Johnson acknowledged that 'Frank Fawkes had done the Odes of Anacreon very finely.' JOHN CUNNINGHAM. JOHN CUNNINGHAM (1729-1773), the son of a wine-cooper in Dublin, was an actor, and performed several years in Digges's company, Edinburgh. In his latter years he sunk into careless, dissipated habits, and resided at Newcastle-on-Tyne, in the house of a ' generous printer,' whose hospitality for some time supported the poet. Cunningham's pieces are full of pastoral simplicity and lyrical melody. He aimed at nothing high, and seldom failed. Song-May-eve, or Kate of Aberdeen. The silver moon's enamoured beam To beds of state go, balmy sleep- Upon the green the virgins wait, Strike up the tabor's boldest notes, And see-the matin lark mistakes, Fond bird! 'tis not the morning breaks, Now lightsome o'er the level mead, For see, the rosy May draws nigh; Content, a Pastoral. O'er moorlands and mountains, rude, barren, and bare, A gentle young shepherdess sees my despair, And leads me o'er lawns to her home. Yellow sheaves from rich Ceres her cottage had crowned, Her casement sweet woodbines crept wantonly round, We sat ourselves down to a cooling repast, While thrown from my guard by some glances she cast, I told my soft wishes; she sweetly replied Ye virgins, her voice was divine! 'I've rich ones rejected, and great ones denied, But take me fond shepherd--I'm thine.' Her air was so modest, her aspect so meek, I kissed the ripe roses that glowed on her cheek, Together we range o'er the slow-rising hills, Or rest on the rock whence the streamlet distils, The cottager Peace, is well known for her sire, DR. JOHN LANGHORNE. DR. JOHN LANGHORNE (1735–1779) was born at Kirkby Steven, in Westmoreland, and held the curacy and lectureship of St. John's, Clerkenwell, in London. He afterwards obtained a prebend's stall in Wells Cathedral, and was much admired as a preacher. Langhorne wrote various prose works, the most successful of which was his 'Letters of Theodosius and Constantia;' and in conjunction with his brother, he published a translation of Plutarch's Lives, which still maintains its ground. His poetical works were chiefly slight effusions, dictated by the passion or impulse of the moment; but he made an abortive attempt to repel the coarse satire of Churchill, and to walk in the magic circle of the drama. His ballad, 'Owen of Carron,' founded on the old Scottish tale of Gil Morrice, is smoothly versified, but in poetical merit is inferior to the original. The only poem of Langhorne's which has a cast of originality is his 'Country Justice.' Here he seems to have anticipated Crabbe in painting the rural life of England in true colours. His picture of the gipsies, and his sketches of venal clerks and rapacious overseers, are genuine likenesses. He has not the raciness or the distinctness of Crabbe, but is equally faithful, and as sincerely a friend to humanity. He pleads warmly for the poor vagrant tribe: Still mark if vice or nature prompts the deed; Those last of woes his evil days have wrought; Perhaps on some inhospitable shore The houseless wretch a widowed parent bore; This allusion to the dead soldier and his widow on the field of battle was made the subject of a print by Bunbury, under which were engraved the pathetic lines of Langhorne. Sir Walter Scott has mentioned, that the only time he saw Burns, the Scottish poet, a copy of this picture was in the room. Burns shed tears over it; and Scott, then a lad of fifteen, told him where the lines were to be found. The passage is beautiful in itself, but this incident will embalm and preserve it for ever.* Appeal to Country Justices in behalf of the Rural Poor. Worn by long service in the war of life; Nor leave the head, that time hath whitened, bare To the rude insults of the searching air; Nor bid the knee, by labour hardened, bend, O thou, the poor man's hope, the poor man's friend More strong than Teniers' pencil could portray; Of cruel days, and cruel man complain, But chief thy notice shall one monster claim; On the sly, pilfering, cruel overseer; The shuffling farmer, faithful to no trust, When the poor hind, with length of years decayed, Forgot the service of his abler days, His profitable toil, and honest praise, Shall this low wretch abridge his scanty bread, This slave, whose board his former labours spread? From labour's unbraced hand the grasped hook tear, That vainly languish for a father's bread? See the pale mother, sunk with grief and care, Referred to vestries, and a distant day! *The incident took place in the house of Dr. Adam Ferguson. The print seen by Burns is now in the Chambers Institution, Peebles, having been presented to the late Dr. Robert Chambers by Sir Adam Ferguson, son of the historian, and transferred by Dr R. Chambers to his brother Dr. W. Chambers for preservation in the Institution. The print is glazed in a black frame. The name of Langhorne, though in very small characters, is engraved on the print, and this had drawn the attention of Scott (who even at the age of fifteen was a great reader) to the poem in which the lines occur, Referred-to perish! Is my verse severe ? If in thy courts this caitiff wretch appear, Wouldst thou then raise thy patriot office higher? And first we'll range this mountain's stormy side, That roof have I remembered many a year; It once gave refuge to a hunted deer Here, in those days, we found an aged pair; 'Tis the shepherd and his wife. By every power I swear, 'Infernal! Mine !-by They fell by thine. Swear on no pretence: A swearing justicé wants both grace and sense. Of them who wrapt in earth are cold, For many a tender thought is due. Why else the o'ergrown paths of time, A Farewell Hymn to While the blithe blackbird told his tale. Why seeks he with unwearied ton, And lead Oblivion into day? [way, "Tis nature prompts by toil or fear, the Valley of Irwan. The primrose on the valley's side, The wanton rose, the daisy pied, How oft, within yon vacant shade, Has evening closed my careless eye! Full long their loss shall I bewail. Yet still, within yon vacant grove, And watch the wave that winds away; JOHN SCOTT. JOHN SCOTT (1730-1783) was our only Quaker poet till Bernard Barton graced the order with a sprig of laurel. Scott was the son of a draper in London, who retired to Amwell, in Hertfordshire, and here the poet spent his days, improving his garden and grounds, and writing moral and descriptive poems, elegies, eclogues, epistles, &c. Scott fondly hoped to immortalise his native village,' on which he wrote a poem, Amwell,' 1776; but of all his works only the subjoined lines are remembered. This little piece seems to have been dictated by real feeling, as well as Quaker principle: ་ Ode on Hearing the Drum. I hate that drum's discordant sound, I hate that drum's discordant sound, MICHAEL BRUCE. MICHAEL BRUCE was born at Kinnesswood, parish of Portmoak, county of Kinross, on the 27th of March, 1746. His father was a humble tradesman, a weaver. The dreariest poverty and obscurity hung over the poet's infancy, but the elder Bruce was a good and pious man, and trained his children to a knowledge of their letters, and a deep sense of religious duty. In the summer months, Michael was put out to herd cattle. His education was retarded by this employment; but his training as a poet was benefited by solitary communion with nature, amidst scenery that overlooked Lochleven, and its fine old ruined castle. When he had arrived at his fifteenth year, the poet was judged fit for college, and at this time a relation of his father died, leaving him a legacy of 200 merks Scots, or £11, 2s. 2d. sterling. This sum the old man piously devoted to the education of his favourite son, who proceeded with it to Edinburgh, and was enrolled a student of the university. Michael was soon distinguished for his proficiency, and for his taste for poetry. Having been three sessions at college, supported by his parents and some kind friends and neighbours, Bruce engaged to teach a school at Gairney Bridge, where he received for his labours about £11 per annum! He afterwards removed to Forest Hill, near Alloa, where he taught for some |