Born, in Edinburgh, 11 Feb. 1732. At sea on merchant vessels in youth. Exchanged into Navy, 1749. On merchant vessel again, 1750. Contrib. poems to “Gentleman’s Magazine.” Re-entered Navy, 1760 [?]. Midshipman on “Royal George,” 1762. Purser of frigate “Glory,” 1763. Married Miss Hicks, 1763? Purser to “Swiftsure,” 1767. Declined offer of partnership with John Murray, publisher, Oct. 1768. Purser of “Aurora” frigate, bound for India, with promise of secretaryship to Commissioners of H.E.I.C. Sailed, 2 Oct. 1869; ship was lost Works: “A Poem, Sacred to the Memory of His Royal Highness, Frederick, Prince of Wales,” 1751; “Ode on the Duke of York’s Second Departure from England,” 1762; “The Shipwreck,” 1762; “An Universal Dictionary of the Marine,” 1769. Collected Poems: first published in Johnson’s “English Poets,” 1790.

Personal

  In his person, he was about five feet seven inches in height; of a thin light make, with a dark weather-beaten complexion, and rather what is termed hard featured; being considerably marked with small-pox: his hair was of a brownish hue. In point of address, his manner was blunt, awkward, and forbidding: but he spoke with great fluency; and his simple, yet impressive, diction was couched in words which reminded his hearers of the terseness of Swift. Though Falconer possessed a warm and friendly disposition, he was fond of controversy, and inclined to satire. His observation was keen and rapid; his criticisms on any inaccuracy of language, or expression, were frequently severe; yet this severity was always intended eventually to create mirth, and not by any means to shew his own superiority, or to give the smallest offence. In his natural temper he was cheerful, and frequently used to amuse his messmates by composing acrostics on their favourites; in which he particularly excelled. As a professed man, he was a thorough seaman; and like most of that profession, was kind, generous, and benevolent.

The Shipwreck, 1762

  I have been reading Falconer’s “Shipwreck”—a new humiliation for the ladies. I beg you may compare the close of that poem with Charlotte Smith’s “Elegy,” or with any female writer you ever saw, and glory you are a man. I fancy, while I weep over Arion, that I know him in real life. I figure also a Palemon to myself, but I would go twenty miles, if I had it in my power to do it with decency, to see William Falconer. Can you tell me is it he who is capt. on an East India ship? I shall rejoice to think it is. What a warmth of soul must he have originally possessed when the ocean was not able to quench it! Perhaps, Burns, such may be one day my poor Arion. I trace the resemblance in a thousand instances, and am resolved to have the book as a sacred remembrance I may brood over in secret, if it is not already out of print. Do write me what you think of this volume. Is my estimation, fantastical, or does your judgment second mine? I hope it does, for I resolve, if I can find the “Shipwreck,” it shall be placed close by your side on my shelf, at least for one month, my inseparable friend and companion. I will turn to it when the tempest howls, and pray for the poor wanderers of the wave with double hope and double fervor.

  His scholarship on the shores of Greece is only what we should accept of from a seaman; but his poem has the sensible charm of appearing a transcript of reality, and leaves an impression of truth and nature on the mind.

  Falconer brought to the performance of his task a vigorous mind, a competent share of reading, strong powers of observation, and, what might least of all be expected from him, great felicity of numbers and expressions. He stands in need of no allowance for the scantiness of his education, or the nature of his employment. Whoever peruses the “Shipwreck” will be convinced, also, that the author is not a poet at second hand. His descriptions have a truth, a clearness, a freshness, which prove that he had seen and felt what he described. They are peculiarly his own. Of characters he has not many; but what he has are contrasted and supported with sufficient skill. The story is interesting, dramatically narrated, and has numerous touches of pathos. Attention is never suffered to flag. Even the scene of action contributes to shed a splendour over the poem.

  If the poem is estimated by a judgment lying between its positive merits, and the disadvantages under which it was composed,—undoubtedly the author will receive no slight portion of praise. And though, with the exception of some happier parts, it cannot satisfy the taste which has been formed on the finished writings of our leading poets, yet it is a singularly elegant production of a person who had received no education beyond the mere elements of language, and who was subsequently occupied in the severe duties and business of a seafaring life—equally without learning or leisure. The poetical powers of Falconer, in whatever rank they may be placed, were the gift of nature; for any assistance they may have derived from subsequent application, was only a proof that the original powers previously existed. The Milton of the village remained neither mute, nor inglorious.

  The merits of this celebrated composition are indeed undeniable. None but a great poet could have written “The Shipwreck,” and that great poet must of necessity have been a thorough sailor. What home and its placid attractions are to the landsman, the sea and the storm were to Falconer. He delights in decking the ocean with all the terrific sublimity and wild beauty of which it is capable, and then calling upon us to admire the picture: our admiration may be enforced, but whilst we tremble, we cannot but applaud.

  It is too laboured and artificial to command permanent popularity.

  There was largeness, and freedom and force in the subject he had chosen; and what is best in his treatment of it was learnt direct from the waves and winds. No one before Falconer had conceived or told in English poetry the long and passionate combat between the sea, roused to fury, and its slight but dexterous rival, with the varying fortunes of the strife. He had himself, like his Arion, been wrecked near Cape Colonna, on the coast of Greece; like Arion he was one of three who reached the shore and lived. For the material of his brief epic he needed but to revive in his imagination the sights, the sounds, the fears, the hopes, the efforts of five days the most eventful and the most vivid of his life. “The Shipwreck” is not a descriptive poem; it is a poem of action; each buffet of the sea, each swift turning of the wheel is a portion of the attack or defense; and as the catastrophe draws near, as the ship scuds past Falconera as the hills of Greece rise to view, as the pitiless cliffs of St. George grow clear, and the sound of the breakers is heard, the action of the poem increases in swiftness and intensity. Falconer was a skilful seaman; unhappily he was not a great poet. The reality, the unity, the largeness of his theme lend him support; and he is a faithful and energetic narrator. But the spirits of tempest and of night needed for their interpreter one of stronger and subtler speech than Falconer.

  Falconer’s “Shipwreck” resembles most of the didactic poems of the time, and is marked by the conventionality common to them all. But it deserves a rather exceptional position from the obvious fidelity with which he has painted from nature; and though his use of technical terms is pushed even to ostentation, the effect of using the language of real life is often excellent, and is in marked contrast to the commonplaces of classical imitation which make other passages vapid and uninteresting. In this respect the poem made some mark, and Falconer had certainly considerable powers of fluent versification.

  Falconer’s work is most unequal. The verse at its best has an admirably easy flow, and at the same time a nervous energy beyond the reach of the mere copyist. But there are two very different accents in it. One is that of imitated classicism. The parts descriptive of the scenes through which the ship passes are poor. To make them good would have demanded a culture which Falconer had no opportunity to acquire. The classical similes, introduced by way of illustration, and the hackneyed loves are also poor. The other accent is that of nature; and to this the poem owes the whole of its value. The fact that Falconer relates what he himself saw and endured giving reality to his descriptions and speed and fire to his narrative. Sometimes, nay often, he so overloads his verse with technicalities that it sinks to mere prose; but in the happier passages he succeeds in throwing over the hard facts of the sailor’s life and lot the light of imagination. His fidelity to fact is the source of much that is bad, but likewise of all that is good in his poem. This too it is that connects him with the coming school. It is quite evident that he was troubled with no sense of discontent with the old. Versification and diction were imitated, as far as the author could imitate, from Pope; and where the matter suited he was ready to adopt the worst enormities of Pope’s followers. But his choice of a subject introduced a vital difference. He had seen everything he described, had felt the agonies he painted, and was himself the hero of his poem.

  The first and greatest of British marine poets.