude the light, The sparkling gems, and ore in mines below, When thou dost raise thy venerable head, And art in genuine night array'd, And, from thy beauteous form, did firft prefage Thou doft thy fmiles impartially bestow, its own. Thou doft compole the air and fea, And know'ft no difference here below: Thou, darkness, art the lover's kind retreat, Calm as the blefs'd above the Anchorites dwell, Their minds with heavenly joys are fill'd; In caves of night, the oracles of old When the Almighty did on Horeb stand, Thy fhades enclos'd the hallow'd land; In tempefts he gave laws, and clad himself in Ere the foundation of the earth was laid, Or brighter firmament was made; realms alone. But, now the moon (though gay with borrow'd Invades thy fcanty lot of night: And earth a fabbath keeps, facred to reft and thee. The anarchy of ftars depofe their monarch fhade. In thy ferener fhades our ghofts delight, And court the umbrage of the night; Yet fading light its empire must resign, But fly the morning's beams, and ficken at the And fate confirm thy kingdom evermore thy day. own. THEN will penurious heaven no more allow? Is it for this he lord of all appears, And his great Maker's image Bears! And in this beaten road of life drudge on! Those fad prophetic tears, that flow And ev'n our dawn of life with forrows overcast. Each his laborious part must have, Act o'er this farce of life, then drop beneath the ftage. From our first drawing vital breath, From our first starting from the womb, We all are pofting on to the dark goal of death. they go. Here we're detain'd a while, and then Time fhall a man to his first self restore, And make him intire nothing, all he was before. Say, learned fage, thou that art mighty wife! That buoys his nature up, and does ev'n life sus. tain? VOL. VII. Is it not air, an empty fume, A fire that does itself confume; This boafted fcene of life is done.: In one confuming minute's loft; Scatter with winds, and flow with common air. For duft and afhes are its fecond birth, And that incorporates too with its great parent earth. Nor fhall our names our memories furvive, The empty blafts of fame fhall die, To make our afhes gay, and furnish out a grave. For thee our stock of youth we waste, And urge on life, that ebbs too fast: To purchase thee with blood, the valiant fly; And, to furvive in fame, the great and glorious die. Lavish of life, they fquander this eftate, And for a poor reverfion wait: Bankrupts and mifers to themselves they grow, Embitter wretched life with toils and woe, To hoard up endless fame, they know not where or how. Ah, think, my friends, how swift the minutes hafte! The present day entirely is our own, 'Tis all penurious fate will give Our fons crowd on behind, our children drive us hence. With garlands then your temples crown, And lie on beds of roles down; Roles that our emblems are; A while they flourish on the bough, And drink large draughts of heavenly dew: Bring cheerful wine, and coftly fweets prepare |