ly sustained in
power of thought and loftiness of diction; they have been more
frequently quoted than the poems of any other modern author, and are
translated into various European languages. Few men evinced more
jealousy in regard to their reputation; he was keenly sensitive to
criticism, and fastidious in judging of his own composition. As a prose
writer, though he wrote with elegance, he is less likely to be
remembered. Latterly a native unsteadiness of purpose degenerated into
inaction; during the period of his unabated vigour, it prevented his
carrying out many literary schemes. A bad money manager, he had under no
circumstances become rich; at one period he was in the receipt of
fifteen hundred pounds per annum, yet he felt poverty. He had a strong
feeling of independence, and he never received a favour without
considering whether he might be able to repay it. He was abundantly
charitable, and could not resist the solicitations of indigence. Of
slavery and oppression in every form he entertained an abhorrence; his
zeal in the cause of liberty led him while a youth to be present in
Edinburgh at the trial of Gerard and others, for maintaining liberal
opinions, and to support in his maturer years the cause of the Polish
refugees. Naturally cheerful, he was subject to moods of despondency,
and his temper was ardent in circumstances of provocation. In personal
appearance he was rather under the middle height, and he dressed with
precision and neatness. His countenance was pleasing, but was only
expressive of power when lit up by congenial conversation. He was fond
of society and talked with fluency. His remains rest close by the ashes
of Sheridan, in Westminster Abbey, and over them a handsome monument has
lately been erected to his memory.

YE MARINERS OF ENGLAND.

Ye mariners of England,
That guard our native seas;
Whose flag has braved a thousand years
The battle and the breeze!
Your glorious standard launch again
To match another foe;
And sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;
While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy winds do blow.

The spirit of your fathers
Shall start from every wave;
For the deck it was their field of fame,
And ocean was their grave:
Where Blake and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow,
As ye sweep through the deep,
While the stormy winds do blow;