in
exposing to shame the printed but unpublished obscenity and blasphemy of
Wilkes. Johnson gets a good word as a state-pensioner, Francis, the
translator of Horace, for dulness apparently, and Mason, and even Gray,
are signalized, _en passant_, as artificial rhymesters! The general tenor
of the poem complains that in these days true learning, genius, and the
honesty of authorship are of no account; whilst the political profligacy
of the pen ensures favour and pay. The first hundred lines forcibly
express the inspiring indignation proper to the subject, and some of them
are still occasionally quoted; but how inferior all to corresponding
strains in Dryden and Pope! They were poets indeed--he was not a poet. He
has not fancy or imagination--they had both--they were consummate masters
in their art: he was but a bold bungler after all. In proof, take the best
passage in THE AUTHOR.

"Is this--O death to think!--is this the land
Where merit and reward went hand in hand?
Where heroes, parent-like, the poet view'd,
By whom they saw their glorious deeds renew'd?
Where poets, true to honour, tuned their lays,
And by their patrons sanctified their praise?
Is this the land where, on our Spenser's tongue,
Enamour'd of his voice, Description hung?
Where Jonson rigid Gravity beguiled,
While Reason through her critic fences smiled?
Where Nature listening stood whilst Shakspeare play'd,
And wonder'd at the work herself had made?
Is this the land where, mindful of her charge,
And office high, fair Freedom walk'd at large?
Where, finding in our laws a sure defence,
She mock'd at all restraints, but those of sense?
Where, Health and Honour trooping by her side,
She spreads her sacred empire far and wide;
Pointed the way, Affliction to beguile,
And bade the face of Sorrow wear a smile--
Bade those who dare obey the generous call
Enjoy her blessings, which God meant for all?
Is this the land where, in some tyrant's reign,
When a weak, wicked, ministerial train,
The tools of power, the slaves of interest, plann'd
Their country's ruin, and with bribes unmann'd
Those wretches, who ordain'd in Freedom's cause,
Gave up our liberties, and sold our laws;
When Power was taught by Meanness where to go,
Nor dared to love the virtue of a foe;
When, like a lep'rous plague, from the foul head
To the foul heart her sores Corruption spread,
Her iron arm when stern Oppression rear