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adultery remains, of which Cromwell is thought to be clear; and, according to Mr. Harris, it thould seem that, compared with this crime, “ Dissimulation, hypocrisy, ingratitude, and murder, are light as air."—We say murder, because nothing can justify the killing of our fellow creature, but immediate self-preservation, or the good of society. And though it may not deserve that name in those who acted upon principle, and from a persuasion that the death of the King was necessary for the security of public liberty, it was the most atrocious kind of murder in Cromwell, who was so far from having the good of society in view, that he proved a more oppressive tyrant, than his sovereign whose blood he spilt. Yet, Mr. Harris concludes, that “ he left behind him a neverdying fame ; and if he cannot be ranked among the best, he undoubtedly is to be placed among the greatest of princes.”
Certainly if bold and successful villany intitles a man to be called Great, Cromwell has a right to the appellation. But if goodness is inseparable from true greatness, no inan ever had worse pretensions to that character. His public conduct, as has been seen, was such as must render his memory
odious to every friend to justice and liberty. In his private capacity, he appears to have been by no means amiable. Tools he had many, but no friends ; his familiarity was rudeness, and his pleafantry buffoonery.
Upon the whole, we think Mr. Harris's sentiments with regard to Cromwell's character, are narrow, partial, and injudicious. And as to his manner of writing, which we have heretofore had occasion to censure, it is by no means ima proved ; for it is as usual, though not incorrect, yet extremely heavy, quaint, and inelegant.---Thus much we have thought ourselves obliged to observe, in justice to the Public, and to our credit as impartial Reviewers. But forry we are to difapprove the work of a person of Mr. Harris's worthy character, as a hearty friend to liberty, both civil and religious, and a truly honest man: and who likewise had acquitted himself so much more to our satisfaction, in his former coinpilations.
Poems on several Occasions. Svo.
2 s. Rivington. T the desire of the Earl of Bath, the ingenious Mrs.
her Poems; and it is with pleasure we congratulate our Readers on the occasion. We can assure them that through the whole
adultery of this collection, they will be entertained with the fame attic wit, the fame chaste philosophic fancy, and the same harmony of numbers, which diftinguished the long admired Ode to Widom. The elegant Mufe, which so early introduced this lady to the Groves of Academus, and the Lycion Walks, has never forsaken her. The rigid doctrines of the stoic school, in which she has been so much conversant, seem not in the least to have restrained her fancy, or to have communicated any thing of their rigour to her heart; and, though she is the translator of Epictetus, she is evidently the disciple of Plato. In all her Poems there is that fine sensibility, serene dignity, and lofty imagination, which characterize the writings of that divine philosopher. Her style is perfectly Horatian, elegantly polished, and harmoniously caly. The curiosa felicitas dicendi, which genius alone, and the ear that nature has harmonized, can produce, is frequently to be found in these beautiful Poems. Some few, some very few faults, quas aut incuria fucit, aut humana parum caveat natura, might perhaps Þe pointed out; but we have little inclination to look at these, while the eye is continually attracted by new beauties. We muít, however, complain, 'that our Poetess has been too negligent about her Rhymes, which are often inconfonant; for we cannot help thinking that bad Rhymes are much worse thun no Rhymes at all. Possibly she might imagine herself justified in this by the French and Italian Poets ; but the perfection of English Poetry, and the delicacy of an English ear, will not bear even so Night a defect. Mr. Pope could never endure an ill-match'd rhyme; and his imitator, Mrs. Jones, that other English Sappho, has also avoided this fault.
Prefixed to this little Volume is a short Encomium on the Authoress, and her Works, by Lord Lyttelton, which reminds us of the style and manner of Mr. Langhorne's Poem to the memory of Handel. (See Review, Vol. XXII. p. 261.]
On reading Mrs. -'s Poems in Manuscript.
Of bold Impiety--Greece Thall no more
to fix it on her brows. The first Poem in this collection was written by our Poetess on her own birth-day, before she was eighteen years of age, and it scarce does greater honour to herself, than to that worthy parent who superintended her education, In what an uncommon degree must that mind have been enlarged, which in such early years could produce the following beautiful and sentimental lines !
Through each event of this inconstant state,
My Reason ftrengthen, and my Paffions ftill. The Verses on hearing a Lady fing, are as musical and melodious as the tuneful voice they celebrate could possibly be; and nothing can be more elegant than the compliment with which they conclude.
Sweet Echo, vocal Nymph, whose mimic Tongue
Yet, if too soon this transient pleasure fly,
In the Poem which the devotes to the Memory of her Sister Poetess, the late Mrs. Rowe, we know not which to admire moft, her ingenious Fancy or her friendly Heart. It may perhaps be objected that the compliments here paid to Mrs. Rowe, are too high, and that she had more Enthusiasm than Tafte; but who, notwithstanding, can be displeased with the following Lines ?
Transported echoes bore the sounds along,
She felt a flame extatic as their own. In a Poetical Epistle to one of her female friends, she thus elegantly expresses the tender and affectionate withes of Friendship:
May angels guard thee with distinguish'd care,
To rise and flourish in immortal bloom. In another Epistle to the fame Lady, fhe considers Friendhip in a more sublime and philosophical senfe.
But long ere Paphos rolę, or Poet fung,
Friendihip her soft harmonious touch affords,
And the sweet concert flows from soul to foul. By this elevated train of thinking, our Poetic Philosopher was naturally led to her beloved Plato. By the magic power of sympathy, his fpirit rises before her; and, in the raptures of imagination, the thus expreffes herself:
By Heaven's enthusiastic impulse taught
Each finer sense, and tune it into Love.
The sweet descriptive Mufe which delights in the profusion of rural imagery, and tụnes her harmonious lays to the beautiful works of Nature, the pleasing Erato, is not less kind to the Kentish Poetess than the sublime Urania. In her Verses addressed to Bethia, the fame Lady, if we mistake not, whose Ode is prefixed to her Tranfation of Epictetus, we have the following beautifully descriptive lines.
Ilyfjus, a River near Athens, dedicated to the Muses. On the banks of this river, under a platane, Plato lays the scene of some of bis Dialogues on Love and Beauty