SOMERVILE.
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F Mr. Somervile’s life I am not able to say anything that can satisfycuriosity. He was a gentleman whose estate lay in Warwickshire; hishouse, where he was born in 1693, is called Edston, a seat inherited froma long line of ancestors; for he was said to be of the first family inhis county. He tells of himself that he was born near the Avon’s banks.He was bred at Winchester school, and was elected fellow of New College.It does not appear that in the places of his education he exhibited anyuncommon proofs of genius or literature. His powers were first displayedin the country, where he was distinguished as a poet, a gentleman, and askilful and useful justice of the peace. Of the close of his life, those whom his poems have delighted will readwith pain the following account, copied from the “Letters” of his friendShenstone, by whom he was too much resembled:— “—Our old friend Somervile is dead! I did not imagine I could have beenso sorry as I find myself on this occasion. _Sublatum quærimus_. I cannow excuse all his foibles; impute them to age, and to distress ofcircumstances: the last of these considerations wrings my very soul tothink on. For a man of high spirit conscious of having (at least in oneproduction) generally pleased the world, to be plagued and threatened bywretches that are low in every sense; to be forced to drink himself intopains of the body, in order to get rid of the pains of the mind is amisery.”—He died July 19, 1742, and was buried at Wotton, near Henley onArden. His distresses need not be much pitied: his estate is said to be fifteenhundred a year, which by his death has devolved to Lord Somervile ofScotland. His mother, indeed, who lived till ninety, had a jointure ofsix hundred. It is with regret that I find myself not better enabled to exhibitmemorials of a writer who at least must be allowed to have set a goodexample to men of his own class, by devoting part of his time to elegantknowledge; and who has shown, by the subjects which his poetry hasadorned, that it is practicable to be at once a skilful sportsman and aman of letters. Somervile has tried many modes of poetry; and though perhaps he has notin any reached such excellence as to raise much envy, it may commonly besaid at least, that “he writes very well for a gentleman.” His seriouspieces are sometimes elevated; and his trifles are sometimes elegant. Inhis verses to Addison, the couplet which mentions Clio is written withthe most exquisite delicacy of praise; it exhibits one of those happystrokes that are seldom attained. In his Odes to Marlborough there arebeautiful lines; but in the second Ode he shows that he knew little ofhis hero, when he talks of his private virtues. His subjects arecommonly such as require no great depth of thought or energy ofexpression. His Fables are generally stale, and therefore excite nocuriosity. Of his favourite, “The Two Springs,” the fiction isunnatural, and the moral inconsequential. In his Tales there is too muchcoarseness, with too little care of language, and not sufficient rapidityof narration. His great work is his Chase, which he undertook in hismaturer age, when his ear was improved to the approbation of blank verse,of which, however, his two first lines give a bad specimen. To this poempraise cannot be totally denied. He is allowed by sportsmen to writewith great intelligence of his subject, which is the first requisite toexcellence; and though it is impossible to interest the common readers ofverse in the dangers or pleasures of the chase, he has done all thattransition and variety could easily effect; and has with great proprietyenlarged his plan by the modes of hunting used in other countries. With still less judgment did he choose blank verse as the vehicle of“Rural Sports.” If blank verse be not tumid and gorgeous, it is crippledprose; and familiar images in laboured language have nothing to recommendthem but absurd novelty, which, wanting the attractions of nature, cannotplease long. One excellence of the “Splendid Shilling” is, that it isshort. Disguise can gratify no longer than it deceives.
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