Med. Eurip. v. 190. The rites deriv'd from ancient days, That bade the feast, the song, the bowl, But ne'er the lute nor lyre applied, To soothe Despair or soften Pride, Nor call'd them to the gloomy cells Where Madness raves and Vengeance swells, Ye sons of melody, repair, Nor deign the festive hour to cloy With superfluity of joy ; The board with varied plenty crown'd Of this exquisite morsel of Euripides, Dr. Joseph Warton has likewise attempted an imitation, which possesses, in a striking degree, the tender sentiment of the tragedian, clothed in versification of the sweetest melody. I shall transcribe it for the gratification of my readers, and in order that they may compare it with the more literal copy of Johnson. Queen of ev'ry moving measure, Only for the smiling guests At natal or at nuptial feasts? Of those whom death or absence parts, Of the Poemata of Johnson, I know not that much can be said; like Milton, Addison, and Gray, he was, in early life, partial to Latin metrical composition; but he has failed to rival the triumvirate. To the first and last he is inferior in originality, a character with difficulty obtained in the fetters of classical versification; to the second in the grace and suavity of his numbers. The best and most interesting poem in the collection, is that entituled Tvw ɛavtov; as it paints, in colours equally strong and vivid, the peculiar features of his own mind and character, and will, therefore, in a future stage of this work, attract more of our notice. Next in merit to this effusion, we may place his lyric compositions, of which the odes under the appellation of "Skia," and "Ode De Skia Insula," are the most valuable. To the two specimens of Greek poetry that we possess from the pen of our author, and which are addressed to Dr. Birch, and Mrs. Carter, a third has been just annexed by the translator from the Greek Anthology. It is an epigram which the doctor had formed and condensed from his own Latin epitaph on his friend Goldsmith, and runs thus: Τον ταφον 'εισοραας τον Όλιβαριαιο Κονιην I add the version of the ingenious communicator of these lines. Thou see'st the tomb of Oliver: retire, Unholy feet, nor o'er his ashes tread. Ye whom the deeds of old, verse, nature, fire, Mourn nature's priest, the bard, historian, dead. Had the fame of Johnson rested entirely on his poetical productions, he would not have descended to posterity with the lustre which now surrounds his name. As a moral and satiric bard, indeed, his merit is considerable; but to the enthusiasm which characterizes the higher branches of the art, he has no pretensions. He was a disciple of the school of Dryden and Pope, and successfully emulated their excellencies, as far as harmony of versification, and pointed and splendid diction, could enable him to effect his design; but he is infinitely inferior to the former in ease and variety of melody, and to both in the energies of imagination. I speak merely of his poetry; for in his prose works he has exhibited a much wider range of fancy. Of that wonderful exuberance of invention, of that inexhaustible fertility in the combination of ideas, of those creative powers, which burn with such a vivid flame in the strains of Spenser, Shakspeare, and Milton, we find few, if any, traces in the poetry of Johnson. That he had a strong conception, indeed, of the mighty genius of Shakspeare, may be drawn from the opening of his celebrated prologue; but that he had no relish for those wild and exquisite flashes of fancy which shoot with such unrivalled brilliancy along every line of Comus and the Tempest, is too indisputably evident from the tenor of his critical writings. The morbid melancholy which pressed so heavily on his soul, might have a considerable share in producing this insensibility; but, independent of any constitutional failing, he was a systematic contemner of all in poetry that had not a direct practical tendency; hence his compositions in that department, are entirely of this description, and his two satires, and his verses on the death of Levett, are finished models of the kind. If we compare him as a poet with Addison, and the comparison is naturally suggested by the similar walks of literature in which they were engaged, it must be acknowledged, that, if all consideration of dramatic genius be excepted, he was greatly superior to his illustrious predecessor. There is a want of nerve, both in the diction and versification of the miscellaneous poetry of Addison, which has deprived him of what would otherwise have been his rank among our bards; while the never-failing vigour and compression of Johnson, united with very correct and splendid versification, have justly given him a high station in the third class of English poets; a station to which, from the defects that we have alluded to, Addison is precluded a claim. 66 Great, however, as were the merits of his London," his first and noblest poem, it was productive of little advantage to him in a pecuniary light; and, willing to escape from the necessity of writing for bread, he endeavoured to avail himself, in the year 1738, of the offer of the mastership of the free-school at Appleby, in Leicestershire. It was required, however, by the statutes of the school, that this situation should be filled by a Master of Arts, and a difficulty occurred as to the mode of obtaining this degree. Pope very generously, without any personal knowledge of our author, and stimulated merely |