upon a new plan of biography, which has since been followed in several instances.* The first book of his "English Garden" made its appearance in 1772; the three subsequent parts came out in 1777, 1779, and 1782. The first book contains a few lines beautifully descriptive of woodland scenery.

"Many a glade is found,

The haunt of wood-gods only: where, if Art E'er dared to tread, 'twas with unsandall'd foot, Printless, as if the place were holy ground." There may be other fine passages in this poem; but if there be, I confess that the somniferous effect of the whole has occasioned to me the fault or misfortune of overlooking them. What value it may possess, as an "Art of Ornamental Gardening," I do not presume to judge; but if this be the perfection of didactic poetry, as Warton pronounced it, it would seem to be as difficult to teach art by poetry, as to teach poetry by art. He begins the poem by invoking Simplicity; but she never comes. Had her power condescended to visit him, I think she would have thrown a less "dilettante" air upon his principal episode, in which the tragic event of a woman expiring suddenly of a broken heart, is introduced by a conversation between her rival lovers about “Palladian bridges, Panini's pencil, and Piranesi's hand." At all events, Simplicity would not have allowed the hero of the story to construct his barns in imitation of a Norman fortress; and to give his dairy the resemblance of an acient abbey; nor the poet himself to address a flock of sheep with as much solemnity as if he had been haranguing a

senate.

During the whole progress of the American war, Mason continued unchanged in his Whig principles; and took an active share in the association for parliamentary reform, which began to be formed in the year 1779. Finding that his principles gave offence at court, he resigned his office of chaplainship to the king. His Muse was indebted to those politics for a new and lively change in her character. In the pieces which he wrote under the name of Malcolm Mac Gregor, there is a pleasantry that we should

little expect from the solemn hand which had touched the harp of the Druids. Thomas Warton was the first to discover, or at least to announce, him as the author of the "Heroic Epistle to Sir William Chambers;" and Mason's explanation left the suspicion uncontradicted.†

Among his accomplishments, his critical knowledge of painting must have been considerable, for his translation of Du Fresnoy's poem on that art, which appeared in 1783, was finished at the particular suggestion of Sir Joshua Reynolds, who furnished it with illustrative notes. One of his last publications was, "An Ode on the Commemoration of the British Revolution." It was his very last song in praise of liberty. Had Soame Jenyns, whom our poet rallies so facetiously for his Toryism, lived to read his palinode after the French Revolution, he might have retorted on him the lines which Mason put in the mouth of Dean Tucker, in his " Dialogue of the Dean and the Squire."

"Squire Jenyns, since with like intent We both have writ on government." But he showed that his philanthropy had suffered no abatement from the change of his politics, by delivering and publishing an eloquent sermon against the slave trade. In the same year that gave occasion to his Secular Ode, he condescended to be the biographer of his friend Whitehead, and the editor of his works.

Mason's learning in the arts was of no ordinary kind. He composed several devotional pieces of music for the choir of York cathedral; and Dr. Burney speaks of an "Historical and Critical Essay on English Church Music," which he published in 1795, in very respectful terms. It is singular, however, that the fault ascribed by the same authority to his musical theory, should be that of Calvinistical plainness. In verse he was my Lord Peter; in his taste for sacred music, Dr. Burney compares him to Jack, in the "Tale of a Tub."

His death was occasioned, in his seventysecond year, by an accidental hurt on his leg, which he received in stepping out of a carriage, and which produced an incurable mortification.

OPENING SCENE OF "CARACTACUS." AULUS DIDIUS, with Romans; VELLINUS and ELIDURUS, SONS of the British Queen CARTISMANDUA.

Aul. Did. THIS is the secret centre of the isle : Here, Romans, pause, and let the eye of wonder Gaze on the solemn scene; behold yon oak, How stern he frowns, and with his broad brown

arms

[Instead of melting down my materials into one mass, and constantly speaking in my own person, by which I might have appeared to have more merit in the execution of the work, I have resolved to adopt and enlarge upon the excellent plan of Mr. Mason in bis Memoirs of Gray.BOSWELL.

Mason's plan has been further honoured by Hayley's imitation of it in his life of Cowper, by Mr. Moore in his life of Lord Byron, and by Mr. Lockhart in his life of Sir Walter Scott.]

+ Mason's right to the poem is now put beyond all question by the collected edition of Walpole's Letters.]

Yet up the hill

Mine eye descries a distant range of caves,
Delved in the ridges of the craggy steep;
And this way still another.

Elid.
On the left
Reside the sages skill'd in nature's lore:
The changeful universe, its numbers, powers,
Studious they measure, save when meditation
Gives place to holy rites: then in the grove
Each hath his rank and function. Yonder grots
Are tenanted by Bards, who nightly thence,
Robed in their flowing vests of innocent white,
Descend with harps that glitter to the moon,
Hymning immortal strains. The spirits of air,
Of earth, of water, nay of Heaven itself,
Do listen to their lay; and oft, tis said,
In visible shapes dance they a magic round
To the high minstrelsy.-Now, if thine eye
Be sated with the view, haste to thy ships,
And ply thine oars; for, if the Druids learn
This bold intrusion, thou wilt find it hard
To foil their fury.

Aul. Did.

Prince, I did not moor

My light-arm'd shallops on this dangerous strand
To soothe a fruitless curiosity;

I come in quest of proud Caractacus;
Who, when our veterans put his troops to flight,
Found refuge here.

Elid.
If here the monarch rests,
Presumptuous chief! thou might'st as well assay
To pluck him from yon stars: Earth's ample range
Contains no surer refuge: underneath
The soil we tread, a hundred secret paths,
Scoop'd through the living rock in winding maze,
Lead to as many caverns, dark, and deep:
In which the hoary sages act their rites
Mysterious, rites of such strange potency,
As, done in open day, would dim the sun, [dens
Though throned in noontide brightness. In such
He may for life lie hid.

Tell them ye come, commission'd by your queen,
To seek the great Caractacus; and call
His valour to her aid, against the legions,
Which, led by our Ostorius, now assail
Her frontiers. The late treaty she has seal'd
Is yet unknown: and this her royal signet,
Which more to mask our purpose was obtain'd,
Shall be your pledge of faith. The eager king
Will gladly take the charge; and, he consenting,
What else remains, but to the Menai's shore
Ye lead his credulous step? there will we seize him,
Bear him to Rome, the substitute for you,
And give you back to freedom.

Vel.

If the Druids

More than its wonted gloom: Druid, these groves
Have caught the dismal colouring of my soul,
Changing their dark dun garbs to very sable,
In pity to their guest. Hail, hallow'd oaks!
Hail, British born! who, last of British race,
Hold your primeval rights by Nature's charter;
Not at the nod of Cæsar. Happy foresters,
Ye wave your bold heads in the liberal air;
Nor ask, for privilege, a pretor's edict.
Ye, with your tough and intertwisted roots,

Grasp the firm rocks ye sprung from; and, erect,
In knotty hardihood, still proudly spread
Your leafy banners 'gainst the tyrannous north,
Who, Roman like, assails you. Tell me, Druid,
Is it not better to be such as these,

Than be the thing I am?

Chor.
To be the thing
Eternal Wisdom wills, is ever best.

Car. But I am lost to that predestined use
Eternal Wisdom will'd, and fitly therefore
May wish a change of being. I was born
A king; and Heaven, who bade these warrior oaks
Lift their green shields against the fiery sun,
To fence their subject plain, did mean that I
Should, with as firm an arm, protect my people
Against the pestilent glare of Rome's ambition.
I fail'd; and how I fail'd, thou know'st too well:
So does the babbling world: and therefore, Druid,
I would be any thing save what I am.

Chor. See, to thy wish, the holy rites prepared, Which, if Heaven frowns not, consecrate thee Druid:

See to the altar's base the victim led,
From whose free gushing blood ourself shall read
Its high behests; which if assenting found,
These hands around thy chosen limbs shall wrap
The vest of sanctity; while at the act,
Yon white-robed Bards, sweeping their solemn
harps,

Shall lift their choral warblings to the skies,
And call the gods to witness. Meanwhile, prince,
Bethink thee well, if aught on this vain earth
Still holds too firm a union with thy soul,
Estranging it from peace.

Car.

I had a queen:

Bear with my weakness, Druid! this tough breast
Must heave a sigh, for she is unrevenged.
And can I taste true peace, she unrevenged?
So chaste, so loved a queen? Ah, Evelina!
Hang not thus weeping on the feeble arm
That could not save thy mother.

Evel.
To hang thus
Softens the pang of grief; and the sweet thought,
That a fond father still supports his child,
Sheds, on my pensive mind, such soothing balm,
As doth the blessing of these pious seers,
When most they wish our welfare.

Heaven

Would to

A daughter's presence could as much avail,
To ease her father's woes, as his doth mine!
Car. Ever most gentle! come unto my bosom:
Dear pattern of the precious prize I lost,
Lost, so inglorious lost:-my friends, these eyes
Did see her torn from my defenceless camp;
Whilst I, hemm'd round by squadrons, could
not save her:

My boy, still nearer to the darling pledge,
Beheld her shrieking in the ruffian's arm;
Beheld, and fled.

Evel.
Ah! sir, forbear to wound
My brother's fame; he fled, but to recall

His scatter'd forces to pursue and save her.

Car. Daughter, he fled. Now, by yon gra

cious moon,

That rising saw the deed, and instant hid

I know him valiant; and not doubt he fell 'Mid slaughter'd thousands of the haughty foe, Victim to filial love. Arviragus!

Thou hadst no sister near the bloody field, Whose sorrowing search, led by yon orb of night, Might find thy body, wash with tears thy wounds, And wipe them with her hair.

Chor. Peace, virgin, peace: Nor thou, sad prince, reply; whate'er he is, Be he a captive, fugitive, or corse, He is what Heaven ordain'd: these holy groves Permit no exclamation 'gainst Heaven's will To violate their echoes: Patience here, Her meek hands folded on her modest breast, In mute submission lifts the adoring eye, Even to the storm that wrecks her.

Evel. Holy Druid, If aught my erring tongue has said pollutes This sacred place, I from my soul abjure it, And will these lips bar with eternal silence, Rather than speak a word, or act a deed Unmeet for thy sage daughters; blessing first This hallow'd hour, that takes me from the world And joins me to their sober sisterhood. [maid,

Chor. 'Tis wisely said. See, prince, this prudent Now, while the ruddy flame of sparkling youth Glows on her beauteous cheek, can quit the world Without a sigh, whilst thou

Car.
Would save my queen
From a base ravisher; would wish to plunge
This falchion in his breast, and so avenge
Insulted royalty. Oh, holy men!

Ye are the sons of piety and peace;
Ye never felt the sharp vindictive spur,
That goads the injured warrior; the hot tide
That flushes crimson on the conscious cheek
Of him who burns for glory; else indeed
Ye much would pity me; would curse the fate
That coops me here inactive in your groves,
Robs me of hope, tells me this trusty steel
Must never cleave one Roman helm again;
Never avenge my queen, nor free my country.
Chor. "Tis Heaven's high will-

Car. I know it, reverend fathers! "Tis Heaven's high will, that these poor aged eyes Shall never more behold that virtuous woman, To whom my youth was constant; 'twas Heaven's will

[hour,

To take her from me at that very hour,
When best her love might soothe me; that black
(May memory ever rase it from her records,)
When all my squadrons fled, and left their king
Old and defenceless: him, who nine whole years
Had taught them how to conquer: yes, my friends,
For nine whole years against the sons of rapine
I led my veterans, oft to victory,
Never till then to shame. Bear with me, Druid;
I've done: begin the rites.

Approach'd this altar with thee: 'stead of these,
See I not gaunt Revenge, ensanguined Slaughter,
And mad Ambition, clinging to thy soul,
Eager to snatch thee back to their domain,
Back to a vain and miserable world;
Whose misery, and vanity, though tried,
Thou still hold'st dearer than these solemn shades,
Where Quiet reigns with Virtue? try we yet
What holiness can do! for much it can:
Much is the potency of pious prayer:
And much the sacred influence convey'd
By sage mysterious office: when the soul,
Snatch'd by the power of music from her cell
Of fleshly thraldom, feels herself upborne
On plumes of ecstasy, and boldly springs,
'Mid swelling harmonies and pealing hymns,
Up to the porch of Heaven. Strike, then, ye Bards!
Strike all your strings symphonious; wake a strain
May penetrate, may purge, may purify,
His yet unhallow'd bosom; call ye hither
The airy tribe, that on yon mountain dwell,
Even on majestic Snowdon: they, who never
Deign visit mortal men, save on some cause
Of highest import, but, sublimely shrined
On its hoar top in domes of crystalline ice,
Hold converse with those spirits that possess
The skies' pure sapphire, nearest Heaven itself.

AN ODE.

Mona on Snowdon calls:
Hear, thou king of mountains, hear!

Hark, she speaks from all her strings;
Hark, her loudest echo rings;
King of mountains, bend thine ear:

Send thy spirits, send them soon,
Now, when midnight and the moon

Meet upon thy front of snow:

See their gold and ebon rod,
Where the sober sisters nod,

And greet in whispers sage and slow.
Snowdon, mark! 'tis magic's hour;
Now, the mutter'd spell hath power;
Power to rend thy ribs of rock,

And burst thy base with thunder's shock;
But to thee no ruder spell

Shall Mona use, than those that dwell
In music's secret cells, and lie
Steep'd in the stream of harmony.
Snowdon has heard the strain:
Hark, amid the wondering grove
Other harpings answer clear,
Other voices meet our ear,
Pinions flutter, shadows move,

Busy murmurs hum around,

Rustling vestments brush the ground;
Round, and round, and round they go,
Through the twilight, through the shade,
Mount the oak's majestic head,
And gild the tufted mistletoe.
Cease, ye glittering race of light,

Close your wings, and check your flight:
Here, arranged in order due,
Spread your robes of saffron hue;
For lo, with more than mortal fire,
Mighty Mador smites the lyre;

How came this youth to 'scape?

Evel. And that to tell Will fix much blame on my impatient folly: For, ere your hallow'd lips had given permission, I flew with eager haste to bear my father News of his son's return. Inflamed with that, Think how a sister's zealous breast must glow! Your looks give mild assent. I glow'd indeed With the dear tale, and sped me in his ear To pour the precious tidings: but my tongue Scarce named Arviragus, ere the false stranger (As I bethink me since) with stealthy pace Fled to the cavern's mouth. Chor. The king pursued? Evel. Alas! he mark'd him not, for 'twas the

moment,

When he had all to ask and all to fear,
Touching my brother's valour. Hitherto
His safety only, which but little moved him,
Had reach'd his ears: but when my tongue unfolded
The story of his bravery and his peril, [cheeks!
Oh how the tears coursed plentcous down his
How did he lift unto the Heavens his hands
In speechless transport! Yet he soon bethought him
Of Rome's invasion, and with fiery glance
Survey'd the cavern round; then snatch'd his
And menaced to pursue the flying traitor: [spear,
But I with prayers (oh pardon, if they err'd)
Withheld his step, for to the left the youth
Had wing'd his way, where the thick underwood
Afforded sure retreat. Besides, if found,
Was age a match for youth?

Chor.
Maiden, enough:
Better perchance for us, if he were captive;
But in the justice of their cause, and Heaven,
Do Mona's sons confide.

Does thus our love, does thus our friendship end!
Was I thy brother, youth, and hast thou left me!
Yes; and how left me, cruel as thou art,

The victim of thy crimes!
Chor.
True, thou must die.
Elid. I pray ye then on your best mercy, fathers,
It may be speedy. I would fain be dead,
If this be life. Yet I must doubt even that:
For falsehood of this strange stupendous sort
Sets firm-eyed reason on a gaze, mistrusting,
That what she sees in palpable plain form,
The stars in yon blue arch, these woods, these

Elid. But when astonishment will give me leave, Perchance I shall.-And yet he is my brother, And he was virtuous once. Yes, ye vile Romans, Yes, I must die, before my thirsty sword Drinks one rich drop of vengeance. Yet, ye robbers, Yet will I curse you with my dying lips: 'Twas you that stole away my brother's virtue. Chor. Now then prepare to die. Elid. I am prepared. Yet, since I cannot now (what most I wish'd) By manly prowess guard this lovely maid; Permit that on your holiest earth I kneel, And pour one fervent prayer for her protection. Allow me this, for though you think me false, The gods will hear me. Evel. I can hold no longer! Oh Druid, Druid, at thy feet I fall: Yes, I must plead, (away with virgin blushes,) For such a youth must plead. I'll die to save him; Oh take my life, and let him fight for Mona.

Chor. Virgin, arise. His virtue hath redeem'd him,

And he shall fight for thee, and for his country.
Youth, thank us with thy deeds. The time is short,
And now with reverence take our high lustration;
Thrice do we sprinkle thee with day-break dew
Shook from the may-thorn blossom; twice and
thrice

Touch we thy forehead with our holy wand:
Now thou art fully purged. Now rise restored
To virtue and to us. Hence then, my son,
Hie thee, to yonder altar, where our Bards
Shall arm thee duly both with helm and sword
For warlike enterprise.

FROM THE SAME.

THE CAPTURE OF CARACTACUS.

Aul. Did. YE bloody priests, Behold we burst on your infernal rites, And bid you pause. Instant restore our soldiers,

Nor hope that superstition's ruthless step
Shall wade in Roman gore. Ye savage men,
Did not our laws give license to all faiths,
We would o'erturn your altars, headlong heave
These shapeless symbols of your barbarous gods,
And let the golden sun into your caves.

Chor. Servant of Cæsar, has thine impious tongue

Spent the black venom of its blasphemy?
It has. Then take our curses on thine head,
Even his fell curses, who doth reign in Mona,
Vicegerent of those gods thy pride insults.
Aul. Did. Bold priest, I scorn thy curses, and
thyself.

Soldiers, go search the caves, and free the prisoners.
Take heed, ye seize Caractacus alive.
Arrest yon youth; load him with heaviest irons,
He shall to Cæsar answer for his crime.

Elid. I stand prepared to triumph in my crime.
Aul. Did. "Tis well, proud boy-Look to the
beauteous maid,
[To the Soldiers.
That tranced in grief, bends o'er yon bleeding
Respect her sorrows.
[corse:
Evel.
Hence, ye barbarous men!
Ye shall not take him welt'ring thus in blood,
To show at Rome what British virtue was.
Avaunt! the breathless body that ye touch
Was once Arviragus!

Aul. Did.

We reverence the dead. Chor.

Fear us not, princess;

Would too to Heaven,

Ye reverenced the gods but even enough
Not to debase with slavery's cruel chain
What they created free.

Aul. Did.

The Romans fight

Not to enslave, but humanize the world.
Chor. Go to! we will not parley with thee,
Roman:

Instant pronounce our doom.

Aul. Did. Hear it, and thank us. This once our clemency shall spare your groves, If at our call you yield the British king: Yet learn, when next ye aid the foes of Cæsar, That each old oak, whose solemn gloom ye boast, Shall bow beneath our axes.

Chor. Be they blasted, Whene'er their shade forgets to shelter virtue!