The Lives of the Poets of Great Britain and Ireland (1753) - Vol. IV | Page 9

applied himself at his
intervals of leisure, to reading the dailies, and to the study of logic,
metaphysics, and the mathematics, with which last he was peculiarly

delighted. And in a few years by the force of his own happy genius, and
unwearied diligence, without the assistance of any master, he acquired
a considerable knowledge of the most difficult branches of those useful
and entertaining studies.
By so close an application, he contracted a violent pain in his head,
which notwithstanding the best advice, daily encreased. This, and other
unfortunate circumstances concurring, so deeply affected him, who had
besides in his constitution a strong tincture of melancholy, that he was
at last brought under almost a total extinction of reason. In this
condition he fell into a fever; and as there were before scarce any hopes
of him, it may be said to have happily put an end to the deplorable
bondage of so bright a mind, on the 21st of December, 1718, in the
29th year of his age. He was buried in the church of Friendsbury, near
Rochester.
Mr. Needler's life was influenced by the principles of sincere,
unaffected piety, and virtue.
On all occasions (says Mr. Duncomb) 'he was a strenuous advocate for
universal toleration and forbearance in matters of religion; rightly
supposing that no service can be acceptable to the supreme Being,
unless it proceeds from the heart; and that force serves only to make
hypocrites, but adds no new lights to the understanding. He was modest
to a fault, entertaining the most humble opinion of his own
performances; and was always ready to do justice to those of others.
His affection for his friends indeed sometimes biassed his judgment,
and led him to the commending their writings beyond their merit.'
In the volume of Mr. Needler's works, are printed some familiar Letters,
upon moral, and natural subjects. They are written with elegance and
taste; the heart of a good man may be traced in them all, and equally
abound with pious notions, as good sense, and solid reasoning.--He
seems to have been very much master of smooth versification, his
subjects are happily chosen, and there is a philosophical air runs
through all his writings; as an instance of this, we shall present our
readers with a copy of his verses addressed to Sir Richard Blackmore,
on his Poem, intitled The Creation.

Dress'd in the charms of wit and fancy, long
The muse has pleas'd us
with her syren song;
But weak of reason, and deprav'd of mind,
Too
oft on vile, ignoble themes we find
The wanton muse her sacred art
debase,
Forgetful of her birth, and heavenly race;
Too oft her
flatt'ring songs to sin intice,
And in false colours deck delusive vice;

Too oft she condescends, in servile lays,
The undeserving rich and
great to praise.
These beaten paths, thy loftier strains refuse
With
just disdain, and nobler subjects chuse:
Fir'd with sublimer thoughts,
thy daring soul
Wings her aspiring flight from Pole to Pole,

Observes the foot-steps of a pow'r divine,
Which in each part of
nature's system shine;
Surveys the wonders of this beauteous frame,

And sings the sacred source, whence all things came.
But Oh! what numbers shall I find to tell,
The mighty transports
which my bosom swell,
Whilst, guided by thy tuneful voice, I stray

Thro' radiant worlds, and fields of native day,
Wasted from orb, to
orb, unwearied fly
Thro' the blue regions of the yielding sky;
See
how the spheres in stated courses roll,
And view the just composure
of the whole!
Such were the strains, by antient Orpheus sung.
To such, Mufæus'
heav'nly lyre was strung;
Exalted truths, in learned verse they told,

And nature's deepest secrets did unfold.
How at th' eternal mind's
omnisic call,
Yon starry arch, and this terrestrial ball,
The briny
wave, the blazing source of light,
And the wane empress of the silent
night,
Each in it's order rose and took its place,
And filled with
recent forms the vacant space;
How rolling planets trace their destin'd
way,
Nor in the wastes of pathless Æther stray;
How the pale moon,
with silver beams adorn
Her chearful orb, and gilds her sharpened
horns;
How the vast ocean's swelling tides obey
Her distant reign,
and own her watr'y sway;
How erring floods, their circling course
maintain,
Supplied by constant succours from the main;
Whilst to
the sea, the refluent streams restore,
The liquid treasures which she

lent before;
What dreadful veil obscures the solar light,
And
Phæbe's darken'd face conceals from mortal sight.
Thy learned muse,
I with like pleasure hear
The wonders of the lesser world declare,

Point out the various marks of skill divine,
Which thro' its
complicated structure mine,
In tuneful verse, the vital current trace,

Thro' all the windings of its mazy race,
And tell hew the rich purple
tide bestows,
Vigour, and kindly warmth where e'er it flows;
By
what contrivance of mechanic art
The muscles, motions to the limbs
impart;
How at th' imperial mind's impulsive nod,
Th' obedient
spirits thro' the nervous road
Find thro' their fib'rous cells the ready
way,
And the high dictates of the