The charge of writing a memoir of Jovellanos was entrusted by the Historical Society of Madrid to Cean Bermudez, who fulfilled it with affectionate zeal, Madrid, 1814; several other notices of his life have appeared in Spain, including that by Quintana, which has been copied by Wolf. The English reader will find an excellent one in the Foreign Quarterly Review, No. 10, February, 1830; and the Spanish scholar a further very eloquent encomium on his talents and merits in Quintana’s second Introduction to his collection of Spanish Poetry. JOVELLANOS. EPISTLE TO CEAN BERMUDEZ, ON THE VAIN DESIRES AND STUDIES OF MEN. Arise, Bermudo, bid thy soul beware: Thee raging Fortune watches to ensnare; And, lulling others’ hopes in dreams supine, A fell assault she meditates on thine. The cruel blow which suffer’d from her rage Thy poor estate will not her wrath assuage, Till from thy breast her fury may depose The blissful calm to innocence it owes. Such is her nature, that she loathes the sight Of happiness for man in her despite. Thus to thine eyes insidious she presents The phantasies of good, with which she paints The road to favour, and would fain employ Her arts thy holds of virtue to destroy. Ah! heed her not. See her to rob thee stand Ev’n of the happiness now in thy hand. ’Tis not of her; she cannot it bestow: She makes men fortunate;--but happy? No. Thou think’st it strange! Dost thou the names confound Of Fortune with felicity as bound? Like the poor idiots, who so foolish gaze On the vain gifts and joys which she displays, So cunning to exchange for real good. O cheat of human wisdom! say withstood, What does she promise, but what beings born To our high destiny should hold in scorn? In reason’s balance her best offers weigh, And see what worthless lightness they betray. There are who, burning in the track of fame, Wear themselves ruthless for a sounding name. Buy it with blood, and fire, and ruin wide; And if with horrid arm is death descried, Waving his pennon as from some high tower, Their hearts swell proud, and trampling fierce they scour The field o’er brothers’ bodies as of foes! Then sing a triumph, while in secret flows The tear they shed as from an anguish’d heart. Less lofty, but more cunning on his part, Another sighs for ill-secure command: With flatteries solicitously plann’d, Follows the air of favour, and his pride In adulation vile he serves to hide, To exalt himself; and if he gain his end His brow on all beneath will haughty bend; And sleep, and joy, and inward peace, the price To splendour of command, will sacrifice: Yet fears the while, uncertain in his joy, Lest should some turn of Fortune’s wheel destroy His power in deep oblivion overthrown.