Chapter 23

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 constitution, 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 noble 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 passion 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? Why was the charming youth so form'd to move? Or why was all my soul so turn'd for love? But virtue here a vain defence had made, Where so much worth and eloquence could plead. For he could talk----'Twas extacy to hear, 'Twas joy! 'twas harmony to every ear. Eternal music dwelt upon his tongue, Soft, and transporting as the Muses song; List'ning to him my cares were charm'd to rest, And love, and silent rapture fill'd my breast: Unheeded the gay moments took their flight, And time was only measur'd by delight. I hear the lov'd, the melting accents still, And still the kind, the tender transport feel. Again I see the sprightly passions rise, And life and pleasure sparkle in his eyes. My fancy paints him now with ev'ry grace, But ah! the dear delusion mocks my fond embrace; The smiling vision takes its hasty flight, And scenes of horror swim before my sight. Grief and despair in all their terrors rise; A dying lover pale and gasping lies, Each dismal circumstance appears in view, The fatal object is for ever new.

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For thee all thoughts of pleasure I forego, For thee my tears shall never cease to flow: For thee at once I from the world retire, To feed in silent shades a hopeless fire. My bosom all thy image shall retain; The full impression there shall still remain. As thou hast taught my constant heart to prove; The noblest height and elegance of love; That sacred passion I to thee confine; My spotless faith shall be for ever thine.

After Mr. Rowe's decease, and as soon as her affairs would permit, our authoress indulged her inconquerable inclination to solitude, by retiring to Froome in Somersetshire, in the neighbourhood of which place the greatest part of her estate lay. When she forsook the town, she determined to return no more but to spend the remainder of her life in absolute retirement; yet upon some few occasions she thought it her duty to violate this resolution. In compliance with the importunate request of the honourable Mrs. Thynne, she passed some months with her at London, after the death of her daughter the lady Brooke, and upon the decease of Mrs. Thynne herself, she could not dispute the commands of the countess of Hertford, who earnestly desired her company, to soften the severe affliction of the loss of so excellent a mother, and once or twice more, the power which this lady had over Mrs. Rowe, drew her, with an obliging kind of violence, to spend a few months with her in the country. Yet, even on these occasions she never quitted her retreat without sincere regret, and always returned to it, as soon as she could with decency disengage herself from the importunity of her noble friends. It was in this recess that she composed the most celebrated of her works, in twenty Letters from the Dead to the Living; the design of which is to impress the notion of the soul's immortality, without which all virtue and religion, with their temporal and eternal good conferences must fall to the ground.

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Some who pretend to have no scruples about the being of a God, have yet doubts about their own eternal existence, though many authors have established it, both by christian and moral proofs, beyond reasonable contradiction. But since no means should be left untried, in a point of such awful importance, a virtuous endeavour to make the mind familiar with the thoughts of immortality, and contract as it were unawares, an habitual persuasion of it, by writings built on that foundation, and addressed to the affections, and imagination, cannot be thought improper, either as a doctrine or amusement: Amusement, for which the world makes so large a demand, and which generally speaking is nothing but an art of forgetting that immortality, the form, belief, and advantageous contemplation, of which this higher amusement would recommend.

In the year 1736, the importunity of some of Mrs. Rowe's acquaintance who had seen the History of Joseph in MS. prevailed on her to print it. The publication of this piece did not long precede the time of her death, to prepare for which had been the great business of her life; and it stole upon her according to her earnest wishes, in her beloved recess. She was favoured with a very uncommon strength of constitution, and had pass'd a long series of years with scarce any indisposition, severe enough to confine her to bed.----But about half a year before her decease, she was attacked with a distemper, which seemed to herself as well as others, attended with danger. Tho' this disorder found her mind not quite so serene and prepared to meet death as usual; yet when by devout contemplation, she had fortified herself against that fear and diffidence, from which the most exalted piety does not always secure us in such an awful hour, she experienced such divine satisfaction and transport, that she said with tears of joy, she knew not that she ever felt the like in all her life, and she repeated on this occasion Pope's beautiful soliloquy of the dying Christian to his soul.

An ELEGY, &c. The dying CHRISTIAN to his Soul.

I.

Vital spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, oh quit this mortal frame; Trembling, hoping, lingr'ing, flying; Oh the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life. II.

Hark! they whisper; Angels say, Sister spirit, come away! What is this absorbs me quite, Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

III.

The world recedes; it disappears! Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring; Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O grave! where is thy victory? O death! where is thy sting?

She repeated the above, with an air of intense pleasure. She felt all the elevated sentiments of pious extasy and triumph, which breath in that exquisite piece of sacred poetry. After this threatening illness she recovered her usual good state of health; and though at the time of her decease she was pretty far advanced in years, yet her exact temperance, and the calmness of her mind, undisturbed with uneasy cares, and turbulent passions, encouraged her friends to hope a much longer enjoyment of so valuable a life, than it pleased heaven to allow them. On the day when she was seized with that distemper, which in a few hours proved mortal, she seemed to those about her to be in perfect health and vigour. In the evening about eight o'clock she converted with a friend, with her usual vivacity, mixed with an extraordinary chearfulness, and then retired to her chamber. About 10 her servant hearing some noise in her mistress's room, ran instantly into it, and found her fallen off the chair on the floor, speechless, and in the agonies of death. She had the immediate assistance of a physician and surgeon, but all the means used were without success, and having given one groan she expired a few minutes before two o'clock, on Sunday morning, February the 20th, 1736-7: Her disease was judged to be an apoplexy. A pious book was found lying open by her, as also some loose papers, on which she had written the following devout ejaculations,

O guide, and council, and protect my soul from sin! O speak! and let me know thy heav'nly will. Speak evidently to my list'ning soul! O fill my soul with love, and light of peace, And whisper heav'nly comfort to my soul! O speak celestial spirit in the strain Of love, and heav'nly pleasure to my soul.

In her cabinet were found letters to several of her friends, which she had ordered to be delivered to the persons to whom they were directed immediately after her decease.

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Mrs. Rowe lived in friendship with people of the first fashion and distinction in life, by whom she was esteemed and respected. To enumerate them would be needless; let it suffice to remark, that her life was honoured with the intimacy, and her death lamented with the tears, of the countess of Hertford. Many verses were published to celebrate her memory, amongst which a copy written by Mrs. Elizabeth Carter are the best.

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Thus lived honoured, and died lamented, this excellent poetess, whose beauty, though not her highest excellence, yet greatly contributed to set off her other more important graces to advantage; and whose piety will ever shine as a bright example to posterity, and teach them how to heighten the natural gifts of understanding, by true and unaffected devotion.----The conduct and behaviour of Mrs. Rowe might put some of the present race of females to the blush, who rake the town for infamous adventures to amuse the public. Their works will soon be forgotten, and their memories when dead, will not be deemed exceeding precious; but the works of Mrs. Rowe can never perish, while exalted piety and genuine goodness have any existence in the world. Her memory will be ever honoured, and her name dear to latest posterity.

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Mrs. Rowe's Miscellaneous Works were published a few years ago at London, in octavo, and her Devotions were revised and published by the reverend Dr. Watts, under the title of Devout Exercises, to which that worthy man wrote a preface; and while he removes some cavils that wantonness and sensuality might make to the stile and manner of these Devotions, he shews that they contain the most sublime sentiments, the most refined breathings of the soul, and the most elevated and coelestial piety.

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Mrs. Rowe's acquaintance with persons of fashion had taught her all the accomplishments of good-breeding, and elegance of behaviour, and without formality or affectation she practised in the most distant solitude, all the address and politeness of a court.

She had the happiest command over her passions, and maintained a constant calmness of temper, and sweetness of disposition, that could not be ruffled by adverse accidents. She was in the utmost degree an enemy to ill-natured satire and detraction; she was as much unacquainted with envy, as if it had been impossible for so base a passion to enter into the human mind. She had few equals in conversation; her wit was lively, and she expressed her thoughts in the most beautiful and flowing eloquence.

When she entered into the married state, the highest esteem and most tender affection appeared in her conduct to Mr. Rowe, and by the most gentle and obliging manner, and the exercise of every social and good natured virtue, she confirmed the empire she had gained over his heart. In short, if the most cultivated understanding, if an imagination lively and extensive, a character perfectly moral, and a soul formed for the most exalted exercises of devotion, can render a person amiable, Mrs. Rowe has a just claim to that epithet, as well as to the admiration of the lovers of poetry and elegant composition.

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The Revd. Dr. THOMAS YALDEN.

This Gentleman was born in the city of Exeter, and the youngest of six sons of Mr. John Yalden of Sussex. He received his education at a Grammar-school, belonging to Magdalen-College in Oxford. [A]In the year 1690 he was admitted a commoner of Magdalen-Hall, under Mr. John Fallen, who was esteemed an excellent tutor, and a very great master of logic, and the following year he was chosen scholar of Magdalen-College. Here he became a fellow-pupil with the celebrated Mr. Addison and Dr. Henry Sacheverel, and early contracted a particular friendship with those two gentlemen. This academical affection Mr. Addison preserved not only abroad in his travels, but also on his advancement to considerable employments at home, and kept the same easy and free correspondence to the very last, as when their fortunes were more on a level. This preservation of affection is rendered more singular, by Mr. Yalden's having espoused a very opposite interest to that of Mr. Addison, for he adhered to the High-Church party, and was suspected of an attachment to an exiled family, for which he afterwards was brought into very great trouble.

In the year 1700 he was admitted actual and perpetual fellow of Magdalen-College, and qualified himself the next year, by taking orders, as the founder's statutes require. After his admission he received two public marks of favour from that society: The first was a presentation to a living in Warwickshire, consistent with his fellowship; and the other, his being elected moral philosophy-reader, an office for life, endowed with a handsome stipend and peculiar privileges.

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In 1706 he was received into the family of his noble and kind patron the duke of Beaufort; with whom he was in very great favour, having in many instances experienced his bounty and generosity. In the following year he compleated his academical degrees, by commencing doctor in divinity: He presented to the society their founder's picture in full length, which now hangs up in the public-hall; and afterwards he delivered in to the president a voluntary resignation of his fellowship, and moral philosophy-lecture. He was afterwards preferred to be rector of Chalten in Cleanville, two adjoining towns and rectories in Hampshire. He was elected by the president and governors of Bridewell, preacher of that hospital, upon the resignation of Dr. Atterbury, afterwards lord bishop of Rochester.

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Having mentioned this prelate, it will be proper here to observe, that upon a suspicion of Dr. Yalden's being concerned with him in a plot to restore the exiled family; and for which the bishop was afterwards banished, he was seized upon by authority, and committed to prison. When he was examined before the council, concerning his correspondence and intimacy with Mr. Kelley the bishop's secretary; he did not deny his knowledge of, and correspondence with, him, but still persisted in averting, that no measures contrary to the constitution were ever canvassed between them. There was found in his pocket book, a copy of verses reflecting on the reigning family, and which might well bear the construction of a libel; but when he was charged with them, he denied that he ever composed such verses, or that the hand-writing was his own, and asserted his innocence in every circumstance relating to the plot. The verses in all probability were put into his pocket-book, by the same person, who with so much dexterity placed a treasonable paper in bishop Atterbury's close-stool, and then pretending to be the discoverer of it, preferred it against his lordship, as an evidence of his disaffection. The particulars of that memorable tryal are recorded in the Life of Atterbury, written by the authors of Biographia Britannica.--The heats raised by Atterbury's tryal subsiding, those who were suspected of being concerned with him, as no evidence appeared strong enough to convict them, were released.

Dr. Yalden was still favoured with the patronage of the generous duke of Beaufort, and his residence in that noble family recommended him to the acquaintance of many of the first quality and character in the kingdom, and as he was of a chearful temper, and of a pleasing and instructive conversation, he retained their friendship and esteem till his death, which happened the 16th of July, 1736, in the 66th year of his age.

His poetical works are chiefly these.

On the Conquest of Namure; A Pindaric Ode, inscribed to his most sacred and victorious majesty, folio 1695.

The Temple of Fame; a Poem to the memory of the most illustrious Prince, William Duke of Gloucester, folio 1700. On the late Queen's Accession to the Throne, a Poem.

Æsop at Court, or State Fables.

An Essay on the Character on Sir Willoughby Ashton, a Poem. Fol. 1704.

On the Mines of Sir Carbery Price, a Poem; occasioned by the Mine-adventure Company.

On the Death of Mr. John Partridge, Professor in Leather, and Astrologer.

Advice to a Lover.

To Mr. Watson, on his Ephemeris on the Cælestial Motions, presented to Queen Anne.

Against Immoderate Grief.

The Force of Jealousy.

An Ode for St. Cecilia's Day, 1693, set to music by Dr. Purcel.

A Hymn to the Morning in Praise of Light.

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We shall extract the following stanza from this Hymn, as a specimen of his poetry.

Parent of day! whose beauteous beams of light Spring from the darksome womb of night, And midst their native horrors mow Like gems adorning of the negro's brow. Not Heaven's fair bow can equal thee, In all its gawdy drapery: Thou first essay of light, and pledge of day! Rival of shade! eternal spring! still gay! From thy bright unexhausted womb The beauteous race of days and seasons come. Thy beauty ages cannot wrong, But 'spite of time, thou'rt ever young. Thou art alone Heav'n's modest virgin light. Whose face a veil of blushes hide from human sight. At thy approach, nature erects her head; The smiling universe is glad; The drowsy earth and seas awake And from thy beams new life and vigour take. When thy more chearful rays appear, Ev'n guilt and women cease to fear; Horror, despair, and all the sons of night Retire before thy beams, and take their hasty flight. Thou risest in the fragrant east, Like the fair Phoenix from her balmy nest; But yet thy fading glories soon decay, Thine's but a momentary stay; Too soon thou'rt ravish'd from our fight, Borne down the stream of day, and overwhelm'd with night. Thy beams to thy own ruin haste, They're fram'd too exquisite to last: Thine is a glorious, but a short-liv'd state: Pity so fair a birth should yield so soon to fate;

Besides these pieces, this reverend gentleman has translated the second book of Ovid's Art of Love, with several other occasional poems and translations published in the third and fourth volumes of Tonson's Miscellanies.

The Medicine, a Tale in the second Volume of the Tatlers, and Mr. Partridge's Appeal to the Learned World, or a Further Account of the Manner of his Death, in Prose, are likewise written by him.

[Footnote A: Jacob.]

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Mr. JOSEPH MITCHEL,

This gentleman was the son of a Stone-cutter in Scotland, and was born about the year 1684. He received an university education while he remained in that kingdom, and having some views of improving his fortune, repaired to the metropolis. We are not able to recover many particulars concerning this poet, who was never sufficiently eminent to excite much curiosity concerning him. By a dissipated imprudent behaviour he rendered those, who were more intimately acquainted with him, less sollicitous to preserve the circumstances of his life, which were so little to his advantage. We find him enjoying the favour of the earl of Stair, and Sir Robert Walpole, to whom he addresses some of his poems. He received so many obligations from the latter, and was so warm in his interest, that he obtained the epithet of Sir Robert Walpole's Poet, and for a great part of his life had an entire dependence on the bounty of that munificent statesman. Mr. Mitchel, who was a slave to his pleasures, and governed by every gust of irregular appetite, had many opportunities of experiencing the dangerous folly of extravagance, and the many uneasy moments which it occasions. Notwithstanding this, his conduct was never corrected, even when the means of doing it were in his power. At a time when Mr. Mitchel laboured under severe necessities, by the death of his wife's uncle several thousand pounds devolved to him, of which he had no sooner got possession, than he planned schemes of spending it, in place of discharging the many debts he had contracted. This behaviour, as it conveyed to his creditors no high idea of his honesty, so it obliged him to be perpetually skulking, and must consequently have embittered even those hours which he falsly dedidicated to pleasure; for they who live under a perpetual dread of losing their liberty, can enjoy no great comfort even in their most careless moments.

Of the many poems which Mr. Mitchel wrote, but few succeeded to any degree, nor indeed much deserved it. At a time when the politicians were engaged in settling the Land-Tax, and various opinions were offered concerning the ability of that branch of the commonwealth, so that a proper medium or standard might be fixed; he versified the Totness Address, much about the time of his present Majesty's accession to the throne; in which it is humourously proposed, that the landed interest should pay twenty shillings in the pound. This poem having a reference to a fashionable topic of conversation, was better received than most of his other pieces.