one, I learned much in the school, but little from the master; in the other, I learned much from the master, but little in the school.' The bishop also informs me that 'Dr. Johnson's father, before he was received at Stourbridge, applied to have him admitted as a scholar and assistant to the Rev. Samuel Lea, M. A., head-master of Newport school, in Shropshire (a very diligent good teacher, at that time in high reputation, under whom Mr. Hollis is said, in the Memoirs of his Life, to have been also educated).1 This application to Mr. Lea was not successful; but Johnson had afterwards the gratification to hear that the old gentleman, who lived to a very advanced age, mentioned it as one of the most memorable events of his life, that he was very near having that great man for his scholar.' He remained at Stourbridge little more than a year, and then he returned home, where he may be said to have loitered, for two years, in a state very unworthy his uncommon abilities. He had already given several proofs of his poetical genius, both in his school exercises and in other occasional compositions. Of these I have obtained a considerable collection, by the favour of Mr. Wentworth, son of one of his masters, and of Mr. Hector, his schoolfellow and friend, from which I select the following specimens: Translation of Virgil. Pastoral 1. MELIBUS Now, Tityrus, you, supine and careless laid, 1 As was likewise the Bishop of Dromore many years afterwards. While wretched we about the world must roam, And leave our pleasing fields and native home, Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame, And the wood rings with Amarillis' name. TITYRUS Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd, MELIBUS My admiration only I exprest (No spark of envy harbours in my breast), Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats, Translation of Horace. Book 1. Ode xxii. No savage more portentous stain'd Apulia's spacious wilds with gore; No fiercer Juba's thirsty land, Dire nurse of raging lions, bore. Place me where no soft summer gale Place me beneath the burning line, I'll sing of Chloe's charms divine, Her heavenly voice, and beauteous face. Translation of Horace. Book 11. Ode ix. CLOUDS do not always veil the skies, Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; Nor do the billows always rise, Or storms afflict the ruffled main: Nor, Valgius, on th' Armenian shores Do the chain'd waters always freeze; Not always furious Boreas roars, Or bends with violent force the trees. But you are ever drown'd in tears, For Mystes dead you ever mourn; The wise experienced Grecian sage Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs; Augustus' numerous trophies sing; Repeat that prince's victories, To whom all nations tribute bring. Niphates rolls an humbler wave; At length the undaunted Scythian yields, And scarce forsakes his native fields. Translation of part of the Dialogue between SHE ceased; then godlike Hector answer'd kind That Priam's house, and Priam's self shall bleed: Yet Hecuba's, nor Priam's hoary age, Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty rage, Nor my brave brothers, that have bit the ground, Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly wound, Can in my bosom half that grief create, As the sad thought of your impending fate: When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose, Mimic your tears, and ridicule your woes; Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat, And, fainting, scarce support the liquid weight: Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy ! Tears at my name, shall drown those beauteous eyes, To a Young Lady on her Birthday1 Thy form more lovely, more adorned thy mind; May powerful nature join with grateful art, To point each glance, and force it to the heart! Those sovereign charms with strictest care employ, The Young Author 2 WHEN first the peasant, long inclined to roam, 1 Mr. Hector informs me that this was made almost impromptu in his presence. 2 This he inserted, with many alterations, in the Gentleman's Magazine, 1743. |