The merit of these poems introduced our author to the acquaintance and esteem of several persons, distinguished by their rank, or eminent for their talents:—­Among the latter Dr. Rundle, afterwards bishop of Derry, was so pleased with the spirit of benevolence and piety, which breathes throughout the Seasons, that he recommended him to the friendship of the late lord chancellor Talbot, who committed to him the care of his eldest son, then preparing to set out on his travels into France and Italy.

With this young nobleman, Mr. Thomson performed (what is commonly called) The Tour of Europe, and stay’d abroad about three years, where no doubt he inriched his mind with the noble monuments of antiquity, and the conversation of ingenious foreigners.  ’Twas by comparing modern Italy with the idea he had of the antient Romans, which furnished him with the hint of writing his Liberty, in three parts.  The first is Antient and Modern Italy compared.  The second Greece, and the third Britain.  The whole is addressed to the eldest son of lord Talbot, who died in the year 1734, upon his travels.

Amongst Mr. Thomson’s poems, is one to the memory of Sir Isaac Newton, of which we shall say no more than this, that if he had never wrote any thing besides, he deserved to enjoy a distinguished reputation amongst the poets.  Speaking of the amazing genius of Newton, he says,

  Th’aerial flow of sound was known to him,
  From whence it first in wavy circles breaks. 
  Nor could the darting beam of speed immense,
  Escape his swift pursuit, and measuring eye. 
  Ev’n light itself, which every thing displays,
  Shone undiscover’d, till his brighter mind
  Untwisted all the shining robe of day;
  And from the whitening undistinguished blaze,
  Collecting every separated ray,
  To the charm’d eye educ’d the gorgeous train
  Of parent colours.  First, the flaming red,
  Sprung vivid forth, the tawny orange next,
  And next refulgent yellow; by whose side
  Fell the kind beams of all-refreshing green. 
  Then the pure blue, that swells autumnal skies,
  AEtherial play’d; and then of sadder hue,
  Emerg’d the deepen’d indico, as when
  The heavy skirted evening droops with frost,
  While the last gleamings of refracted light,
  Died in the fainting violet away. 
  These when the clouds distil the rosy shower,
  Shine out distinct along the watr’y bow;
  While o’er our heads the dewy vision bends,
  Delightful melting in the fields beneath. 
  Myriads of mingling dyes from these result,
  And myriads still remain—­Infinite source
  Of beauty ever-flushing, ever new.

About the year 1728 Mr. Thomson wrote a piece called Britannia, the purport of which was to rouse the nation to arms, and excite in the spirit of the people a generous disposition to revenge the injuries done them by the Spaniards:  This is far from being one of his best poems.