The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) Volume IV Part 30

The fame of virtue 'tis for which I found, And heroes with immortal triumphs crown'd.

Fame built on solid virtue swifter flies, Than morning light can spread my eastern skies.

The gath'ring air returns the doubling sound, And long repeating thunders force it round: Ecchoes return from caverns of the deep; Old Chaos dreamt on't in eternal sleep, Time helps it forward to its latest urn, From whence it never, never shall return; Nothing is heard so far, or lasts so long; 'Tis heard by ev'ry ear, and spoke by ev'ry tongue.

My hero, with the sails of honour furl'd, Rises like the great genius of the world.

By fate, and fame, wisely prepared to be The soul of war, and life of victory.

He spreads the wings of virtue on the throne, And every wind of glory fans them on.

Immortal trophies dwell upon his brow, Fresh as the garlands he has won but now.

What provocation De Foe had given to Pope we cannot determine, but he has not escaped the lash of that gentleman's pen. Mr. Pope in his second book of his Dunciad thus speaks of him;

Earless on high flood unabash'd De Foe, And Tutchin flagrant from the scourge below.

It may be remarked that he has joined him with Tutchin, a man, whom judge Jeffries had ordered to be so inhumanly whipt through the market-towns, that, as we have already observed, he pet.i.tioned the King to be hanged. This severity soured his temper, and after the deposition and death of King James, he indulged his resentment in insulting his memory. This may be the reason why Pope has stigmatized him, and perhaps no better a one can be given for his attacking De Foe, whom the author of the Notes to the Dunciad owns to have been a man of parts. De Foe can never, with any propriety, be ranked amongst the dunces; for whoever reads his works with candour and impartiality, must be convinced that he was a man of the strongest natural powers, a lively imagination, and solid judgment, which, joined with an unshaken probity in his moral conduit, and an invincible integrity in his political sphere, ought not only to screen him from the petulant attacks of satire, but transmit his name with some degree of applause to posterity.

De Foe, who enjoyed always a competence, and was seldom subject to the necessities of the poets, died at his house at Islington, in the year 1731. He left behind him one son and one daughter. The latter is married to Mr. Henry Baker, a gentleman well known in the philosophical world.

[Footnote A: Jacob, vol. ii. p. 309.]

[Footnote B: See Preface to the True Born Englishman.]

[Footnote C: See Preface to vol. ii.]

Mrs. ELIZABETH ROWE,

This lady was born at Ilchester in Somersets.h.i.+re September 11, 1674, being the eldest of three daughters of Mr. Walter Singer, a gentleman of good family, and Mrs. Elizabeth Portnel, both persons of great worth and piety. Her father was not a native of Ilchester, nor an inhabitant, before his imprisonment there for non-conformity in the reign of King Charles II. Mrs. Portnel, from a principle of tenderness, visited those who suffered on that account, and by this accident an acquaintance Commenced, which terminated in the nuptial union. They who were acquainted with the lady, who is the subject of this article, in her early, years, perhaps observed an uncommon display of genius as prophetic of that bright day which afterwards ensued.

There is so great a similitude between painting and poetry, that it is no ways surprising, a person, who possessed the latter of these graces in so high a degree, should very easily discover an inclination to the former, which has often the same admirers. Accordingly we find Mrs.

Rowe discover a taste for painting; she attempted to carry her taste into execution, when she had hardly steadiness of hand sufficient to guide the pencil. Her father perceiving her fondness for this art, was at the expence of a matter to instruct her in it; and she never failed to make it an amus.e.m.e.nt 'till her death. Every one acquainted with her writings, and capable of relis.h.i.+ng the melifluent flow of her numbers, will naturally suppose, that she had a genius for music, particularly that of a grave and solemn kind, as it was best suited to the grandeur of her sentiments, and the sublimity of her devotion. But her most prevailing propension was to poetry. This superior grace was indeed the most favourite employment of her youth, and in her the most distinguished excellence. So powerful was her genius in this way, that her prose hath all the charms of verse without the fetters; the same fire and elevation; the same richness of imagery, bold figures, and flowing diction.

It appears by a life of Mrs. Rowe, prefixed to the first volume of her miscellaneous works, that in the year 1696, the 22d of her age, a Collection of her Poems on various Occasions was published at the desire of two of her friends, which we suppose did not contain all she had by her, since the ingenious author of the preface, Mrs. Elizabeth Johnson, gives the reader room to hope, that Mrs. Rowe might, in a little while, be prevailed upon to oblige the world with a second part, no way inferior to the former.

Mrs. Rowe's Paraphrase on the 38th Chapter of Job was written at the request of bishop Kenn, which gained her a great reputation. She had no other tutor for the French and Italian languages, than the honourable Mr. Thynne, son to the lord viscount Weymouth, and father to the right honourable the countess of Hertford, who willingly took the talk upon himself, and had the pleasure to see his fair scholar improve so fast by his lessons, that in a few months she was able to read Ta.s.so's Jerusalem with ease. Her s.h.i.+ning merit, with the charms of her person and conversation, had procured her many admirers: among others, the celebrated Mr. Prior made his addresses to her; so that allowing for the double licence of the poet and the lover, the concluding lines in his Answer to Mrs. Singer's Pastoral on Love and Friends.h.i.+p, were not without foundation in truth; but Mr. Thomas Rowe, a very ingenious and learned gentleman, was the person destined to fill the arms of this amiable poetess.

As this gentleman was a poet of no inconsiderable rank, a man of learning and genius, we shall here give some account of him, in place of a.s.signing him a particular Article, as the incidents of his life will be more naturally blended with that of his wife.----He was born at London, April the 25th, 1687, the eldest son of the revd. Mr. Rowe: who with a very accurate judgment, and a considerable stock of useful learning, joined the talents in preaching and a most lively and engaging manner in conversation. He was of a genteel descent, both on his father's and mother's side; but he thought too justly to value himself on such extrinsic circ.u.mstances. His superior genius, and insatiable thirst after knowledge were conspicuous in his earliest years. He commenced his acquaintance with the Cla.s.sics at Epsom, while his father resided there, and by the swift advances in this part of learning, quickly became the delight of his master, who treated him with very particular indulgence, in spight of the natural ruggedness and severity of his temper.

When his father removed to London, he accompanied him, and was placed under the famous Dr. Walker, master of the Charter-House-School. His exercises here never failed of being distinguished even among those who had the approbation of that excellent master, who would fain have persuaded his father to place him at one of our English universities; but how honourably soever Mr. Rowe might think of the learning of those n.o.ble feats of the Muses, yet not having the same advantageous notions of their political principles, he chose to enter him in a private academy in London, and some time before his death sent him to Leyden: Here he studied Jeuriel's Antiquities, civil law, the Belles Lettres, and experimental philosophy; and established a reputation for capacity, application, and an obliging deportment, both among the professors and students. He returned from that celebrated seat of literature, with a great accession of knowledge, entirely incorrupt in his morals, which he had preferred as inviolate, as he could have done under the most vigilant eye, though left without any restraints but those of his own virtue and prudence.

The love of liberty had always been one of Mr. Rowe's darling pa.s.sions. He was very much confirmed therein, by his familiar acquaintance with the history and n.o.ble authors of Greece and Rome, whose very spirit was transferred into him: By residing so long at a Republic, he had continual examples of the inestimable value of freedom, as the parent of industry, and the universal source of social happiness. Tyranny of every kind he sincerely detested; but most of all ecclesiastical tyranny, deeming the slavery of the mind the most abject and ignominious, and in its consequences more pernicious than any other.

He was a perfect matter of the Greek, Latin and French languages; and, which is seldom known to happen, had at once such a prodigious memory, and unexhaustible fund of wit, as would have singly been admired, and much more united. These qualities, with an easy fluency of speech, a frankness, and benevolence of disposition, and a communicative temper, made his company much sollicited by all who knew him. He animated the conversation, and instructed his companions by the acuteness of his observations.

He had formed a design to compile the lives of all the ill.u.s.trious persons of antiquity, omitted by Plutarch; and for this purpose read the antient historians with great care. This design he in part executed. Eight lives were published since his decease, in octavo, by way of Supplement to that admired Biographer; in which though so young a guide, he strikes out a way like one well acquainted with the dark and intricate paths of antiquity. The stile is perfectly easy, yet concise, and nervous: The reflections just, and such as might be expected from a lover of truth and of mankind.

Besides these Lives, he had finished for the press, the Life of Thrasybulus, which being put into the hands of Sir Richard Steele, for his revisal, was unhappily lost, and could never since be recovered.

The famous Mr. Dacier, having translated Plutarch's Lives into French, with Remarks Historical and Critical, the Abbe Bellenger added in 1734 a ninth tome to the other eight, consisting of the Life of Hannibal, and Mr. Rowe's Lives made French by that learned Abbe: In the Preface to which version, he transcribes from, the Preface to the English edition, the character of the author with visible approbation; and observes, that the Lives were written with taste; though being a posthumous work, the author had not put his last hand to it.

Such is the character of Mr. Rowe, the husband of this amiable lady; and when so accomplished a pair meet in conjugal bonds, what great expectations may not be formed upon them! A friend of Mr. Rowe's upon that occasion wrote the following beautiful Epigram,

No more proud Gallia, bid the world revere Thy learned pair, Le Fevre and Dacier: Britain may boast, this happy day unites, Two n.o.bler minds, in Hymen's sacred rites.

What these have sung, while all th' inspiring nine, Exalt the beauties of the verse divine, Those (humble critics of th' immortal strain,) Shall bound their fame to comment and explain.

Mr. Rowe being at Bath, in the year 1709, was introduced into the company of Miss Singer, who lived in a retirement not far from the city. The idea he had conceived of her from report and her writings, charmed him; but when he had seen and conversed with her, he felt another kind of impression, and the esteem of her accomplishments was heightened into the rapture of a lover. During the courts.h.i.+p, he wrote a poetical Epistle to a friend, who was a neighbour of Mrs. Singer, and acquainted with the family, in which were the following lines.

Youth's liveliest bloom, a never-fading grace, And more than beauty sparkles in her face.

How soon the willing heart, her empire feels?

Each look, each air, each melting action kills: Yet the bright form creates no loose desires; At once she gives and purifies our fires, And pa.s.sions chaste, as her own soul inspires.

Her soul, heav'n's n.o.blest workmans.h.i.+p design'd, To bless the ruined age, and succour lost mankind, To prop abandon'd virtue's sinking cause, And s.n.a.t.c.h from vice its undeserv'd applause.

He married her in the year 1710, and Mrs. Rowe's exalted merit, and amiable qualities, could not fail to inspire the most generous and lading pa.s.sion. Mr. Rowe knew how to value that treasure of wit, softness and virtue, with which heaven had blessed him; and made it his study to repay the felicity with which she crowned his life. The esteem and tenderness he had for her is inexpressible, and possession seems never to have abated the fondness and admiration of the lover; a circ.u.mstance which seldom happens, but to those who are capable of enjoying mental intercourse, and have a relish for the ideal transports, as well as those of a less elevated nature. It was some considerable time after his marriage, that he wrote to her a very tender Ode, under the name of Delia, full of the warmed sentiments of connubial friends.h.i.+p and affection. The following lines in it may appear remarkable, as it pleased Heaven to dispose events, in a manner so agreeable to the wishes expressed in them,

----So long may thy inspiring page, And bright example bless the rising age; Long in thy charming prison mayst thou stay, Late, very late, ascend the well-known way, And add new glories to the realms of day!

At least Heav'n will not sure, this prayer deny!

Short be my life's uncertain date, And earlier long than thine, the destin'd hour of fate!

When e'er it comes, may'st thou be by, Support my sinking frame, and teach me how to die; Banish desponding nature's gloom, Make me to hope a gentle doom, And fix me all on joys to come.

With swimming eyes I'll gaze upon thy charms, And clasp thee dying in my fainting arms; Then gently leaning on thy breast; Sink in soft slumbers to eternal rest.

The ghastly form shall have a pleasing air, And all things smile, while Heav'n and thou art there.

This part of the Ode which we have quoted, contains the most tender breathings of affection, and has as much delicacy and softness in it, as we remember ever to have seen in poetry. As Mr. Rowe had not a robust const.i.tution, so an intense application to study, beyond what the delicacy of his frame could bear, might contribute to that ill state of health which allayed the happiness of his married life, during the greater part of it. In the latter end of the year 1714, his weakness increased, and he seemed to labour under all the symptoms of a consumption; which distemper, after it had confined him some months, put a period to his most valuable life, at Hampstead, in 1715, when he was but in the 28th year of his age. The exquisite grief and affliction, which his amiable wife felt for the loss of so excellent a husband, is not to be expressed.

She wrote a beautiful Elegy on his death, and continued to the last moments of her life, to express the highest veneration and affection for his memory, and a particular regard and esteem for his relations.

This Elegy of Mrs. Rowe, on the death of her much lamented husband, we shall here insert.

An ELEGY, &c.

In what soft language shall my thoughts get free, My dear Alexis, when I talk of thee?

Ye Muses, Graces, all ye gentle train, Of weeping loves, O suit the pensive train!

But why should I implore your moving art?

'Tis but to speak the dictates of my heart; And all that knew the charming youth will join, Their friendly sighs, and pious tears to mine; For all that knew his merit, must confess, In grief for him, there can be no excess.

His soul was form'd to act each glorious part Of life, unstained with vanity, or art, No thought within his gen'rous mind had birth, But what he might have own'd to Heav'n and Earth.

Practis'd by him, each virtue grew more bright, And shone with more than its own native light.

Whatever n.o.ble warmth could recommend The just, the active, and the constant friend, Was all his own----But Oh! a dearer name, And softer ties my endless sorrow claim.

Lost in despair, distracted, and forlorn, The lover I, and tender husband mourn.

Whate'er to such superior worth was due, Whate'er excess the fondest pa.s.sion knew; I felt for thee, dear youth; my joy, my care, My pray'rs themselves were thine, and only where Thou waft concern'd, my virtue was sincere.

When e'er I begg'd for blessings on thy head, Nothing was cold or formal that I said; My warmest vows to Heav'n were made for thee, And love still mingled with my piety.

O thou wast all my glory, all my pride!

Thro' life's uncertain paths my constant guide; Regardless of the world, to gain thy praise Was all that could my just ambition raise.

Why has my heart this fond engagement known?

Or why has Heav'n dissolved the tye so soon?