He who begins an instrument to play,With some preludings, will examine wellHow run the fingers, how the notes will swell,And bow prepares, or breath for his essay;Or if to write the careful penman’s aim,He cuts and proves his pen, if broad or fine;And the bold youths, to combat who incline,Strike at the air, as trial of the game:The dancer points his steps with practised pace;The orator harangues with studied grace;The gamester packs his cards the livelong day;I thus a Sonnet, though worth nothing, trace,Solely to exercise myself this way,If prove the Muse propitious to my lay.It seems to me, dear brother, that ApolloA course divine now does not always follow,Nor please to dictate verses of a tone,Worthy a sponsor such as he to own;But rather would be human, and preferTo prose in rhymes of warmthless character;Without the enthusiasm sublime of old,And down the wings of Pegasus would fold,Not to be borne in flight, but gently stroll’d.You who forgetful of this court now seekThose of the east and north to contemplate,Forgive me, if in envy I may speak,That to indulge it has allow’d you fateThe tasteful curiosity! to viewWith joy the land, so famed and fortunate,Which erst a Tully and a Maro knew,To which Æmilius, Marius service paid,Which Regulus and the Scipios obey’d.Long would it be and idle to recallThe triumphs, with their blazonries unfurl’d,Matchless of her, that once of Europe allWas greater part, metropolis of the world.I only ask of you, as you may read,How in Avernus, destined to succeed,Anchises show’d Æneas, in long line,The illustrious shades of those, who were to shineOne day the glory of the Italian shore,Now you, more favour’d than the Trojan chief,Not in vain prophecy, but tried belief,From what you see, by aid of history’s lore,To admire the lofty state which Rome possess’d,The which her ruins and remains attest.From our Hispanian clime I cannot scanWith you the column of the Antonine,The fane or obelisk of the Vatican,Or the Capitol, and Mount Palatine;I cannot see the churches, or the walls,The bridges, arches, mausoleums, gates,The aqueducts, palaces, and waterfalls,The baths, the plazas, porticos, and halls,The Coliseum’s, or the Circus’ fates;But still the immortal writings ’tis for me,Of Livy, Tacitus, Cicero, to see;I see Lucretius, Pliny, Juvenal,Augustus, Maro and Mæcenas all;With their names is the soul exalted high,Heroic worth and honour to descry;And so much more that model imitatesA nation now, so much more to be gain’d,Is seen it but to approach the lofty heightsOf splendour, wealth, fame, power, that Rome attain’d.From the benignant lands that richly gleamBeneath the Tiber’s fertilizing stream,You next will pass, where borne as he arose,Through colder realms the mighty Danube flows.Girded in pleasant borders ’tis for youThe Austrian Vienna there to view;To admire the monarch, warlike, good and wise,With the magnanimous Prussian king who viesAn army brave and numerous to sway;Chosen and hardy, forward to obey,Whom as companions honour’d he rewards,And not as slaves abased a lord regards.There agriculture flourish you will see;Public instruction is promoted free;The arts extended rapidly and wide;And these among, in culture and esteem,That with which Orpheus tamed the furious prideOf forest beasts, and cross’d the Lethe’s stream:There all the tales of wonderful effect,Of music’s art divine, with which are deck’dThe ancient Greek and Latin histories,No longer will seem fables in your eyes,When near you may applaud the loftiness,The harmony, and the consonance sublime,All that in varied symphonies to expressHas power the greatest master of our time;Haydn the great, and merited his fame,Whom to embrace I beg you in my name.But now the confines of the German landI see you leaving, for the distant strandOf Britain’s isle your rapid course to take,And tour political around to make.There in the populous court, whose walls’ long sideBathes the deep Thames in current vast and wide,A nation’s image will before your eyesIn all things most extraordinary rise.Not rich of old, but happy now we seeBy totally unshackled industry.A nation liberal, but ambitious too;Phlegmatic, and yet active in its course;Ingenuous, but its interests to pursueIntent; humane, but haughty; and perforceWhate’er it be, the cause it undertakes,Just or unjust, defends without remorse,And of all fear and danger scorn it makes.There with inevitably great surprise,What in no other country we may see,You will behold to exert their energiesMen act and speak with perfect liberty.The rapid fortune too you will admireWhich eloquence and valour there acquire;Nor power to rob has wealth or noble birthThe premiums due to learning and to worth.You will observe the hive-like multitudeOf diligent and able islanders,Masters of commerce they have well pursued,Which ne’er to want or slothfulness defers;All in inventions useful occupied,In manufactures, roads, schools, arsenals,Experiments in books and hospitals,And studies of the liberal arts to guide.There you will know in fine what may attainAn education wise; the skilful modeOf patriotic teaching, so to trainPrivate ambition, that it seek the roadOf public benefit alone to gain:The recompense and acceptation just,On which founds learning all its hope and trust;And a wise government, whose constant aimIs general good, and an eternal fame.Midst others my reflections I would fain,In some description worthy of the theme,(If it were not beyond my powers) explain,The varied scenes, enchantment all that seem,Which the Parisian court on your returnPrepares, and offers you surprised to learn.Polish’d emporium of Europe’s courts,The which with noble spectacles invites,With public recreations and resorts,That give to life its solace and delights;Brilliant assemblages! and these among,The chief and most acceptable to gain,Of all to this new Athens that belong,To enjoy the fellowship of learned men;With useful science, or with taste alone,Who enlighten foreign nations, and their own.But I, who from this narrow corner write,In solitude, while shaking off the dustFrom military archives, ill reciteWhat I, O travelling Secretary! trustYourself will better practically see,Whilst I can only know in theory.Continue then your journey on in health;From tongue to tongue, from land to land proceed:To be a statesman eminent your meed.Acquire each day with joy your stores of wealth,Of merit and instruction; I the while,As fits my mediocrity obscure,Will sing the praise of quiet from turmoil;Saying, as Seneca has said of yore;—“Let him, who power or honours would attain,On the high court’s steep precipice remain.I wish for peace, that solitude bestows,Secluse to enjoy the blessings of repose.To pass my life in silence be my fate,Unnoticed by the noble, or the great:That when my age, without vain noise or show,Has reach’d the bounds allotted us below,Though a plebeian only to pass by,Perhaps I yet an aged man may die.And this I do believe, no death of allThan his more cruel can a man befall,Who dying, by the world too truly known,Is of himself most ignorant alone.”
He who begins an instrument to play,With some preludings, will examine wellHow run the fingers, how the notes will swell,And bow prepares, or breath for his essay;Or if to write the careful penman’s aim,He cuts and proves his pen, if broad or fine;And the bold youths, to combat who incline,Strike at the air, as trial of the game:The dancer points his steps with practised pace;The orator harangues with studied grace;The gamester packs his cards the livelong day;I thus a Sonnet, though worth nothing, trace,Solely to exercise myself this way,If prove the Muse propitious to my lay.It seems to me, dear brother, that ApolloA course divine now does not always follow,Nor please to dictate verses of a tone,Worthy a sponsor such as he to own;But rather would be human, and preferTo prose in rhymes of warmthless character;Without the enthusiasm sublime of old,And down the wings of Pegasus would fold,Not to be borne in flight, but gently stroll’d.You who forgetful of this court now seekThose of the east and north to contemplate,Forgive me, if in envy I may speak,That to indulge it has allow’d you fateThe tasteful curiosity! to viewWith joy the land, so famed and fortunate,Which erst a Tully and a Maro knew,To which Æmilius, Marius service paid,Which Regulus and the Scipios obey’d.Long would it be and idle to recallThe triumphs, with their blazonries unfurl’d,Matchless of her, that once of Europe allWas greater part, metropolis of the world.I only ask of you, as you may read,How in Avernus, destined to succeed,Anchises show’d Æneas, in long line,The illustrious shades of those, who were to shineOne day the glory of the Italian shore,Now you, more favour’d than the Trojan chief,Not in vain prophecy, but tried belief,From what you see, by aid of history’s lore,To admire the lofty state which Rome possess’d,The which her ruins and remains attest.From our Hispanian clime I cannot scanWith you the column of the Antonine,The fane or obelisk of the Vatican,Or the Capitol, and Mount Palatine;I cannot see the churches, or the walls,The bridges, arches, mausoleums, gates,The aqueducts, palaces, and waterfalls,The baths, the plazas, porticos, and halls,The Coliseum’s, or the Circus’ fates;But still the immortal writings ’tis for me,Of Livy, Tacitus, Cicero, to see;I see Lucretius, Pliny, Juvenal,Augustus, Maro and Mæcenas all;With their names is the soul exalted high,Heroic worth and honour to descry;And so much more that model imitatesA nation now, so much more to be gain’d,Is seen it but to approach the lofty heightsOf splendour, wealth, fame, power, that Rome attain’d.From the benignant lands that richly gleamBeneath the Tiber’s fertilizing stream,You next will pass, where borne as he arose,Through colder realms the mighty Danube flows.Girded in pleasant borders ’tis for youThe Austrian Vienna there to view;To admire the monarch, warlike, good and wise,With the magnanimous Prussian king who viesAn army brave and numerous to sway;Chosen and hardy, forward to obey,Whom as companions honour’d he rewards,And not as slaves abased a lord regards.There agriculture flourish you will see;Public instruction is promoted free;The arts extended rapidly and wide;And these among, in culture and esteem,That with which Orpheus tamed the furious prideOf forest beasts, and cross’d the Lethe’s stream:There all the tales of wonderful effect,Of music’s art divine, with which are deck’dThe ancient Greek and Latin histories,No longer will seem fables in your eyes,When near you may applaud the loftiness,The harmony, and the consonance sublime,All that in varied symphonies to expressHas power the greatest master of our time;Haydn the great, and merited his fame,Whom to embrace I beg you in my name.But now the confines of the German landI see you leaving, for the distant strandOf Britain’s isle your rapid course to take,And tour political around to make.There in the populous court, whose walls’ long sideBathes the deep Thames in current vast and wide,A nation’s image will before your eyesIn all things most extraordinary rise.Not rich of old, but happy now we seeBy totally unshackled industry.A nation liberal, but ambitious too;Phlegmatic, and yet active in its course;Ingenuous, but its interests to pursueIntent; humane, but haughty; and perforceWhate’er it be, the cause it undertakes,Just or unjust, defends without remorse,And of all fear and danger scorn it makes.There with inevitably great surprise,What in no other country we may see,You will behold to exert their energiesMen act and speak with perfect liberty.The rapid fortune too you will admireWhich eloquence and valour there acquire;Nor power to rob has wealth or noble birthThe premiums due to learning and to worth.You will observe the hive-like multitudeOf diligent and able islanders,Masters of commerce they have well pursued,Which ne’er to want or slothfulness defers;All in inventions useful occupied,In manufactures, roads, schools, arsenals,Experiments in books and hospitals,And studies of the liberal arts to guide.There you will know in fine what may attainAn education wise; the skilful modeOf patriotic teaching, so to trainPrivate ambition, that it seek the roadOf public benefit alone to gain:The recompense and acceptation just,On which founds learning all its hope and trust;And a wise government, whose constant aimIs general good, and an eternal fame.Midst others my reflections I would fain,In some description worthy of the theme,(If it were not beyond my powers) explain,The varied scenes, enchantment all that seem,Which the Parisian court on your returnPrepares, and offers you surprised to learn.Polish’d emporium of Europe’s courts,The which with noble spectacles invites,With public recreations and resorts,That give to life its solace and delights;Brilliant assemblages! and these among,The chief and most acceptable to gain,Of all to this new Athens that belong,To enjoy the fellowship of learned men;With useful science, or with taste alone,Who enlighten foreign nations, and their own.But I, who from this narrow corner write,In solitude, while shaking off the dustFrom military archives, ill reciteWhat I, O travelling Secretary! trustYourself will better practically see,Whilst I can only know in theory.Continue then your journey on in health;From tongue to tongue, from land to land proceed:To be a statesman eminent your meed.Acquire each day with joy your stores of wealth,Of merit and instruction; I the while,As fits my mediocrity obscure,Will sing the praise of quiet from turmoil;Saying, as Seneca has said of yore;—“Let him, who power or honours would attain,On the high court’s steep precipice remain.I wish for peace, that solitude bestows,Secluse to enjoy the blessings of repose.To pass my life in silence be my fate,Unnoticed by the noble, or the great:That when my age, without vain noise or show,Has reach’d the bounds allotted us below,Though a plebeian only to pass by,Perhaps I yet an aged man may die.And this I do believe, no death of allThan his more cruel can a man befall,Who dying, by the world too truly known,Is of himself most ignorant alone.”
He who begins an instrument to play,With some preludings, will examine wellHow run the fingers, how the notes will swell,And bow prepares, or breath for his essay;Or if to write the careful penman’s aim,He cuts and proves his pen, if broad or fine;And the bold youths, to combat who incline,Strike at the air, as trial of the game:
He who begins an instrument to play,
With some preludings, will examine well
How run the fingers, how the notes will swell,
And bow prepares, or breath for his essay;
Or if to write the careful penman’s aim,
He cuts and proves his pen, if broad or fine;
And the bold youths, to combat who incline,
Strike at the air, as trial of the game:
The dancer points his steps with practised pace;The orator harangues with studied grace;The gamester packs his cards the livelong day;I thus a Sonnet, though worth nothing, trace,Solely to exercise myself this way,If prove the Muse propitious to my lay.It seems to me, dear brother, that ApolloA course divine now does not always follow,Nor please to dictate verses of a tone,Worthy a sponsor such as he to own;But rather would be human, and preferTo prose in rhymes of warmthless character;Without the enthusiasm sublime of old,And down the wings of Pegasus would fold,Not to be borne in flight, but gently stroll’d.
The dancer points his steps with practised pace;
The orator harangues with studied grace;
The gamester packs his cards the livelong day;
I thus a Sonnet, though worth nothing, trace,
Solely to exercise myself this way,
If prove the Muse propitious to my lay.
It seems to me, dear brother, that Apollo
A course divine now does not always follow,
Nor please to dictate verses of a tone,
Worthy a sponsor such as he to own;
But rather would be human, and prefer
To prose in rhymes of warmthless character;
Without the enthusiasm sublime of old,
And down the wings of Pegasus would fold,
Not to be borne in flight, but gently stroll’d.
You who forgetful of this court now seekThose of the east and north to contemplate,Forgive me, if in envy I may speak,That to indulge it has allow’d you fateThe tasteful curiosity! to viewWith joy the land, so famed and fortunate,Which erst a Tully and a Maro knew,To which Æmilius, Marius service paid,Which Regulus and the Scipios obey’d.Long would it be and idle to recallThe triumphs, with their blazonries unfurl’d,Matchless of her, that once of Europe allWas greater part, metropolis of the world.I only ask of you, as you may read,How in Avernus, destined to succeed,Anchises show’d Æneas, in long line,The illustrious shades of those, who were to shineOne day the glory of the Italian shore,Now you, more favour’d than the Trojan chief,Not in vain prophecy, but tried belief,From what you see, by aid of history’s lore,To admire the lofty state which Rome possess’d,The which her ruins and remains attest.
You who forgetful of this court now seek
Those of the east and north to contemplate,
Forgive me, if in envy I may speak,
That to indulge it has allow’d you fate
The tasteful curiosity! to view
With joy the land, so famed and fortunate,
Which erst a Tully and a Maro knew,
To which Æmilius, Marius service paid,
Which Regulus and the Scipios obey’d.
Long would it be and idle to recall
The triumphs, with their blazonries unfurl’d,
Matchless of her, that once of Europe all
Was greater part, metropolis of the world.
I only ask of you, as you may read,
How in Avernus, destined to succeed,
Anchises show’d Æneas, in long line,
The illustrious shades of those, who were to shine
One day the glory of the Italian shore,
Now you, more favour’d than the Trojan chief,
Not in vain prophecy, but tried belief,
From what you see, by aid of history’s lore,
To admire the lofty state which Rome possess’d,
The which her ruins and remains attest.
From our Hispanian clime I cannot scanWith you the column of the Antonine,The fane or obelisk of the Vatican,Or the Capitol, and Mount Palatine;I cannot see the churches, or the walls,The bridges, arches, mausoleums, gates,The aqueducts, palaces, and waterfalls,The baths, the plazas, porticos, and halls,The Coliseum’s, or the Circus’ fates;But still the immortal writings ’tis for me,Of Livy, Tacitus, Cicero, to see;I see Lucretius, Pliny, Juvenal,Augustus, Maro and Mæcenas all;With their names is the soul exalted high,Heroic worth and honour to descry;And so much more that model imitatesA nation now, so much more to be gain’d,Is seen it but to approach the lofty heightsOf splendour, wealth, fame, power, that Rome attain’d.
From our Hispanian clime I cannot scan
With you the column of the Antonine,
The fane or obelisk of the Vatican,
Or the Capitol, and Mount Palatine;
I cannot see the churches, or the walls,
The bridges, arches, mausoleums, gates,
The aqueducts, palaces, and waterfalls,
The baths, the plazas, porticos, and halls,
The Coliseum’s, or the Circus’ fates;
But still the immortal writings ’tis for me,
Of Livy, Tacitus, Cicero, to see;
I see Lucretius, Pliny, Juvenal,
Augustus, Maro and Mæcenas all;
With their names is the soul exalted high,
Heroic worth and honour to descry;
And so much more that model imitates
A nation now, so much more to be gain’d,
Is seen it but to approach the lofty heights
Of splendour, wealth, fame, power, that Rome attain’d.
From the benignant lands that richly gleamBeneath the Tiber’s fertilizing stream,You next will pass, where borne as he arose,Through colder realms the mighty Danube flows.Girded in pleasant borders ’tis for youThe Austrian Vienna there to view;To admire the monarch, warlike, good and wise,With the magnanimous Prussian king who viesAn army brave and numerous to sway;Chosen and hardy, forward to obey,Whom as companions honour’d he rewards,And not as slaves abased a lord regards.There agriculture flourish you will see;Public instruction is promoted free;The arts extended rapidly and wide;And these among, in culture and esteem,That with which Orpheus tamed the furious prideOf forest beasts, and cross’d the Lethe’s stream:There all the tales of wonderful effect,Of music’s art divine, with which are deck’dThe ancient Greek and Latin histories,No longer will seem fables in your eyes,When near you may applaud the loftiness,The harmony, and the consonance sublime,All that in varied symphonies to expressHas power the greatest master of our time;Haydn the great, and merited his fame,Whom to embrace I beg you in my name.
From the benignant lands that richly gleam
Beneath the Tiber’s fertilizing stream,
You next will pass, where borne as he arose,
Through colder realms the mighty Danube flows.
Girded in pleasant borders ’tis for you
The Austrian Vienna there to view;
To admire the monarch, warlike, good and wise,
With the magnanimous Prussian king who vies
An army brave and numerous to sway;
Chosen and hardy, forward to obey,
Whom as companions honour’d he rewards,
And not as slaves abased a lord regards.
There agriculture flourish you will see;
Public instruction is promoted free;
The arts extended rapidly and wide;
And these among, in culture and esteem,
That with which Orpheus tamed the furious pride
Of forest beasts, and cross’d the Lethe’s stream:
There all the tales of wonderful effect,
Of music’s art divine, with which are deck’d
The ancient Greek and Latin histories,
No longer will seem fables in your eyes,
When near you may applaud the loftiness,
The harmony, and the consonance sublime,
All that in varied symphonies to express
Has power the greatest master of our time;
Haydn the great, and merited his fame,
Whom to embrace I beg you in my name.
But now the confines of the German landI see you leaving, for the distant strandOf Britain’s isle your rapid course to take,And tour political around to make.There in the populous court, whose walls’ long sideBathes the deep Thames in current vast and wide,A nation’s image will before your eyesIn all things most extraordinary rise.Not rich of old, but happy now we seeBy totally unshackled industry.A nation liberal, but ambitious too;Phlegmatic, and yet active in its course;Ingenuous, but its interests to pursueIntent; humane, but haughty; and perforceWhate’er it be, the cause it undertakes,Just or unjust, defends without remorse,And of all fear and danger scorn it makes.There with inevitably great surprise,What in no other country we may see,You will behold to exert their energiesMen act and speak with perfect liberty.The rapid fortune too you will admireWhich eloquence and valour there acquire;Nor power to rob has wealth or noble birthThe premiums due to learning and to worth.You will observe the hive-like multitudeOf diligent and able islanders,Masters of commerce they have well pursued,Which ne’er to want or slothfulness defers;All in inventions useful occupied,In manufactures, roads, schools, arsenals,Experiments in books and hospitals,And studies of the liberal arts to guide.There you will know in fine what may attainAn education wise; the skilful modeOf patriotic teaching, so to trainPrivate ambition, that it seek the roadOf public benefit alone to gain:The recompense and acceptation just,On which founds learning all its hope and trust;And a wise government, whose constant aimIs general good, and an eternal fame.
But now the confines of the German land
I see you leaving, for the distant strand
Of Britain’s isle your rapid course to take,
And tour political around to make.
There in the populous court, whose walls’ long side
Bathes the deep Thames in current vast and wide,
A nation’s image will before your eyes
In all things most extraordinary rise.
Not rich of old, but happy now we see
By totally unshackled industry.
A nation liberal, but ambitious too;
Phlegmatic, and yet active in its course;
Ingenuous, but its interests to pursue
Intent; humane, but haughty; and perforce
Whate’er it be, the cause it undertakes,
Just or unjust, defends without remorse,
And of all fear and danger scorn it makes.
There with inevitably great surprise,
What in no other country we may see,
You will behold to exert their energies
Men act and speak with perfect liberty.
The rapid fortune too you will admire
Which eloquence and valour there acquire;
Nor power to rob has wealth or noble birth
The premiums due to learning and to worth.
You will observe the hive-like multitude
Of diligent and able islanders,
Masters of commerce they have well pursued,
Which ne’er to want or slothfulness defers;
All in inventions useful occupied,
In manufactures, roads, schools, arsenals,
Experiments in books and hospitals,
And studies of the liberal arts to guide.
There you will know in fine what may attain
An education wise; the skilful mode
Of patriotic teaching, so to train
Private ambition, that it seek the road
Of public benefit alone to gain:
The recompense and acceptation just,
On which founds learning all its hope and trust;
And a wise government, whose constant aim
Is general good, and an eternal fame.
Midst others my reflections I would fain,In some description worthy of the theme,(If it were not beyond my powers) explain,The varied scenes, enchantment all that seem,Which the Parisian court on your returnPrepares, and offers you surprised to learn.Polish’d emporium of Europe’s courts,The which with noble spectacles invites,With public recreations and resorts,That give to life its solace and delights;Brilliant assemblages! and these among,The chief and most acceptable to gain,Of all to this new Athens that belong,To enjoy the fellowship of learned men;With useful science, or with taste alone,Who enlighten foreign nations, and their own.
Midst others my reflections I would fain,
In some description worthy of the theme,
(If it were not beyond my powers) explain,
The varied scenes, enchantment all that seem,
Which the Parisian court on your return
Prepares, and offers you surprised to learn.
Polish’d emporium of Europe’s courts,
The which with noble spectacles invites,
With public recreations and resorts,
That give to life its solace and delights;
Brilliant assemblages! and these among,
The chief and most acceptable to gain,
Of all to this new Athens that belong,
To enjoy the fellowship of learned men;
With useful science, or with taste alone,
Who enlighten foreign nations, and their own.
But I, who from this narrow corner write,In solitude, while shaking off the dustFrom military archives, ill reciteWhat I, O travelling Secretary! trustYourself will better practically see,Whilst I can only know in theory.Continue then your journey on in health;From tongue to tongue, from land to land proceed:To be a statesman eminent your meed.Acquire each day with joy your stores of wealth,Of merit and instruction; I the while,As fits my mediocrity obscure,Will sing the praise of quiet from turmoil;Saying, as Seneca has said of yore;—“Let him, who power or honours would attain,On the high court’s steep precipice remain.I wish for peace, that solitude bestows,Secluse to enjoy the blessings of repose.To pass my life in silence be my fate,Unnoticed by the noble, or the great:That when my age, without vain noise or show,Has reach’d the bounds allotted us below,Though a plebeian only to pass by,Perhaps I yet an aged man may die.And this I do believe, no death of allThan his more cruel can a man befall,Who dying, by the world too truly known,Is of himself most ignorant alone.”
But I, who from this narrow corner write,
In solitude, while shaking off the dust
From military archives, ill recite
What I, O travelling Secretary! trust
Yourself will better practically see,
Whilst I can only know in theory.
Continue then your journey on in health;
From tongue to tongue, from land to land proceed:
To be a statesman eminent your meed.
Acquire each day with joy your stores of wealth,
Of merit and instruction; I the while,
As fits my mediocrity obscure,
Will sing the praise of quiet from turmoil;
Saying, as Seneca has said of yore;—
“Let him, who power or honours would attain,
On the high court’s steep precipice remain.
I wish for peace, that solitude bestows,
Secluse to enjoy the blessings of repose.
To pass my life in silence be my fate,
Unnoticed by the noble, or the great:
That when my age, without vain noise or show,
Has reach’d the bounds allotted us below,
Though a plebeian only to pass by,
Perhaps I yet an aged man may die.
And this I do believe, no death of all
Than his more cruel can a man befall,
Who dying, by the world too truly known,
Is of himself most ignorant alone.”
A Bear, with whom a PiedmonteseA wandering living made,A dance he had not learn’d with ease,On his two feet essay’d:And, as he highly of it thought,He to the Monkey cried,“How’s that?” who, being better taught,“’Tis very bad,” replied.“I do believe,” rejoin’d the Bear,“You little favour show:For have I not a graceful air,And step with ease to go?”A Hog, that was beside them set,Cried, “Bravo! good!” said he;“A better dancer never yetI saw, and ne’er shall see.”On this the Bear, as if he turn’dHis thoughts within his mind,With modest gesture seeming learn’dA lesson thence to find.“When blamed the Monkey, it was causeEnough for doubting sad;But when I have the hog’s applause,It must be very bad!”As treasured gift, let authors raiseThis moral from my verse:’Tis bad, when wise ones do not praise;But when foolsdo, ’tis worse.
A Bear, with whom a PiedmonteseA wandering living made,A dance he had not learn’d with ease,On his two feet essay’d:And, as he highly of it thought,He to the Monkey cried,“How’s that?” who, being better taught,“’Tis very bad,” replied.“I do believe,” rejoin’d the Bear,“You little favour show:For have I not a graceful air,And step with ease to go?”A Hog, that was beside them set,Cried, “Bravo! good!” said he;“A better dancer never yetI saw, and ne’er shall see.”On this the Bear, as if he turn’dHis thoughts within his mind,With modest gesture seeming learn’dA lesson thence to find.“When blamed the Monkey, it was causeEnough for doubting sad;But when I have the hog’s applause,It must be very bad!”As treasured gift, let authors raiseThis moral from my verse:’Tis bad, when wise ones do not praise;But when foolsdo, ’tis worse.
A Bear, with whom a PiedmonteseA wandering living made,A dance he had not learn’d with ease,On his two feet essay’d:
A Bear, with whom a Piedmontese
A wandering living made,
A dance he had not learn’d with ease,
On his two feet essay’d:
And, as he highly of it thought,He to the Monkey cried,“How’s that?” who, being better taught,“’Tis very bad,” replied.
And, as he highly of it thought,
He to the Monkey cried,
“How’s that?” who, being better taught,
“’Tis very bad,” replied.
“I do believe,” rejoin’d the Bear,“You little favour show:For have I not a graceful air,And step with ease to go?”
“I do believe,” rejoin’d the Bear,
“You little favour show:
For have I not a graceful air,
And step with ease to go?”
A Hog, that was beside them set,Cried, “Bravo! good!” said he;“A better dancer never yetI saw, and ne’er shall see.”
A Hog, that was beside them set,
Cried, “Bravo! good!” said he;
“A better dancer never yet
I saw, and ne’er shall see.”
On this the Bear, as if he turn’dHis thoughts within his mind,With modest gesture seeming learn’dA lesson thence to find.
On this the Bear, as if he turn’d
His thoughts within his mind,
With modest gesture seeming learn’d
A lesson thence to find.
“When blamed the Monkey, it was causeEnough for doubting sad;But when I have the hog’s applause,It must be very bad!”
“When blamed the Monkey, it was cause
Enough for doubting sad;
But when I have the hog’s applause,
It must be very bad!”
As treasured gift, let authors raiseThis moral from my verse:’Tis bad, when wise ones do not praise;But when foolsdo, ’tis worse.
As treasured gift, let authors raise
This moral from my verse:
’Tis bad, when wise ones do not praise;
But when foolsdo, ’tis worse.
This little fable heard,It good or ill may be;But it has just occurr’d,Thus accidentally.Passing my abode,Some fields adjoining me,A big Ass on his roadCame accidentally;And laid upon the spot,A Flute he chanced to see,Some shepherd had forgot,There accidentally.The animal in front,To scan it nigh came he,And snuffing loud as wont,Blew accidentally.The air it chanced aroundThe pipe went passing free,And thus the Flute a soundGave accidentally.“O! then,” exclaim’d the Ass,“I know to play it fine;And who for bad shall classThe music asinine?”Without the rules of art,Ev’n asses, we agree,May once succeed in part,Thus accidentally.
This little fable heard,It good or ill may be;But it has just occurr’d,Thus accidentally.Passing my abode,Some fields adjoining me,A big Ass on his roadCame accidentally;And laid upon the spot,A Flute he chanced to see,Some shepherd had forgot,There accidentally.The animal in front,To scan it nigh came he,And snuffing loud as wont,Blew accidentally.The air it chanced aroundThe pipe went passing free,And thus the Flute a soundGave accidentally.“O! then,” exclaim’d the Ass,“I know to play it fine;And who for bad shall classThe music asinine?”Without the rules of art,Ev’n asses, we agree,May once succeed in part,Thus accidentally.
This little fable heard,It good or ill may be;But it has just occurr’d,Thus accidentally.
This little fable heard,
It good or ill may be;
But it has just occurr’d,
Thus accidentally.
Passing my abode,Some fields adjoining me,A big Ass on his roadCame accidentally;
Passing my abode,
Some fields adjoining me,
A big Ass on his road
Came accidentally;
And laid upon the spot,A Flute he chanced to see,Some shepherd had forgot,There accidentally.
And laid upon the spot,
A Flute he chanced to see,
Some shepherd had forgot,
There accidentally.
The animal in front,To scan it nigh came he,And snuffing loud as wont,Blew accidentally.
The animal in front,
To scan it nigh came he,
And snuffing loud as wont,
Blew accidentally.
The air it chanced aroundThe pipe went passing free,And thus the Flute a soundGave accidentally.
The air it chanced around
The pipe went passing free,
And thus the Flute a sound
Gave accidentally.
“O! then,” exclaim’d the Ass,“I know to play it fine;And who for bad shall classThe music asinine?”
“O! then,” exclaim’d the Ass,
“I know to play it fine;
And who for bad shall class
The music asinine?”
Without the rules of art,Ev’n asses, we agree,May once succeed in part,Thus accidentally.
Without the rules of art,
Ev’n asses, we agree,
May once succeed in part,
Thus accidentally.
Some shrubs amidst to shunThe dogs he saw pursue,I will not call it run,But say a rabbit flew.From out his hiding-placeA neighbour came to see,And said, “Friend, wait a space:What may the matter be?”“What should it be?” he cried;“I breathless came in fear,Because that I espiedTwo scoundrel greyhounds near.”“Yes,” said the other, “farI see them also there;But those no greyhounds are!”“What?”—“Setters, I’ll declare.”“How, setters do you say?My grandad just as much!They are greyhounds, greyhounds, they;I saw them plainly such.”“They are setters; get along:What know you of these matters?”—“They are greyhounds; you are wrong:”—“I tell you they are setters.”The dogs while they engageIn these contentious habits,Come up, and vent their rageOn my two thoughtless rabbits.Who minor points affect,So much about to quarrel,And weightier things neglect,Let them take the moral.
Some shrubs amidst to shunThe dogs he saw pursue,I will not call it run,But say a rabbit flew.From out his hiding-placeA neighbour came to see,And said, “Friend, wait a space:What may the matter be?”“What should it be?” he cried;“I breathless came in fear,Because that I espiedTwo scoundrel greyhounds near.”“Yes,” said the other, “farI see them also there;But those no greyhounds are!”“What?”—“Setters, I’ll declare.”“How, setters do you say?My grandad just as much!They are greyhounds, greyhounds, they;I saw them plainly such.”“They are setters; get along:What know you of these matters?”—“They are greyhounds; you are wrong:”—“I tell you they are setters.”The dogs while they engageIn these contentious habits,Come up, and vent their rageOn my two thoughtless rabbits.Who minor points affect,So much about to quarrel,And weightier things neglect,Let them take the moral.
Some shrubs amidst to shunThe dogs he saw pursue,I will not call it run,But say a rabbit flew.
Some shrubs amidst to shun
The dogs he saw pursue,
I will not call it run,
But say a rabbit flew.
From out his hiding-placeA neighbour came to see,And said, “Friend, wait a space:What may the matter be?”
From out his hiding-place
A neighbour came to see,
And said, “Friend, wait a space:
What may the matter be?”
“What should it be?” he cried;“I breathless came in fear,Because that I espiedTwo scoundrel greyhounds near.”
“What should it be?” he cried;
“I breathless came in fear,
Because that I espied
Two scoundrel greyhounds near.”
“Yes,” said the other, “farI see them also there;But those no greyhounds are!”“What?”—“Setters, I’ll declare.”
“Yes,” said the other, “far
I see them also there;
But those no greyhounds are!”
“What?”—“Setters, I’ll declare.”
“How, setters do you say?My grandad just as much!They are greyhounds, greyhounds, they;I saw them plainly such.”
“How, setters do you say?
My grandad just as much!
They are greyhounds, greyhounds, they;
I saw them plainly such.”
“They are setters; get along:What know you of these matters?”—“They are greyhounds; you are wrong:”—“I tell you they are setters.”
“They are setters; get along:
What know you of these matters?”—
“They are greyhounds; you are wrong:”—
“I tell you they are setters.”
The dogs while they engageIn these contentious habits,Come up, and vent their rageOn my two thoughtless rabbits.
The dogs while they engage
In these contentious habits,
Come up, and vent their rage
On my two thoughtless rabbits.
Who minor points affect,So much about to quarrel,And weightier things neglect,Let them take the moral.
Who minor points affect,
So much about to quarrel,
And weightier things neglect,
Let them take the moral.
A farm there was, with a poultry-yard,Where roved an old bantam about;And laid at his ease, a pig was barr’dIn a sty close by without.A lamb moreover was raised up there;We know it does so befall:Together in farms these animals fare,And in good company all.“Well, with your leave,” said the pig one dayTo the lamb, “what a happy life!And healthful too, to be sleeping away,One’s time without cares or strife!“I say there is nothing, as I am a pig,Like sleeping, stretch’d out at ease;Let the world go round with its whirligig,And cares just as it may please.”The other the contrary chanced to tellThe same little lamb, to take heed;“Look, innocent! here, to live right well,Sleep very little indeed.“Summer or winter, early to riseWith the stars the practice seek;For sleeping the senses stupefies,And leaves you languid and weak.”Confused, the poor lamb the counsels compares,And cannot perceive in his mind,That contrary each advising declares,But how he himself is inclined.And thus we find authors the practice make,To hold, as infallibly true,The rules they fancy themselves to take,And in their own writings pursue.
A farm there was, with a poultry-yard,Where roved an old bantam about;And laid at his ease, a pig was barr’dIn a sty close by without.A lamb moreover was raised up there;We know it does so befall:Together in farms these animals fare,And in good company all.“Well, with your leave,” said the pig one dayTo the lamb, “what a happy life!And healthful too, to be sleeping away,One’s time without cares or strife!“I say there is nothing, as I am a pig,Like sleeping, stretch’d out at ease;Let the world go round with its whirligig,And cares just as it may please.”The other the contrary chanced to tellThe same little lamb, to take heed;“Look, innocent! here, to live right well,Sleep very little indeed.“Summer or winter, early to riseWith the stars the practice seek;For sleeping the senses stupefies,And leaves you languid and weak.”Confused, the poor lamb the counsels compares,And cannot perceive in his mind,That contrary each advising declares,But how he himself is inclined.And thus we find authors the practice make,To hold, as infallibly true,The rules they fancy themselves to take,And in their own writings pursue.
A farm there was, with a poultry-yard,Where roved an old bantam about;And laid at his ease, a pig was barr’dIn a sty close by without.
A farm there was, with a poultry-yard,
Where roved an old bantam about;
And laid at his ease, a pig was barr’d
In a sty close by without.
A lamb moreover was raised up there;We know it does so befall:Together in farms these animals fare,And in good company all.
A lamb moreover was raised up there;
We know it does so befall:
Together in farms these animals fare,
And in good company all.
“Well, with your leave,” said the pig one dayTo the lamb, “what a happy life!And healthful too, to be sleeping away,One’s time without cares or strife!
“Well, with your leave,” said the pig one day
To the lamb, “what a happy life!
And healthful too, to be sleeping away,
One’s time without cares or strife!
“I say there is nothing, as I am a pig,Like sleeping, stretch’d out at ease;Let the world go round with its whirligig,And cares just as it may please.”
“I say there is nothing, as I am a pig,
Like sleeping, stretch’d out at ease;
Let the world go round with its whirligig,
And cares just as it may please.”
The other the contrary chanced to tellThe same little lamb, to take heed;“Look, innocent! here, to live right well,Sleep very little indeed.
The other the contrary chanced to tell
The same little lamb, to take heed;
“Look, innocent! here, to live right well,
Sleep very little indeed.
“Summer or winter, early to riseWith the stars the practice seek;For sleeping the senses stupefies,And leaves you languid and weak.”
“Summer or winter, early to rise
With the stars the practice seek;
For sleeping the senses stupefies,
And leaves you languid and weak.”
Confused, the poor lamb the counsels compares,And cannot perceive in his mind,That contrary each advising declares,But how he himself is inclined.
Confused, the poor lamb the counsels compares,
And cannot perceive in his mind,
That contrary each advising declares,
But how he himself is inclined.
And thus we find authors the practice make,To hold, as infallibly true,The rules they fancy themselves to take,And in their own writings pursue.
And thus we find authors the practice make,
To hold, as infallibly true,
The rules they fancy themselves to take,
And in their own writings pursue.
Cruelly bent, it chanced the FlintIll-treated the Steel one day;And wounding, gave it many a dint,To draw its sparks away.When laid aside, this angry criedTo that, “What would your value beWithout my help?” the Flint replied,“As much as yours, sir, but for me.”This lesson I write, my friends to incite;Their talents, however great,That they must study with them unite,To duly cultivate.The Flint gives light with the help of the Steel,And study alone will talent reveal;For neither suffice if found apart,Whatever the talent or the art.
Cruelly bent, it chanced the FlintIll-treated the Steel one day;And wounding, gave it many a dint,To draw its sparks away.When laid aside, this angry criedTo that, “What would your value beWithout my help?” the Flint replied,“As much as yours, sir, but for me.”This lesson I write, my friends to incite;Their talents, however great,That they must study with them unite,To duly cultivate.The Flint gives light with the help of the Steel,And study alone will talent reveal;For neither suffice if found apart,Whatever the talent or the art.
Cruelly bent, it chanced the FlintIll-treated the Steel one day;And wounding, gave it many a dint,To draw its sparks away.
Cruelly bent, it chanced the Flint
Ill-treated the Steel one day;
And wounding, gave it many a dint,
To draw its sparks away.
When laid aside, this angry criedTo that, “What would your value beWithout my help?” the Flint replied,“As much as yours, sir, but for me.”
When laid aside, this angry cried
To that, “What would your value be
Without my help?” the Flint replied,
“As much as yours, sir, but for me.”
This lesson I write, my friends to incite;Their talents, however great,That they must study with them unite,To duly cultivate.
This lesson I write, my friends to incite;
Their talents, however great,
That they must study with them unite,
To duly cultivate.
The Flint gives light with the help of the Steel,And study alone will talent reveal;For neither suffice if found apart,Whatever the talent or the art.
The Flint gives light with the help of the Steel,
And study alone will talent reveal;
For neither suffice if found apart,
Whatever the talent or the art.
For a hundred years after the time of Calderon de la Barca, who died in 1687, there appeared in Spain no writer of sufficient merit to be classed among those eminent characters, who had done so much honour to Spanish literature in the seventeenth century. Verses were published in sufficient abundance, which found readers and even admirers, merely from the necessity the public felt of having something to read and to admire, as of the fashion of the day. But they were written with a perversion of taste and a deficiency of talent, which was truly astonishing, in the successors of such authors, as had immediately preceded them.
This depression of literature, however, could not be expected to continue long, among a people of such imaginative and deep passioned character as the Spanish, whose native genius was by far too buoyant, to be affected for any length of time by inferior models, even under dynastic influences. Accordingly, towards the end of the eighteenth century, it might have become apparent to an attentive observer, that another order of writers was about to be called forth, and that the nation was prepared to welcome the advent of true genius whenever it was to be recognized. Learned societies had been established throughout Spain; education on asound basis had been sedulously promoted; and the country was wealthy, and sufficiently flourishing to give incitement to the arts, which are the attendants of public prosperity.
At this epoch appeared Melendez Valdes, the restorer of Spanish poetry, as his admirers with much justice termed him; who then showed by his writings, that the old inspiration of the national genius was yet capable of being revived in all its former grace and strength; and who by the influence of his example further roused the energies of other men of genius to follow in his steps.
This highly gifted poet was born the 11th of March, 1754, at Ribera del Fresno in the province of Estremadura, where his parents were of what was called noble families, and, what was more important, in respectable circumstances. The good disposition noticed in the son determined them to destine him for study, and to award him a becoming education. Thus, having learned the rudiments of Latin at home, he was sent to study philosophy, or what was called philosophy, at Madrid, under the charge of the Dominican Fathers of St. Thomas, where his application and advancement gained him the esteem of his tutors and fellow-pupils. Thence he was sent by his parents in 1770 to Segovia, to study with his only brother, who was private secretary to the bishop of that city, and with whom he was confirmed in that fondness for reading, and taste for acquiring books, which might be called the passion of his whole life. The bishop, who was a distant relation, pleased with his talents and inclination for study, sent him in 1772 to Salamanca, the alma mater of Spain, and assisted him to proceed in the study of law, in which he distinguished himself wherever he had an opportunity; so that, says his biographer, “appearing absorbed in the pursuit of that career, no one would have judged him the same young man, whose inclination for poetry and learning wassoon after to place him at the head of the elegant literature of his country.”
Fortunately for Melendez, continues his biographer, there happened then to be at Salamanca Don Josè de Cadalso, “a man celebrated for extensive erudition, combined with more than ordinary talent for poetry and letters, and a zeal for the glory and advancement of his country, learned in the school, and under the inspiration of virtue. Generous and affable, always lively, and at times satirical without branching off into maliciousness, his conversation was kind and instructive, and his principles indulgent and steadfast.” This eminent individual, already well known in the literary world by several works published in 1772 and 1773, immediately recognized the value of Melendez: he took him to his house to live with him, showed him the beauties and defects of the older writers, taught him how to imitate them, and opened to him the road to become acquainted with the literature of the learned nations of Europe. “He afforded him an instruction yet more precious, in the beautiful example he gave him to love all writers of merit, to rise superior to envy, and to cultivate letters without degrading them by unworthy disputations. The eulogies Cadalso bestowed on his contemporaries are a public testimony of this noble character; and the works of Melendez, where there is not a single line detracting from the merit of any one, and his whole literary career, exempt from all attack, show how he profited by the lessons of his master.”
The Anacreontic style, in which Cadalso excelled, was also that first cultivated by Melendez; and the former, seeing the progress of his pupil, and the first efforts of his Muse, unreservedly acknowledged him his superior, and in prose and verse announced him as the restorer of good taste and the better studies of the University. This kindly union was maintained until the death of Cadalso, at the siege of Gibraltar; and the “Elegiac song of Melendez on this misfortune, will be, as long as the Spanish language endures, a monument of affection and gratitude, as well as an example of high and beautiful poetry.”
Beyond the instructions which he received from Cadalso, Melendez was aided by the example and counsels of other distinguished persons then residing at Salamanca, among whom were two, favourably known as writers of verse,Iglesias and Gonzalez. These, though they were soon eclipsed by the young poet, admitted him to their friendship. By the latter he was brought into communication with the illustrious Jovellanos, then Judge of the High Court at Seville; and between them soon was instituted a correspondence, which has been in great part preserved, though as yet unpublished; a valuable monument, says Quintana, in which are seen, “livingly portrayed, the candour, the modesty and virtuous feelings of the poet, the alternate progress of his studies, the different attempts in which he essayed his talents, and above all, the profound respect and almost idolatry with which he revered his Mæcenas. There may be seen how he employed his time and varied his tasks. At first he applied himself to Greek, and began to translate Homer and Theocritus into verse; but learning the immense difficulty of the undertaking, and not stimulated to it by the bent of his genius, he shortly abandoned it.”
He then dedicated himself to the English language and literature, for which he was said to have ever had an exceeding great predilection, observing, “that to the Essay on the Human Understanding, he should owe all his life the little he might know how to acquire.” As books came to his hands, he went on reading and forming his judgements upon them, the which he transmitted to his friend. Thus “by all the means in his power he endeavoured to acquire and increase that treasury of ideas, which so much contributes to perfection in the art of writing, and without which verses are nothing more than frivolous sounds.”
His application to study, however, soon proved more than his health and strength would permit. He was obliged to leave Salamanca, and repair to the banks of the Tormes, which he has made famous in song, and there, by long attention to the regimen imposed on him, he fortunately recovered. About this time his brother died in 1777, their parents having died previously; and Melendez suffered much grief, as might naturally be expected, on being thus left alone of his family, the more painful in his state of health. Jovellanos urged him to join him at Seville, but he declined the invitation, observing, that “the law of friendship itself, which commands us to avail ourselves of a friend in necessity, also commands that without it, we should not take advantage of his confidence.”
Study, to which he now returned to engage himself with more intensity than ever, was the best alleviant of his sorrow, and time as usual at length allayed it. “He then gave himself up to the reading and study of the English poets: Pope and Young enchanted him. Of the former, he said that four lines of his ‘Essay on Man’ were worth more, taught more, and deserved more praise than all his own compositions.” The latter he attempted to imitate, and in effect did so, in the poem on ‘Night and Solitude,’ but in remitting it to his friend, expressed with much feeling his sense of its deficiencies compared with the original. Thomson also he studied, and Gesner, in his lonely exercises by the Tormes, and acknowledged how much he was indebted to the former for many thoughts with which he subsequently enriched his pastoral poems.
Thus having prepared himself to appear before the literary world as a candidate for fame, an opportunity soon occurred for him to obtain distinction. The Spanish Academy had been proposing subjects for prizes, and then having given one for an Eclogue, ‘On the happiness of a country life,’ Melendez felt himself in his element, and sent in his Essay for the prize. This succeeded in receiving the first. The second was awarded to Iriarte, who showed his mortification on account of the preference, more sensibly than was becoming, under the circumstances.
In the following year, 1781, Melendez went to Madrid, where his friend Jovellanos had already been appointed Councillor of the Military Orders, when for the first time they met. Melendez was already in the road to fame, which his friend had foretold for him; and Jovellanos, delighted with the realization of his hopes and endeavours, received him into his house, introduced him to his society, and took every opportunity of advancing his interests. It was the custom of the Academy of San Fernando to give triennial celebrations, with much solemnity, for the distribution of prizes, when eloquence, poetry and music were tasked to do honour to the fine arts. One of these celebrations was about to take place; Jovellanos was engaged to pronounce a discourse, and Melendez was invited to exercise his genius on the same subject, as the first literary characters of preceding times had already given the example. Melendez acceded, and delivered accordingly his Ode on the Glory of the Arts, which was received with rapturous admiration, and ever since seems to have been considered his masterpiece.
In the midst of these successes, Melendez received the Professorship of Humanities in his University, and in the following year, 1782, proceeded to the degree of Licentiate, and in 1783 to that of Doctor of Law, having shortly before the last married a lady of one of the principal families of Salamanca. But as his professorship gave him little occupation, and his marriage no family, he remained free to continue his favourite studies.
In 1784, on the occasion of peace being made with England, and the birth of twin Infantes, to give hopes of secure succession to the throne, the city of Madrid prepared magnificent celebrations of rejoicings, and among the rest, a prize was proposed for the two best dramatic pieces that might be offered within sixty days, under the condition that they should be original, appropriate, and capable of theatrical pomp and ornament. Out of fifty-seven dramas that were offered, the prize was awarded to the one sent in by Melendez, ‘The Bridals of Comacho the Rich,’ a pastoral comedy, which, however, though abounding in poetical passages, was found on representation wanting in effect, so as to be coldly received on the stage, where it has not since been attempted.
This ill-success gave occasion to several detractors of Melendez to pour forth the effusions of envy or disappointment against him, to which he gave no other answer than by the publication of his poems in a collected form. This was in 1785; and the manner in which they were received, it could be said, had had no parallel in Spain. Four editions, of which three were furtive, were at once taken up, and all classes of persons seemed to have the book in hand, commenting on its excellences. The lovers of ancient poetry, who saw so happily renewed the graces of Garcilasso, of Leon and Herrera, and “even improved in taste and perfection,” saluted Melendez as the restorer of the Castillian Muses, and hailed the banishment of the prosaic style which had previously prevailed. The applauses extended beyond the kingdom, and found especially in Italy the admirationrepeated, as well as in France and England, where several of the poems are said to have been imitated.
Great as was his success in literature, it was not enough provision for his daily needs, notwithstanding the help of his professorship; and Melendez accordingly applied for and obtained an office as a local judge at Zaragoza, of which he took possession in September 1789. The duties of this office were too onerous to admit of much study; but he was soon removed, in 1791, to the chancery of Valladolid, where he had more leisure, and where he remained till 1797, when he was appointed Fiscal of the Supreme Court at Madrid. During this time he wrote apparently little; but he prepared, and in 1797 published, another edition of his works with two additional volumes, enriched with many new poems, in which he “had elevated his genius to the height of his age;”—“descriptive passages of a superior order, elegies powerful and pathetic, odes grand and elevated, philosophic and moral discourses and epistles, in which he took alternately the tone of Pindar, of Homer, of Thomson, and of Pope, and drew from the Spanish lyre accents she had not previously learned.”
But notwithstanding the great merit of many of these poems, the biographer of Melendez had it to confess that this publication was not so favourably received as the first had been; and attempts to account for it partly by the circumstances of the times, and partly by what was new not being on the whole so finished and well-sustained in interest as his former poems. Some of them also met with decided disfavour; especially one, ‘The Fall of Lucifer,’ which showed that his genius was not of the severer cast calculated for graver and higher subjects allied to the epic, any more than to the dramatic. But the merits of Melendez in his own sphere are too great, and his fame is too well-founded to lose by acknowledgements which must be made in truth and justice. It is not improbable that he had been urged by his admirers to these attempts, to which his own inclinations would not have led him, and it might thus have been the easiness of his disposition that made him yield to suggestions which ended in failure.
In the prologue which he affixed to this edition, Melendez attempted to prove that poetic studies derogated nothing from the judicial dignity, and that they had no incompatibility with the duties and talents of a public man or man of business. But without following him or his biographer into such a discussion, we may concede the point so far, that any one undertaking responsible duties from the State, is bound to give them his best and undivided energies. If, however, he has any hours of leisure free from those responsibilities, it is surely only an extension of his duty for him to employ them in attempting to make his fellow-men wiser and better, or happier, in the manner most congenial to his disposition or talents. Melendez certainly had no need to exculpate himself in this respect, having been “long remembered at Zaragoza and Valladolid as a model of integrity and application, for his zeal in arranging amicably all disputations in his power, for his affability and frankness in listening to complaints, and for the humane and compassionate interest with which he visited the prisoners, accelerating their causes, and affording them assistance, with an inseparable adhesion to justice.”It was for his detractors,—and Melendez had them, notwithstanding the amiability of his character and the superiority of his talents,—to make these objections, if they could have done so. His resorting to such apologies only gave the appearance of a consciousness of weakness, which was not becoming either in the one character or the other.
Shortly after the publication of this edition, Melendez went to Madrid to take possession of his new office. The advanced age of his predecessor in it had for some time prevented his due attention to its duties, so that Melendez had many arrears to dispose of in addition to the ordinary services, through all which he laboured with much assiduity and credit. But they were the last satisfactory events of his life, which was henceforth to be passed in reverses and misery. Yet at that time he seemed to be in the height of prosperity. Holding an elevated post under the government, of which his friend Jovellanos was a member, and respected both at home and abroad as one of the first literary characters of the age, he might have justly hoped to be free from any of the darker misfortunes of life. This exemption, however, was not to be his lot, serving under a despotic government, of which the head, Charles IV., was one of the weakest-minded of mortals, guided by a favourite such as Godoy. When Jovellanos fell under this favourite’s resentment, to make the blow inflicted on that illustrious individual more poignant, it was extended to others, whose only fault was that they shared his esteem. Melendez was ordered away from Madrid within twenty-four hours, though his friends procured for him soon after a commission from the government as inspector of barracks at Medina del Campo, where he gave himself up again to study and such duties as were assigned him. Beyond these, however, he particularly exerted himself, it is recorded, in attending to the sick at the hospitals, providing that they should not be sent out into the world, as had often been previously the case, imperfectly cured or clothed, and unable to effect their livelihood.
In this humble occupation he might have been supposed exempt at least from further malignity, but unfortunately some sycophant of power thought it would be pleasing to the favourite to have a frivolous accusation forwarded against him, which had the effect of his being sent on half salary to Zamora. There he was fortunate enough to have the intrigues against him made known, and in June 1802, he received a royal order to have his full salary allowed, with liberty to reside where he pleased. He would have preferred Madrid, but he found it most prudent to return to Salamanca, and there, arranging his house and library, began to enjoy a more peaceful life than what he had passed since he left the University.
The literary world might now have hoped for further efforts of genius in this asylum, and perhaps some superior work worthy of his talents and fame; but his spirits had been broken down by adversity and injustice, and his attention was distracted by hopes and fears, from which he could never free himself. A poem on Creation, and a translation of the Æneid, were the fruits of six years’ retirement from the world; and he proposed another edition of his works, which however he did not accomplish, on the rapid succession of events which again called him forth to a short period of active life, and subsequent years of suffering.
The revolution of Aranjuez brought Melendez to Madrid, in the hopes of recovering his former employments; but in the troubled state of the country, he soon wished to return to his house, without being able to effect it. The French had now made themselves masters of the capital, and Melendez was unfortunately induced to take office under them. This conduct was contrary, not only to the course taken by Jovellanos and his other friends, but also to the whole tenor of his former life and opinions. His easy temper, which had at all times led him submissive to the wishes of those who had his confidence, no doubt on this occasion had been influenced by persons near him, and he might have thought it a hopeless struggle to contend with Napoleon.
Having however engaged in this unpatriotic service, he was sent as a commissioner, on the part of the intrusive government, to the Asturias, where the people had already risen in vindication of the national independence. Melendez and his colleague were seized by the populace, notwithstanding the efforts of the local authorities, who had placed them for security in the prison, the doors of which were forced, and they were led out to be put to death. All entreaties were in vain. Melendez protested his attachment to the national cause, and even began reciting some patriotic verses he had been writing, but the excited multitude would not hear him. They added insults to menaces, and as a great favour only permitted them to confess before they should be executed. Thus a little time was gained; but this was at length concluded and they were tied to a tree, and the party prepared to shoot them, when a dispute arose whether they should be shot from in front or behind as traitors, a piece of etiquette in such cases considered of importance. The latter counsel prevailed, and the prisoners had to be loosened and tied again accordingly, when the authorities and religious orders of the place, with a particular Cross famous among them, appeared approaching for their rescue. The people hereon became calmed, and Melendez and his colleague were taken back to the prison, whence they were soon permitted to return to Madrid.
On the success of the Spanish army at Bailen, the French retired from the capital, and Melendez remained at Madrid, hoping, through the influence of Jovellanos, to be taken into favour with the constitutional party. But fortune again seemed to side with the French, and they returned to Madrid, when Melendez was again induced to join them, and accepted office as Councillor of State and President of a Board of Public Instruction. Thus he inevitably compromised himself in a cause which was not that of his heart or principles, and whose apparently irresistible strength could only have excused his adhesion to it. This supposition, however, also proved erroneous; and when the French armies had to abandon Spain, Melendez, with their other principal adherents, had to fly with them also, having had the further misfortune to have his house plundered, and his valuable library destroyed, by the very marauders for whose sake he had lost all his hopes of the future at home.
Before entering France, Melendez, kneeling down, kissed the Spanish soil, saying, “I shall not return to tread thee again.” His apprehensions, notwithstanding his anxiety to do so, proved correct. He passed four years in France, residing at Toulouse, Montpelier, Nismes and Alaix, as circumstances compelled him, in great privation and with bodily sufferings, the more aggravating, in his advanced age, the bitter remembrances of the past. A paralytic affection first incapacitated him from all exertion, and finally, an apoplectic attack terminated his existence, at Montpelier, on the 24th May, 1817, in the arms of his wife, who had followed him through all the vicissitudes of life, and surrounded by the companions of his exile. A monument was afterwards placed to his memory in the cemetery bythe Duke de Frias.
Notwithstanding the indecision of his character in public life, Melendez was in private remarkable for laborious application to his studies and duties. His reading was immense, and his desire unceasing to be useful, and to contribute, by all the means in his power, to the well-being of his fellows. His kindness of heart is conspicuous in all his writings, which also portray the diffidence of his own powers, ascribed to him by his biographer.
His principal objects of veneration seem to have been the writings of Newton and Locke. The former, as the “Great Newton,” is often named by him. Pope he took for his model avowedly in poetry, and he strove to imitate the moral and philosophic tone of that great poet’s writings, whose elegance of style he certainly rivalled. Nothing in Spanish verse had been ever produced to equal the sweetness of his verses, their easy tone, and sparkling thoughts and expression. He was much attached to drawing, but had no inclination for music, not even to the charms of song, the more singular in one whose ear for the melody of verse appears to have been so sensitive. To the very last he seems to have been endeavouring to improve his poems, which have been thus observed to have often lost in strength and expression what they gained in cadence.
“The principles of his philosophy were benevolence and toleration; and he belonged to that race of philanthropists who hope for the progressive amelioration of the human race, and the advent of a period, when civilization, or the empire of the understanding, extended over the earth, will give men that grade of perfection and felicity compatible with the faculties and the existence of each individual. Such are the manifestations of his philosophic poems, and such a state he endeavoured to aid in producing by his talents and labours.”
His influence as a poet has certainly been very great. All the writers in Spain, who immediately succeeded him, especially Quintana, showed evident proofs of having profited by the lessons his example gave them, and those lessons seem to have sunk deeply into the minds of successive generations, so as to leave no doubt of their continuing in the same course.
After his arrival in France, Melendez wrote a few short poems, which, notwithstanding his age and failing health, showed his spirit was still the same, and his imagination as lively as ever. At Nismes he prepared an edition of his works, which the Spanish government published at their cost after his death, when they also gave his widow the pension allotted for her, as according to her husband’s former rank. This edition has been the one subsequently several times reprinted, with a biography by the eminent Quintana, worthy of himself and of his master. The prologue to it, by Melendez, is very interesting, and from it we learn, with regret, that upon the destruction of his library, “the most choice and varied he had ever seen belonging to a private individual, in the formation of which he had expended a great part of his patrimony and all his literary life,” he had lost what he considered some of his best poems, and some tracts, in prose, which he had prepared for the press, on Legislation, on Civil Economy, the Criminal Laws, on Prisons, Mendicancy and other subjects.
The misfortunes of Melendez were certainly much to be lamented, but throughout them he could unquestionably console himself with the conviction of having been actuated ever by upright motives, and of leaving to his country an imperishable name. His literary career had been an eminently successful one, and he had felt the full enjoyment of fame. In the prologue, above mentioned, he refers very feelingly to the reverses to which he had been subjected, but also with apparent satisfaction to the various editions and notices of his works, published both in Spain and abroad.
In leaving revised his works, published afterwards by the government, Madrid 1820, Melendez left also this positive direction: “Although I have composed many other poems, these appear to me the least imperfect, and I therefore forbid the others to be reprinted under any pretext. I earnestly request this of the editor, and expect it of his probity and good feeling, that he will fulfil this, my will, in everyrespect.” In accordance with this request, many of his earlier works have been, with much propriety, omitted, and the remainder have been considerably corrected; at the same time that a great number of poems are added, that had not been previously published. Thebest edition of his works is that by Salva, Paris 1832.
Melendez enjoyed in his day a higher reputation than readers at present are willing to concede him, comparing him with the other poets that have since appeared in Spain. But the merits of writers should be considered, in justice, relatively only to those who have preceded them, and by this standard he is certainly fully entitled to the eulogiums which his contemporaries awarded him.