miration; that as to himself, he was satisfied with his own style, wholly opposite to this, by which he hoped he had fecured a better founded applause; that he had endeavoured, with a tender colouring, and day-light in the open air, to give truth and relief to his figures ; and that, inttead of imitating, like Caravaggio, what was ugly as well as what was agreeable in nature, he had always been solicitous to make choice only of that which was most beautiful. The lively genius of Guido immediately took the hint, and he foon applied himself to the style of Caravaggio, as the more advantageous scheme.'

We must add, however, to the honour of Guido, that he followed the steps of Caravaggio, in his dark and disagreeable paths, but for a time, after which he fell into his second manner; - a manner, as Mr. Rogers well observes, far more scientific, graceful, and sweet; highly finished, with clear and bright colouring, gay, and transparent :---which has established him chief in the modern style of painting, and justly obtained him the greatest applause.

2 s. 6d.

Art. X. The Prince of Peace, and other Poems. 4to.

Murray. 1779
HE “ pomp and circumstance of glorious war,” the ac-

quisition of victory, and the participation of renown, are fo flattering to human vanity, that exclusive of all views of pecuniary emolument, we are not to wonder that so great a part of mankind have, in all ages, followed the profeffion of the sword. The incidents of battles and fieges afford such variety of interesting subjects for description, and such frequent opportunities of introducing the pathetic and the sublime, that it is not at all surprising that they have so often employed the pen of the poet.

In the poem before us, entitled, The Prince of Peace (the most considerable piece in the collection), the ingenious Author has deviated from the common road. He has not recommended war by pleasing pictures of heroism and military fame; he has rendered it an object of deprecation, by forcible and affecting representations of the misery which it inevitably produces. The present unhappy American conteit is the particular object of his reprehension, though, evidently, not from party motives, but from confiderations of a fuperior nature. The poem opens with the following animated precatory apostrophe, to the Prince of Peace :

O thou! that on the fapphire throne

Of glory feated, look'lt on human race
With eyes of tenderelt love! ill deign to own,
Though much their madness ilight thy proffes'd grace,


The sons of thoughtless ALBION! Write thy law

Fresh in their hearts! that now, on blood intent,
With complicated vengeance, strive to draw

The thunders down of Heaven's keen punishment!
Plac'd at the dread right-hand of Power SUPREME,

Extend thy mercy fill! ftill mighty to redeem ! After deploring the loss of peace, and the diminution of commerce, the poet digressively regrets the discovery of America ; expatiates on the pleasing ideas which the discoverers might na. turally be supposed to conceive of the country, and contrasts them with its present melancholy fituation. He then proceeds to paint, in the most striking colours, the horrid war of those Indian barbarians, whom Chriftians, of different nations, have too often, to their eternal disgrace, employed against each other. He justly describes them as furious ; infenfible of compassion; unmoved by the smiling innocence of infancy, the pitiable debility of age, and the inchanting power of female beauty:

Yet Infants hold no forfeit life

They, finless beings ! surely 'scape the foe!
Their little hands provoke no hoftile ftrife;

Save smiling innocence, no arms they know !
With tears, that more than speak, they surely move

The murderer's breast, recalling nature's law;
Or melt to mercy with their looks of love,

The heart, now milder than the milk they draw!
In vain-their little tears shall not avail !
Nor Innocence-their coat of mail !
And fee, where feeble Age extends

His nervelefs arm! to ward th' impending blow;
He vainly tries! th' impending blow defcends!

Subdu'd he falls beneath th' infulting foe!
Alas! life's evening hop'd a brighter close!

Not these the promises that nature gave !
He fondly thought, with glory to repose

Belov'd and honour'd in the peaceful grave.
His grave, alas! the vulture Thall supply ;

Bleach'd by the parching winds his bones unbury'd lie?
Yet Beauty meets a milder doom-

Yet female weakness bends the stubborn foul-
In vain, or sex shall plead, or beauty bloom :

Their furious pafsions feel no foft controul.
Perchance e'en now, in yon requester'd bower

Some maid shall litlen to her lover's voice,
In thought anticipate the golden hour,

When holy rites thall sanctify her choice.
Vows of long love the breathes, with fondest breath!
Ah! soon to cancel all those vows in death!


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E'en now the hears the ambush'd foe :

What found, she starting cries, pervades my car ?
In yonder moonlight glade it lingers flow

No foe insidious surely lurking Dear!
Suspect, the youth replies, no base design ;

Our safe retreat what prying foe Mall find?
'Twas but the whisper of the murmuring pine,

Or d ftant warers founding in the wind.
Her fears remov'd, he thinks no danger nigh,
And reads fresh transports in her smiling eye.
Alas! that eye tall smile no more !

No more that lovely cheek with beauty glow!
In graceful negligence no more thall flow

Those waving ringlets stiff with clotted gore!
The wolves of war now rend that flowing hair!

Impending o'er their agonizing prize,
With gnahing unrelenting fangs they tear

The horrid trophy of their victories !
This sees the youth, expiring as he lies,

With aggrava ed horror sees and dies !
His last stanza except one, is a severe but just reproof of the
Thocking practice of praying for success in the business of dem
stroying our fellow-creatures :

Ah! surely dead to human woe

Their iron hearts, that deed's like these approve !
All future Hope they surely must forego,

Nor fear a vindicating Power above!
And yet-to Heaven they bow the fuppliant knee,

And breathe the formal prayer with lips defiled;
And yet-they lift their blood-fain's hands to Thee,

To Thee, meek Saviour, merciful and mild !
And yet-10 Thee those hands they DARE to thew!

To Thee, who did's COMMAND affection to the foe!
The precatory style is beautifully resumed in the conclufion :

Man's guardian friend ! at Pity's call

Once more thy spirit in their hearts renew;
And, O may Heaven, whose mercy stoops to all,

Their crimes forgive !- they know not what they do!
In rival breasts awake thy law of Love!

From Thee all human hope, all comfort springs!
The mutual wound's keen anguish to remove,

Arise once more with healing on thy wings !
So may each doubt dissolve, ali Discord cease,

And kindred nations bow before The PRINCE OF PEACE,
This performance is one of the few in which a spirit of piety
and a spirit of poetry are united. The Reader must have ob-
served that the stanza is mostly constructed of heroíc lines
with tetrastich and couplet rhyme : this structure is perhaps
better adapted to the dignity of the greater ode, than onc con-


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fisting of lighter and fhorter measures. It pleased in some of AKENSIDE's odes, and it pleases in the present instance.

The third piece in this agreeable assemblage, entitled, an Elegy in Memory of a Lady, appeared in print several years ago, under the title of CONSTANTIA, and was mentioned in our Review, vol. xxxix. The subject of this elegant tribute of grief and friendship was the first lady of the late ingenious Dr. Langhorne : a gentleman whose death will be long lamented by his friends, and will prove a considerable loss to the lovers of literature. The remainder of this collection consists of Twa Elegies, a Hymn to Patience, Four Odes, and Two Sonnets.

*** Report, on good authority, (we believe) has given the poems in this collection to the Rev. Mr. Cartwright, Author of that excellent performance, entitled, ARMINE AND ELVIRA, a Legendary Tale : see Monthly Review, vol. xlv. p. 103.

ART. XI. LONGINI omnia quæ extant, Græce & Latine. Recensuit No.

tasque suas atque Animadversiones adjecit Johannes Toupius. Accedunt Emendationes Davidis Ruynkenij. 410. 10 s. Boards; 8vo. L. P. 5 s. 6 d. ditio ; and Sm.P. 8vo. 4 s. ditto. Oxford printed, and fold by Elmfly in London, 1778. EFINEMENT in learning, like cultivation of manners, is

apt to degenerate into effeminacy and diffipation : the student grows wanton on the improvement of others; and is ungrateful enough to overlook, nay sometimes to despise, the labour of those who have cleared the paths of science, and made them easy and delightful. This, we are afraid, is too much the case with the professors of learning in our times: it seems their ute most ambition to be esteemed men of polite and elegant taste; and it is no wonder, when labour is supposed useless, that the mind, unaccustomed to severe and fundamental studies, should sink into trifles, and vainly imagine itself poflessed of what appears so easy to attain. Among those acquisitions which require manly application, and which tend to give strength and confidence to the mind, we rank the accurate knowledge of words, which is indeed the basis of all other improvements. This study seems to have undergone a very uncommon fate. Ic has been railed at by the idle, rejected by the polite, and ridiculed by the witty. We are told indeed, what, if true, must for ever destroy its credit; that it is both dull and useless. To the first we thall bring our answer from facts, and observe, that it has employed the pens of the first heroes in the republic of letters. Who is ignorant of the names of Scaliger, Erasmus, Clarke, Bentley, and Le Clerc? These writers, it may be said, have explained words as connected in composition, and have supplied food to the imagination by restorine heitirs which were loft, and reviving colours which time


what excuse can be offered for the barrenness of thofe who have consumed much time and labour in picking up single words, and piling them in a vast heap?-What pardon can be expected for Dictionary-makers ?--Milton must be deemed, by our objectors, little better than a dull drudge ; and Johnson, with all his genius and learning, muft dwindle into a laborious Idler,It would be endless to produce great men among the moderns, who have been ornaments of human nature, as well as of this ftudy; and among the ancients we shall be contented with the testimony of Quintilian, who, with more than usual fire and spirit, interrogates certain cavillers like ours: “An ideo minor elt Marcus Tullius orator, quod idem artis hujus diligentiffimus fuit ; & in filio (ut in epistolis apparet) usquequaque asper quoque exactor ? Aut vim Caii Cæfaris fregerunt editi de analogia libri ? Aut ideo minus Messala nitidus," (elegant) “ quia quofdam totos libellos non de verbis modo fingulis sed etiam litteris dedit?” Quint. Inftit. Orat. lib. 1. cap. 7.

Let none hereafter call that dull which Tully, Cæsar, and Messala have thought worthy their study and attention. But enough of authorities.

Our objectors still cry that it is useless. Need we answer, if any learning is useful, that surely cannot be without advantage on which all knowledge is built. What? Are they of no fervice to mankind who have brought to light, refined, and explained, those ancient models, from whom genius has caught fire, and patriotism ardour? Is it then of no importance to the world that the thoughts of Tully and Tacitus, the fine poetry of Virgil, the neat elegance of Horace, should be exhibited as far as poffible genuine and unmixed ? Is it of no advantage that the oracle of heaven should be purified from the corruptions of time, and ignorance, and the misrepresentations of bigotry? The days of infallibility, we thank God, are now over. We hear no more of divine inspirations and spiritual workings. All know that the New Testament is delivered down with the fame disadvantages as other ancient writings. Na miracle has been displayed to preserve it. It depends therefore intirely on a nice and critical knowledge of words to interpret and investigate what Christ has commanded; and many of those monstrous perversions of fcripture, which fix fo deep a stain on the history of human nature, derive their origin from the most gross ignorance in the language and phraseology of the apostles, and are nothing but the crude effufions of unlettered superstition. Let any Chriftian but reflect a moment on this, and let him bless the days when Clarke, Wetstein, and Erasmus considered the New Testament as critics, not for fystems but for sense. It may be observed here, that if learned men, in those dark ages, have been absurd in their opinions, causes still more deplorable than


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