'At one, I learnt much in the school, but little from the master; in the other, I learnt much from the master, but little in the school.'
The Bishop also informs me, that 'Dr. Johnson's father, before he was received at Stourbridge, applied to have him admitted as a scholar and assistant to the Reverend Samuel Lea, M.A., head master of Newport school, in Shropshire (a very diligent, good teacher, at that time in high reputation, under whom Mr. Hollis[160] is said, in the Memoirs of his Life, to have been also educated[161]). This application to Mr. Lea was not successful; but Johnson had afterwards the gratification to hear that the old gentleman, who lived to a very advanced age, mentioned it as one of the most memorable events of his life, that 'he was very near having that great man for his scholar.'
He remained at Stourbridge little more than a year, and then returned home, where he may be said to have loitered, for two years, in a state very unworthy his uncommon abilities. He had already given several proofs of his poetical genius, both in his school-exercises and in other occasional compositions. Of these I have obtained a considerable collection, by the favour of Mr. Wentworth, son of one of his masters, and of Mr. Hector, his school-fellow and friend; from which I select the following specimens:
[Page 51: Johnson's youthful compositions.]
Translation of VIRGIL. Pastoral I.
MELIBOEUS.
Now, Tityrus, you, supine and careless laid, Play on your pipe beneath this beechen shade; While wretched we about the world must roam, And leave our pleasing fields and native home, Here at your ease you sing your amorous flame, And the wood rings with Amarillis' name.
TITYRUS.
Those blessings, friend, a deity bestow'd, For I shall never think him less than God; Oft on his altar shall my firstlings lie, Their blood the consecrated stones shall dye: He gave my flocks to graze the flowery meads, And me to tune at ease th' unequal reeds.
MELIBOEUS.
My admiration only I exprest, (No spark of envy harbours in my breast) That, when confusion o'er the country reigns, To you alone this happy state remains. Here I, though faint myself, must drive my goats, Far from their ancient fields and humble cots. This scarce I lead, who left on yonder rock Two tender kids, the hopes of all the flock. Had we not been perverse and careless grown, This dire event by omens was foreshown; Our trees were blasted by the thunder stroke, ) And left-hand crows, from an old hollow oak, ) Foretold the coming evil by their dismal croak. )
Translation of HORACE. Book I. Ode xxii.
The man, my friend, whose conscious heart With virtue's sacred ardour glows, Nor taints with death the envenom'd dart, Nor needs the guard of Moorish bows:
Though Scythia's icy cliffs he treads, Or horrid Africk's faithless sands; Or where the fam'd Hydaspes spreads His liquid wealth o'er barbarous lands.
For while by Chloe's image charm'd, Too far in Sabine woods I stray'd; Me singing, careless and unarm'd, A grizly wolf surprised, and fled.
No savage more portentous stain'd Apulia's spacious wilds with gore; No fiercer Juba's thirsty land, Dire nurse of raging lions, bore.
Place me where no soft summer gale Among the quivering branches sighs; Where clouds condens'd for ever veil With horrid gloom the frowning skies:
Place me beneath the burning line, A clime deny'd to human race; I'll sing of Chloe's charms divine, Her heav'nly voice, and beauteous face.
Translation of HORACE. Book II. Ode ix.
Clouds do not always veil the skies, Nor showers immerse the verdant plain; Nor do the billows always rise, Or storms afflict the ruffled main.
Nor, Valgius, on th' Armenian shores Do the chain'd waters always freeze; Not always furious Boreas roars, Or bends with violent force the trees.
But you are ever drown'd in tears, For Mystes dead you ever mourn; No setting Sol can ease your care, But finds you sad at his return.
The wise experienc'd Grecian sage Mourn'd not Antilochus so long; Nor did King Priam's hoary age So much lament his slaughter'd son.
Leave off, at length, these woman's sighs, Augustus' numerous trophies sing; Repeat that prince's victories, To whom all nations tribute bring.
Niphates rolls an humbler wave, At length the undaunted Scythian yields, Content to live the Roman's slave, And scarce forsakes his native fields.
Translation of part of the Dialogue between HECTOR and ANDROMACHE; from the Sixth Book of HOMER'S ILIAD.
She ceas'd: then godlike Hector answer'd kind, (His various plumage sporting in the wind) That post, and all the rest, shall be my care; But shall I, then, forsake the unfinished war? How would the Trojans brand great Hector's name! And one base action sully all my fame, Acquired by wounds and battles bravely fought! Oh! how my soul abhors so mean a thought. Long since I learn'd to slight this fleeting breath, And view with cheerful eyes approaching death The inexorable sisters have decreed That Priam's house, and Priam's self shall bleed: The day will come, in which proud Troy shall yield, And spread its smoking ruins o'er the field. Yet Hecuba's, nor Priam's hoary age, Whose blood shall quench some Grecian's thirsty rage, Nor my brave brothers, that have bit the ground, Their souls dismiss'd through many a ghastly wound, Can in my bosom half that grief create, As the sad thought of your impending fate: When some proud Grecian dame shall tasks impose, Mimick your tears, and ridicule your woes; Beneath Hyperia's waters shall you sweat, And, fainting, scarce support the liquid weight: Then shall some Argive loud insulting cry, Behold the wife of Hector, guard of Troy! Tears, at my name, shall drown those beauteous eyes, And that fair bosom heave with rising sighs! Before that day, by some brave hero's hand May I lie slain, and spurn the bloody sand.