tly own to
you, some things have hurt me. A few grammatical slips in the
introduction have been mentioned; and some things in the notes about
Virgil, Milton, and Homer, have been called the arrogance of
criticism. But the greatest offence of all is, what I say of blank
verse."

He was, indeed, after this great work was given to the public, as
unhappy as at any preceding period of his life; and Mickle, too, like
Hume and Dryden, could feel a wish to forsake his native land! He
still found his "head houseless;" and "the vetchy bed" and "loathly
dungeon" still haunted his dreams. "To write for the booksellers is
what I never will do," exclaimed this man of genius, though struck by
poverty. He projected an edition of his own poems by subscription.

"Desirous of giving an edition of my works, in which I shall bestow
the utmost attention, which, perhaps, will be my final farewell to
that blighted spot (worse than the most bleak mountains of Scotland)
yclept Parnassus; after this labour is finished, if Governor Johnstone
cannot or does not help me to a little independence, _I will certainly
bid adieu to Europe, to unhappy suspense, and perhaps also to the
chagrin of soul which I feel to accompany it_."

Such was the language which cannot now be read without exciting our
sympathy for the author of the version of an epic, which, after a
solemn devotion of no small portion of the most valuable years
of life, had been presented to the world, with not sufficient
remuneration or notice of the author to create even hope in the
sanguine temperament of a poet. Mickle was more honoured at Lisbon
than in his own country. So imperceptible are the gradations of
public favour to the feelings of genius, and so vast an interval
separates that author who does not immediately address the tastes
or the fashions of his age, from the reward or the enjoyment of
his studies.

We cannot account, among the lesser calamities of literature, that of
a man of genius, who, dedicating his days to the composition of a
voluminous and national work, when that labour is accomplished, finds,
on its publication, the hope of fame, and perhaps other hopes as
necessary to reward past toil, and open to future enterprise, all
annihilated. Yet this work neglected or not relished, perhaps even the
sport of witlings, afterwards is placed among the treasures of our
language, when the author is no more! but what is posthumous
gratitude, could it reach even the ear of