Professor James Beattie FRSE was a Scottish poet, moralist and philosopher.
He was born the son of a shopkeeper and small farmer at Laurencekirk in the Mearns, and educated at Aberdeen University. In 1760, he was appointed Professor of moral philosophy there as a result of the interest of his intimate friend, Robert Arbuthnot of Haddo. In the following year he published a volume of poems, The Judgment of Paris (1765), which attracted attention. The two works, however, which brought him most fame were:
His Essay on the Nature and Immutability of Truth (1770), intended as an answer to David Hume, which had great immediate success, and led to an introduction to the King, a... more »
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James Beattie Poems
Elegy (Tir'd with the busy crouds)
Tir'd with the busy crouds, that all the day Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame, My languid powers dissolve with quick decay, Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.
Hope Beyond The Grave
'Tis night, and the landscape is lovely no more; I mourn, but, ye woodlands, I mourn not for you; For morn is approaching, your charms to restore,
Song, In Imitation Of Shakspeare's
1 Blow, blow, thou vernal gale! Thy balm will not avail
Epitaph: Being Part Of An Inscription Fo...
Farewell, my best-beloved; whose heavenly mind Genius with virtue, strength with softness join'd; Devotion, undebased by pride or art,
Life And Immortality
'O ye wild groves, oh, where is now your bloom!' (The muse interprets thus his tender thought) Your flowers, your verdure, and your balmy gloom,
O how canst thou renounce the boundless store Of charms which Nature to her votary yields! The warbling woodland, the resounding shore,
The Minstrel ; Or, The Progress Of Geniu...
I. Of chance or change O let not man complain, Else shall he never never cease to wail: For, from the imperial dome, to where the swain
The Hares, A Fable.
Yes, yes, I grant the sons of earth Are doom'd to trouble from their birth. We all of sorrow have our share; But say, is yours without compare?
Elegy, Written In The Year 1758
Still, shall unthinking man substantial deem The forms that fleet through life's deceitful dream? On clouds, where Fancy's beam amusive plays,
Epitaph, Intended For Himself
1 Escaped the gloom of mortal life, a soul Here leaves its mouldering tenement of clay,
Laws, as we read in ancient sages, Have been like cobwebs in all ages. Cobwebs for little flies are spread, And laws for little folks are made;
At the close of day, when the hamlet is still, And mortals the sweets of forgetfulness prove, When nought but the torrent is heard on the hill,
1 Tired with the busy crowds, that all the day Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame,
The Minstrel; or, The Progress of Genius...
THE FIRST BOOK (excerpts) Ah! who can tell how hard it is to climb The steep where Fame's proud temple shines afar!
Comments about James Beattie
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Elegy (Tir'd with the busy crouds)
Tir'd with the busy crouds, that all the day
Impatient throng where Folly's altars flame,
My languid powers dissolve with quick decay,
Till genial Sleep repair the sinking frame.
Hail kind Reviver! that canst lull the cares,
And every weary sense compose to rest,
Lighten th' oppressive load which Anguish bears,
And warm with hope the cold desponding breast.
Touch'd by thy rod, from Power's majestic brow
Drops the gay plume; he pines a lowly clown;
And on the cold earth stretch'd the son of Woe
Quaffs Pleasure's draught, and wears a fancy'd ...