Prone the distressed to relieve, With income not in fortune's pow'r * THE SPARROW AND DIAMOND. A SONG. I LATELY saw, what now I sing, The feather'd play-thing she caress'd, With chisel'd bill a spark ill-set And swallow'd down to grind his meat, She seiz'd his bill with wild affright, 'Twas gone, she sicken'd at the sight, The tongue-ty'd knocker none might use, The curtains none undraw, The footmen went without their shoes, The doctor us'd his oily art Th' apothecary play'd his part, When physic ceas'd to spend its store, Dicky, like people given o'er, His eyes dispell'd their sickly dews, He peck'd behind his wing; Lucia recovering at the news, Meanwhile within her beauteous breast Two different passions strove ; When av'rice ended the contest, And triumph'd over love. Poor little, pretty, fluttering thing, Drive av'rice from your breasts, ye fair, It made a virgin put on guile, Truth's image break her word, A Lucia's face forbear to smile, A Venus kill her bird. RICHARD SAVAGE was born in Fox-court, Holborn, on the 10th January, 1697-8. His mother was the infamous Countess of Macclesfield, who, according to Dr. Johnson, "having lived for some time upon uneasy terms with her husband, thought a voluntary confession of adultery the most obvious and expeditious mode of obtaining her liberty; and who therefore declared that the father of her unborn child was the Earl Rivers." Her son was thus rendered illegitimate. From the moment of his birth his mother regarded him with unmingled hatred,—and survived to find that her implacable and restless cruelty had procured his death in a jail. As soon as he was born, he was consigned to the care of a poor woman, with directions that he was never to be acquainted with his parentage. At an early age he was placed at a grammar school at St. Albans; here his genius made its own way, and laid the foundation of his after fame. The secret of his birth was kept from him, until the death of his nurse led to discovery of the circumstances connected with it, and the motives for their concealment. The unnatural mother was then applied to; in vain; "he could neither soften her heart nor open her hand;" and the pressure of want compelled him to resort to his pen for support," he became of necessity an author!" Many are the temptations which strong feelings, high desires, and warm passions leave in the way of youth; but when want is added to them, they become indeed fearful. The struggle is generally an awful one; but it too frequently terminates by leaving him, who might have been eminent for goodness, notorious for vice. There is a pride of soul that conducts to iniquity as well as to integrity. The picture of genius struggling with difficulties is a too familiar one; nights of wretched lodging,-days of almost starvation,-and, at the same time, high thoughts of what might be, and low murmurs of what is not! Who will wonder if, when the heart grows sick with disappointment, and vice is more ready than virtue to apply her temporary and delusive remedies, the unhappy struggler against all we shudder to think upon should become the victim where he might have led the triumph! The woes and wants of Savage have been pictured to us: those of too many like him-like him in strong power and wretched destiny-have found no historian, gentle or ungentle, to record their sufferings and their fate. During a considerable portion of his brief career, Savage was "without lodging, and often without meat;" trusting to chance for the one-and for the other, to the poor shelter of some wretched shed; pursuing his studies in the fields or in the streets; picking up scraps of paper, and stepping into shops to borrow pen and ink to pen down the thoughts to which his mind had given birth; receiving assistance now and then from persons whom his talents or troubles brought to him, but seeming as if absolutely doomed to misery by fate; for the chances of prosperity which now and then came to him, passed away, and left him more wretched than before. That he was, however, the master of his own destiny is sufficiently apparent. His reckless extravagance,-his indomitable pride, arising perhaps from a consciousness of his intellectual value,-his dissipated habits, opposed to all regularity,—his exceeding irritability,—his uncertain and capricious temper, were his continual banes. "He seldom found a stranger that he did not leave a friend;" but "he had not often a friend long without obliging him to become a stranger." He was arrested in Bristol for a debt of eight pounds, consigned to a jail, and died there on the 1st August, 1743, having owed the few comforts and consolations of his deathbed, and even the decencies of interment, to the benevolence of his jailer. Dr. Johnson gives us his portrait. "He was of a middle stature, of a thin habit of body, a long visage, coarse features, and melancholy aspect; of a grave and manly deportment, a solemn dignity of mien, but which, upon a nearer acquaintance, softened into an engaging easiness of manners. His walk was slow, and his voice mournful; he was easily excited to smiles, but very seldom provoked to laughter." We have dwelt so much on the personal character of Savage, that we have little space to comment on his poetry; nor is it necessary. Of all his productions-the produce sometimes of matured thought, but more frequently written with the sole view of procuring temporary relief from pressing want-"The Wanderer" and "The Bastard" are the only poems that survive. These possess merit of a very high order. The Wanderer is, like the character of the writer, made up of detached parts, SAVAGE. FROM THE WANDERER. BENEATH appears a place, all outward bare, And hark!-its hollow entrance reach'd, I hear ciently apparent. His reckless extravagance,-his indomitable pride, arising perhaps from a consciousness of his intellectual value,-his dissipated habits, opposed to all regularity, his exceeding irritability,―his uncertain and capricious temper, were his continual banes. "He seldom found a stranger that he did not leave a friend;" but "he had not often a friend long without obliging him to become a stranger." He was arrested in Bristol for a debt of eight pounds, consigned to a jail, and died there on the 1st August, 1743, having owed the few comforts and consolations of his deathbed, and even the decencies of interment, to the benevolence of his jailer. Dr. Johnson gives us his portrait. "He was of a middle stature, of a thin habit of body, a long visage, coarse features, and melancholy aspect; of a grave and manly deportment, a solemn dignity of mien, but which, upon a nearer acquaintance, softened into an engaging easiness of manners. His walk was slow, and his voice mournful; he was easily excited to smiles, but very seldom provoked to laughter." We have dwelt so much on the personal character of Savage, that we have little space to comment on his poetry; nor is it necessary. Of all his productions-the produce sometimes of matured thought, but more frequently written with the sole view of procuring temporary relief from pressing want-"The Wanderer" and "The Bastard" are the only poems that survive. These possess merit of a very high order. The Wanderer is, like the character of the writer, made up of detached parts, |