Volume V Part 27 (1/2)

But may thy folly, which can thus disdain My honest love, the mighty wrong repay, May midnight-fire involve thy sordid gain, And on the s.h.i.+ning heaps of rapine prey.

May all the youths, like me, by love deceiv'd, Not quench the ruin, but applaud the doom, And when thou dy'st, may not one heart be griev'd: May not one tear bedew the lonely tomb.

But the deserving, tender, gen'rous maid, Whose only care is her poor lover's mind, Tho' ruthless age may bid her beauty fade, In every friend to love, a friend shall find.

And when the lamp of life will burn no more, When dead, she seems as in a gentle sleep, The pitying neighbour shall her loss deplore; And round the bier a.s.sembled lovers weep.

With flow'ry garlands, each revolving year Shall strow the grave, where truth and softness rest, Then home returning drop the pious tear, And bid the turff lie easy on her breast.

Mr. JOHN BANKS.

This poet was the son of Mr. John Banks of Sunning in Berks.h.i.+re, in which place he was born in 1709. His father dying while our author was very young, the care of his education devolved upon an uncle in law, who placed him at a private school, under the tuition of one Mr. Belpene, an Anabaptist. This schoolmaster, so far from encouraging young Banks to make a great progress in cla.s.sical learning, exerted his influence with his relations to have him taken from school, and represented him as incapable of receiving much erudition. This conduct in Mr. Belpene proceeded from an early jealousy imbibed against this young man, who, so far from being dull, as the school-master represented him, possessed extraordinary parts, of which he gave very early proofs.

Mr. Belpene was perhaps afraid, that as soon as Mr. Banks mould finish his education, he would be preferred to him as minister to the congregation of Anabaptists, which place he enjoyed, independent of his school. The remonstrances of Mr. Belpene prevailed with Mr. Banks's uncle, who took him from school, and put him apprentice to a Weaver at Reading. Before the expiration of the apprentices.h.i.+p, Mr. Banks had the misfortune to break his arm, and by that accident was disqualified from pursuing the employment to which he was bred. How early Mr. Banks began to write we cannot determine, but probably the first sallies of his wit were directed against this school-master, by whom he was injuriously treated, and by whose unwarrantable jealousy his education, in some measure, was ruined. Our author, by the accident already mentioned, being rendered unfit to obtain a livelihood, by any mechanical employment, was in a situation deplorable enough. His uncle was either unable, or unwilling to a.s.sist him, or, perhaps, as the relation between them was only collateral, he had not a sufficient degree of tenderness for him, to make any efforts in his favour. In this perplexity of our young poet's affairs, ten pounds were left him by a relation, which he very oeconomically improved to the best advantage. He came to London, and purchasing a parcel of old books, he set up a stall in Spital-Fields.

Much about this time Stephen Duck, who had wrote a poem called The Thresher, reaped very great advantages from it, and was caressed by persons in power, who, in imitation of the Royal patroness, heaped favours upon him, perhaps more on account of the extraordinary regard Queen Caroline had shewn him, than any opinion of his merit. Mr. Banks considered that the success of Mr. Duck was certainly owing to the peculiarity of his circ.u.mstances, and that the novelty of a thresher writing verses, was the genuine cause of his being taken notice of, and not any intrinsic excellence in the verses themselves. This reflexion inspired him with a resolution of making an effort of the same kind; but as curiosity was no more to be excited by novelty, the attempt was without success. He wrote, in imitation of The Thresher, The Weaver's Miscellany, which failed producing the intended effect, and, 'tis said, never was reckoned by Mr. Banks himself as any way worthy of particular distinction. His business of selling books upon a stall becoming disagreeable to him, as it demanded a constant and uncomfortable attendance, he quitted that way of life, and was received into the shop of one Mr. Montague a bookbinder, and bookseller, whom he served some time as a journeyman. During the time he lived with Mr. Montague, he employed his leisure hours in composing several poems, which were now swelled to such a number, that he might sollicit a subscription for them with a good grace. He had taken care to improve his acquaintance, and as he had a power of distinguis.h.i.+ng his company, he found his interest higher in the world than he had imagined. He addressed a poem to Mr.

Pope, which he transmitted to that gentleman, with a copy of his proposals inclosed. Mr. Pope answered his letter, and the civilities contained in it, by subscribing for two setts of his poems, and 'tis said he wrote to Mr. Banks the following compliment,

'May this put money in your purse: For, friend, believe me, I've seen worse.'

The publication of these poems, while they, no doubt, enhanced his interest, added likewise something to his reputation; and quitting his employment at Mr. Montague's, he made an effort to live by writing only.

He engaged in a large work in folio, ent.i.tled, The Life of Christ, which was very acceptable to the public, and was executed with much piety and precision.

Mr. Banks's next prose work, of any considerable length, was A Critical Review of the Life of Oliver Cromwell. We have already taken notice that he received his education among the Anabaptists, and consequently was attached to those principles, and a favourer of that kind of const.i.tution which Cromwell, in the first period of his power, meant to establish. Of the many Lives of this great man, with which the biography of this nation has been augmented, perhaps not one is written with a true dispa.s.sionate candour. Men are divided in their sentiments concerning the measures which, at that critical aera, were pursued by contending factions. The writers, who have undertaken to review those unhappy times, have rather struggled to defend a party, to which they may have been swayed by education or interest, than, by stripping themselves of all partiality, to dive to the bottom of contentions in search of truth. The heats of the Civil War produced such animosities, that the fervour which then prevailed, communicated itself to posterity, and, though at the distance of a hundred years, has not yet subsided. It will be no wonder then if Mr. Banks's Review is not found altogether impartial. He has, in many cases, very successfully defended Cromwell; he has yielded his conduct, in others, to the just censure of the world.

But were a Whig and a Tory to read this book, the former would p.r.o.nounce him a champion for liberty, and the latter would declare him a subverter of truth, an enemy to monarchy, and a friend to that chaos which Oliver introduced.

Mr. Banks, by his early principles, was, no doubt, bia.s.sed to the Whig interest, and, perhaps, it may be true, that in tracing the actions of Cromwell, he may have dwelt with a kind of increasing pleasure on the bright side of his character, and but slightly hinted at those facts on which the other party fasten, when they mean to traduce him as a parricide and an usurper. But supposing the allegation to be true, Mr.

Banks, in this particular, has only discovered the common failing of humanity: prejudice and partiality being blemishes from which the mind of man, perhaps, can never be entirely purged.

Towards the latter end of Mr. Banks's life, he was employed in writing two weekly news-papers, the Old England, and the Westminster Journals.

Those papers treated chiefly on the politics of the times, and the trade and navigation of England. They were carried on by our author, without offence to any party, with an honest regard to the public interest, and in the same kind of spirit, that works of that sort generally are. These papers are yet continued by other hands.

Mr. Banks had from nature very considerable abilities, and his poems deservedly hold the second rank. They are printed in two volumes 8vo.

Besides the poems contained in these volumes, there are several other poetical pieces of his scattered in news-papers, and other periodical works to which he was an occasional contributer. He had the talent of relating a tale humorously in verse, and his graver poems have both force of thinking, and elegance of numbers to recommend them.

Towards the spring of the year 1751 Mr. Banks, who had long been in a very indifferent state of health, visibly declined. His disorder was of a nervous sort, which he bore with great patience, and even with a chearful resignation. This spring proved fatal to him; he died on the 19th of April at his house at Islington, where he had lived several years in easy circ.u.mstances, by the produce of his pen, without leaving one enemy behind him.

Mr. Banks was a man of real good nature, of an easy benevolent disposition, and his friends ever esteemed him as a most agreeable companion. He had none of the petulance, which too frequently renders men of genius unacceptable to their acquaintance. He was of so composed a temper, that he was seldom known to be in a pa.s.sion, and he wore a perpetual chearfulness in his countenance. He was rather bashful, than forward; his address did not qualify him for gay company, and though he possessed a very extensive knowledge of things, yet, as he had not much grace of delivery, or elegance of manner, he could not make so good a figure in conversation, as many persons of his knowledge, with a happier appearance. Of all authors Mr. Banks was the farthest removed from envy or malevolence. As he could not bear the least whisper of detraction, so he was never heard to express uneasiness at the growing reputation of another; nor was he ever engaged in literacy contests. We shall conclude this article in the words of lord Clarendon. 'He that lives such a life, need be less anxious at how short warning it is taken from him [1].'

[1] See lord Clarendon's character of the lord Falkland.

Mrs. Laet.i.tIA PILKINGTON.

This unfortunate poetess, the circ.u.mstances of whose life, written by herself, have lately entertained the public, was born in the year 1712.

She was the daughter of Dr. Van Lewen, a gentleman of Dutch extraction, who settled in Dublin. Her mother was descended of an ancient and honourable family, who have frequently intermarried with the n.o.bility.