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A collection of his Original Poems and Letters, was printed for the benefit of the family, by fubfcripting, in 4 vols. 8vo, 1751; with a poetical dedication to the princess of Wales, by his daughter, Mo Urania Jobnfon, who seems to have inherited a large portion of his taste, and amiable benevokro.

His dramatic works, including the plays above-mentioned, and The Roman Revenge, a tragedy, 173) The Infolvent, or, Filial Piety, a tragedy, 1758, Merlin in Love, an occasional prelude, Tér dựn Mourning, a comic opera, The Snake in the Gross, a dramatic satire, Saul, a tragedy, and Daraxt, i tragedy, were printed in 2 vols. 8vo, 1759. A felection from the mass of his mifcellaneous ca pofitions is now, for the first time, received into a collection of claffical English poetry.

The character of Hill was in every respect perfectly amiable. His perfon was, in his youth, t tremely fair and handfome. He was tall, not too thin, yet genteelly made. His eyes were a blue, bright and penetrating, his hair brown, and his face oval. His countenance was genen animated by a smile. His addrefs was most engagingly affable, yet mingled with a native fumed dignity, which rendered him at once refpected and admired. His voice was (weet, his converfation elegant; and fo extensive was his knowledge in all subjects, that scarcely any cl occur, on which he did not acquit himself in a most masterly and entertaining manner. Hist though naturally warm when roufed by injuries, was equally noble in a readiness to forgives and fo much inclined was he to repay evil with good, that he frequently exercifed tha leffon, to the prejudice of his own circumftances. He was a generous master, a fincere fra affectionate husband, and an indulgent and tender parent; and, indeed, so benevolent was his ar pofition in general, even beyond the power of the fortune he was bleffed with, that the calam of those he knew, and valued as deferving, affected him more deeply than his own. In confian of this he bestowed the profits of many of his works for the relief of his friends, and particu his dramatic pieces, none of which he could ever be prevailed on to accept of a benefit for, his Merope, which, at the very clofe of his life was commanded to be reprefented for the of its author, from thofe difficulties out of which he had frequently been the generous instrum of extricating others. His manner of living was temperate to the greatest degree, in every re but that of late hours, which his indefatigable love of ftudy frequently drew him into. No deterred him from the profecution of any defign that appeared to him to be praife-worthy = practicable; nor was it in the power of misfortune, which from his birth he seemed defined counter, to overcome, or even shake his fortitude of mind.

He feems to have lived in perfect harmony with all the writers of his time, except Pope whom he had a short controverfy, greatly to his advantage, occafioned by the following lines -Dunciad.",


Then Heffay'd; fcarce vanifh'd out of fight,
He buoys up inftant, and returns to light;
He bears no token of the fabler ftreams,

And mounts far off among the fwans of Thames.

This, though the gentleft piece of fatire in the whole poem, and conveying at the same time a oblique compliment, he retaliated in his Progrefs of Wit, which begins with the following a which Pope's well known difpofition is elegantly, yet very feverely characterised,

Tuneful Alexis, on the Thanie's fair fide,
The ladies' play-thing and the mufe's pride;
With merit popular, with wit polite,
Eafy, though vain, and elegant, though light;
Defiring, and deferving others praife,

Poorly accepts a fame he ne'er repays;
Unborn to cherish, fneakingly approves,
And wants the foul to fpread the worth he loves.

The "freakingly approves" in the last couplet affected Pope extremely; who, indeed, thes whole controverfy, feems rather to exprefs his repentance by denying the offence, than to dicate himself, fuppofing it to have been given.


"That the letters, A. H." fays he, "were applied to you in the papers, I did not kaw,

【feldem read them) I heard it only from Mr. Savage, as om yourfelf, and fent wy


the contrary. But I don't fee how the annotator to the Dunciad could have rectified that mistake publicly, without particularifing your name in a book, where I thought it too good to be inferted, &c."

"I fhould imagine," he adds, in another place," the Dunciad meant you a real compliment, and fo it has been thought by many, who have asked to whom that passage made that oblique panegyric. As to the notes, I am weary of telling a great truth; which is, that I am not the author of them; though I love truth fo well, as fairly to tell you, I think even that note a commendation, and fhould think myself not ill used to bave the fame words faid of me.—But I ask you not to believe this, except you are vastly inclined to it. I will come closer to the point; would you have the note left qut? It fhall. Would you have it expressly said you were not meant? It fhall, if I have any influence on the editors."

"As to your oblique panegyric," fays Hill," I am not under fo blind an attachment to the goddefs I was devoted to in the Dunciad, but that I knew it was a commendation, though a dirtier one than I wished for; who am neither fond of fome of the company in which I was lifted, the noble reward for which I was to become a diver, the allegorical muddinefs in which I was to try my skill, nor the instituter of the games you were fo kind to allow me a share in."

"Your offer is very kind," he adds, " to prevail on the editor of the Dunciad to leave out the lote, or declare that I was not meant in it; but I am fatisfied :-It is over, and deferves no more of your application."

The controverfy ended in a perfect reconciliation; and Pope ever afterwards treated Hill with a Legree of respect, that implied a fenfe of fuperiority, bordering on reverence.

The paffage in the Dunciad relating to Hill, ftands thus in the later editions:

Then effay'd; fcarce vanifh'd out of fight, &c.

With this note under it." A gentleman of genius and spirit, who was fecretly dipt in fome papers of this kind, on whom our poet bestows a panegyric instead of a fatire, as deferving to be better mployed than in party quarrels, and perfonal invectives."

As a great and general writer, Hill must be allowed to stand in a very exalted rank of merit. His tragedies, particularly Zara and Merope, are generally known and admired. His poems feem not to have hitherto obtained so much notice as they deserve. Dr. Warton has unjuflly represented


an affected and fustian writer,” who, " by some means or other, gained Pope's confidence and friendship." Although it may be allowed, that the rigid correctness with which he constantly e-perused his compofitions for alteration, the frequent ufe of compound epithets, fingularity of feniment, bold experiments in language, and an ordo verborum peculiar to himself, have juftly laid him open to the charge of being, in fome places rather too turgid, and in others fomewhat ftiff and bfcure; yet, the nervous power, force, and weight of fentiment, opulence of imagery, and intrinfic lerling fenfe with which his writings abound, amply atone for the harshness of the style, and the peculiarity of the diction. They are evidently the production of a genius truly poetical; they have an air of originality, which has no resemblance of any contemporary writer; and the verfification and fentiments have a caft peculiar to themselves, which cannot be fuccefsfully imitated. The images are animated, though fometimes indiftin&t; the defcriptions forcible, though fometimes quaint; the language elevated, though fometimes forced; and the numbers majestic and flowing, though fometimes encumbered and fluggish. His faults are, not want of fire or enthusiasm, of which he has an ample fhare; but an elaborate exactness of language, that rather obfcures than heightens the beauty and force of the thought, and a studied refinement of fentiment, fupported by the utmok effort of language, which has more magnificence than fublimity, more dignity than grace.

In extenuation of his faults, it ought to be obferved, that the verfatility of his genius was unfavourable to the attainment of excellence; and that he cultivated poetry only as a relaxation from the study of history, criticism, geography, phyfic, commerce, agriculture, war, law, chemistry, and atural philofophy, to which he devoted the greatest part of his time. "I will be easy, who have no better reafon to wifh well to poetrys

In all events," fays he,

im as

than my love for a mistress I fhall never be married to; for, whenever I grow ambitious, I fhall wish to build higher, and owe my memory to fome occafion of more importance than my writ ings."

Of the poetical pieces which he at different times compofed, the prefent collection exhibits but a fmall number. The epic poem of Gideon, his greatest work, has been omitted, for a reafon which he has himself given, in one of his letters to Clio, the poetical name of the celebrated Mrs. Sanfem; "It will require a good share of your patience, for it is a very long one. I will have it writ fair, book by book, for your perufal, if you have courage enough to resolve on going through with fo formidable a mortification, as to pick out the fine things of the story from the dull ones of the author.” It has been praised by Savage; and must be allowed to have fome fine paffages; but the measure is injudiciously chosen, and the story tedious and uninterefling. All the riches of poetic diction are re quired to invest epic poetry in fuitable fplendor; but it rejects the variety of measure which is appropriated to lyric compofition. The Fanciad is not liable to the fame objections; but a copy of it could not be procured. An episode from Gideon, is inferted among his Original Poems, &c. but the Fania, and many of his earlier pieces, are omitted in the collection of his works.

The lift of his pieces which have been selected for republication, might perhaps have been g mented without any injury to his reputation; but, it is hoped, the selection, imperfect as it is, when every deduction is made which criticifm requires, will make good his claim to more notic: than he has hitherto obtained, and juftify the revival of his writings.

It confifts of pieces in various kinds of compofition, ferious, fentimental, humorous, fatirical defcriptive, and amatory, which have all their brighter paffages; but require no diftin&t confiderstion, nor particular criticism.


On the character of Hill, it is unneceffary to enlarge, as the teftimonies to his merit, by Boling broke, Pope, Chesterfield, Voltaire, Thomfon, Mallet, Savage, Richardfon, Sewell, Dyer, Field ing, Victor, and Garrick, are fufficiently known to the general readers of English poetry. The following complimentary epigram by Richardfon does not appear extravagant; and it is hoped this article will not be thought too long, when it is remembered that Hill, however neglected in later days, was celebrated by the most eloquent of his poetical contemporaries, and commended by the excellent author of " Clariffa," and "Sir Charles Grandifon."

When noble thoughts with language pure unite,
To give to kindred excellence its right,
Though unencumber'd with the clogs of rhime,
Where tinkling founds, for want of meaning chime,
Which like the rocks in Shannon's midway course,
Divide the fenfe and interrupt its force;
Well may we judge fo ftrong and clear a rill,
Flows higher from the Mufes' facred HILL.




SNAR'D in entangling mazes of thy charms, Teach me to thake thefe filky chains away: Slow, thy fweet force, my stubborn mind difarms, 'Till ev'n ambition bends beneath thy fway. What shall I do to free my struggling foul,

Bow'd to the foft'ning bias of thy fong? As circling ftraws in whirlwinds driving roll, So are my hurry'd paffions fwept along. Pool as I was!-I felt thy diftant fire,

E'er from thofe eyes it flafh'd undying flame; Yet fure, faid I---for once---I may aspire, And view that heav'n whence all this bright

nefs came.

So the light cork that on the Thames' fmooth fide Embay'd, glides buoyant, and just skims the fhore,

Edges, ambitious, to the rapid tide,

And rufhing down the ftream returns no more. Late my free thoughts, unbounded as the air, [fky; Could, with an eye beam's fwiftnefs, fcale the Wander in ftarry worlds, and bufy'd there,

From human cares and human paffions fly. Down to dark earth's deep centre could I roam, And through her chafmy lab'rinths wind my way; See gold unripen'd in its dufky home,

And mark how fprings in veiny bendings ftray. Oft as th' alarming trumpet ftruck my ear, [rofe,

Or the big drum's dead beat hoarie-thund'ring My fummon'd foul fprung out to war's wifh'd sphere,

And plung'd me in the ranks of fancy'd foes. Wide as unmeafur'd nature's trackless space, Untir'd imagination reflefs flew; Difdain'd to fix on object, or on place,

And every moment fome fresh labour knew. Clio was then unfeen, unread, unknown ;--

Now, lovely tyrant, the ufurps my mind; Devoted fancy vows itfelf her own:

And my whole thought is to one theme confin'd. Yet, paw'rful as she is---the doubts her lays;

Blind, like the fun, to her own blazing flame,

Tranfports the lift'ning foul---engroffes praise;
Yet humbly wishes---an immortal name.
Oh that I could but live, till that late day

When Clio's unremember'd name shall die! Then fhould I hope full leifure to display

Those unborn deeds which in my bosom lie, But, as it is, our fleeting fands fo fast

Ebb to their end, and lead us to decay, That ere we learn to fee, our daylight's past, And, like a melting mist, life shrinks away.


THE glow-worm fcribblers, of a feeble age,
Pale twinklers of an hour, provoke my rage;
In each dark hedge we start an infect fire,
Which lives by night and must at dawn expire.
Yet fuch their number, that their fpecks combine,
And the unthinking vulgar fwear they shine.

Poets are prodigies, fo greatly rare, They feem the tasks of heaven, and built with care, Like funs unquench'd, unrivall'd, and fublime, They roll immortal o'er the waftes of time: Ages in vain clofe round, and fnatch in fame, High over all still shines the poet's name : Lords of a life, that scorns the bounds of breath, They stretch existence-and awaken death.

Pride of their envy'd climes! they plant renown, That fhades the monarch's by the mufe's crown: To fay that Virgil with Auguftus fhin'd, Does honour to the lord of halt mankind.

So, when three thoufand years have wan'd away, And Pope is faid to've liv'd when George bore

fway, Millions thall lend the king the poet's fame, And blefs, implicit, the fupported name.


REVENGE, you fee, is fure, though fometimes flow: Take this 'tis all the pain I'd have you know! There's odds enough yet left betwixt our imart, Ifting your fingers, and you fting my heart.

THE SNUFFERS. DESTIS'D and worthlefs though I feem to be, Yon new-top'd flames owe their best light to me,

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Though fcorn'd-you fee I can do service still!
Some good lies hid in every seeming ill.
And hence let fortune's fav'rites learn to know,
That virtue's virtue though in rags it go.

TO A SATIRICAL YOUNG LADY. FORBEAR, loud thing to live in laugh and jeft, Wit is like love-the fofteft is the best!

If thou, by this, wouldsft lively thought proclaim,
If empty praife is thy wild fancy's aim;
A while this falt may feafon fingle life,
But no man's tafte approves a piquant wife.
Be wife, and match, and charm by judgment's aid,
Or witty, and defpis'd, and die-a maid.
So the thin razors which young learners please,
Grow notch'd and edgeless, by unmark'd degrees,
Till worn and blunted, by too frequent ufe,
Th' experienc'd hand detects the steel's abuse;
Then cheaply thrown afide, they gather duft,
Like thee neglected, till confum'd by rust.



WHY fhould ye thus, to prove but vainly kind,
And a weak body to a fickly mind?
Could but your pious grief recal her breath,
Or tears of duty win her back from death,
We would not blame the paffion you exprefs,
But share it with you, if 'twould make it lefs!

But oh! when certain death's uncertain hour Exerts his known, his unrefifted pow'r; When we are fummon'd from our cares below, To joys which living merit must not know; When fouls, like your dear mother's, quit their clay,

And change earth's darkness for eternal day: From their blifs-circled feats, perhaps, they view Thefe humbler regions, which themselves once knew. [kind, And fweil'd with thoughts, which make the angels Pity the pledges they have left behind.

'Tis true, the lofs you mourn is vaftly great, But in that lofs your country shares your fate; The public good her wishes would have done, Made ev'ry man in ev'ry land her fon : Thence, lovely mourners! give us leave to prove, We ought to fhare your grief, who fhar'd your mother's love.

Yet may all parties make their forrow lefs, And you, and we, concern enough exprefs; You may with comfort calm your ruffled mind, To think your mother left her cares behind; And we, though lofers, should be thankful too, Since we are ftill left rich, poffeffing you.



GoD of my fathers! stretch thy oft-try'd hand,
And yet, once more, redeem thy chofen land:
Once more, by wonders, make thy glories known,
And, 'midft thy anger, be thy mercy shown!
O, I have heard thy dreadful actions told,
And my foul burns thy terrors to unfold!

At Ifrael's call, th' Almighty's thunder hurld, From Paran's fummit fhook the aftonish'd world; The flaming heav'ns blaze dreadful through the fky,

And earth's dark regions gleam beneath his eye. High, in his undetermin'd hands, he bore [ftore; Judgment's heap'd horn, and mercy's struggling Meagre before him, death, pale horror, trod: And, grinning fhadowy, watch'd the Almighty


Gath'ring beneath his feet flafh'd light'nings broke,
And the aw'd mountain fhook, conceal'd in smoke
He ftood; and, while the measur'd earth he cy's,
The starting nations dropp'd their confcious pride;
High-boafting Cufhan ftruck her tents, in fhame,
And Midian groan'd bencath repented fame.
He mov'd; and, from their old foundations rent,
The everlasting hills before him bent;
He ftept; and all th' uprising mountains stray
And roll in earthquakes, to escape his way:
From their enormous chafms, with roaring tide,
Earth-cleaving rivers fpout, and deluge wide:
The fea, alarm'd, climb'd fast, its God to ĺpy,
And in outrageous triumph fwept the sky.
Conscious of wrath divine, the fun grew pale,
And o'er his radiance drew a gloomy veil.

Thus did my God (to fave th' endanger'd land) March forth, indignant, with vindictive hand; This, when I hear, chill blafts my foul o'erspread, And my lips quiver with the rifing dread: Trembling all o'er, my limbs I faintly draw, And my boncs crumble with ideal awe. [yield; Now, though the fig-tree ne'er fhould bloffem Though fterile coldness curfe th' unrip'ning fek; Though vines and olives fail their loady cheer; Nor fainting herds out-live the pining year; Yet fhall my foul in God's fure aid rejoice, And earth's High Sov'rcign claim my heav's tun'd voice.


Who denied herself the freedom of Friendship, from in
delicate an apprehenfion of the World's miflaken Cenfør.
O BORN to pity woes, yet form'd to give,
Shut from whofe prefence 'twere a pain to live!
Who make all converfe tedious but your own;
And, that withheld, leave the forfaken none.
Urg'd by what motives would you wish to fhun
The fight and voice of him whofe foul you won!
On what falfe fears does this cold flight depend?
What fancy'd foe does prudence apprehend?

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