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(Bcasts, urgʻd by us, their fellow beasts pursue, Not half so swiftly the fierce cagle moves,
The bright-ey'd perch, with fins of Tyrian dye, The silver stream her virgin coldness kceps,
Here too, 'tis sung, of old Diana stray'd, No lake fo gentle, and no spring so clcar;
the mansion of our earthly Gods: Her buskin'd virgins trac'd the dewy lawn. Nor all his stars above a lustre fhow,
Above the rest a rural nymph was fam’d, Like the bright beauties on thy banks below; Thy offspring, Thames ! the fair Lodona nam’d; Where Jove, subdu'd by mortal paffion ftill, (Lodona's fate, in long oblivion cast, (last.) Might change Olympus for a nobler hill. The Mufe thall fing, and what the fings shall Happy the man whom this bright court apScarce could the Goddess from her Nymph be proves, known,
His fov'reign favours, and his country loves ; But by the crescent, and the golden zone. Happy next him, who to these shades retires, She scorn'd the praise of beauty, and the care; Whom nature charms, and whom the Muse inA belt her waist, a fillet binds her hair;
spires : A pointed quiver on her shoulder sounds, Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please, And with her dart the flying deer she wounds. Succeffive study, exercise, and eafe. Ir chanc'd, as, eager of the chace, the maid He gathers health from herbs the forest yields, Beyond the forest's verdant linits stray'd, And of their fragrant phyfic spoils the fields: Pin law and lov’d; ar., burning with desire, With chemic arts exalts the min'ral pow'rs, Turlu'd her fight; her Alight increas'd his fire. And draws the aromatic rouls of flow'rs : Not half so fwift the treinbling doe can fly, Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high ; When the fierce eagle cleaves the liquid sky; O’er figur'd worlds now travels with his cye;
Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store, Still in thy song should vanquish'd France appear,
And faft, belide him, once-feard Edward Neeps: · Or looks on heav'n with more than mortal eyes, W'hom not th’extended Albion could contain, Bids his free foul expatiate in the skies,
From old Belerium to the northern main, Ainid her kindred stars familiar roam,
The grave unites ; where e'en the great find rest, 3. Survey the region, and confefs her home! And blended lie tir oppressor and th'opprest!
Such was the life great Scipio once aılmir’d, Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known Thus Atticus and Trambal thus re:ird.
(Obscure the place, and uninscrib'd the itone): Ye sacred Nine! that all my soul polless, Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion Ined! Whole raptures fire me, and whofe vifions blets, Heav'ns, what new wounds! --and how her old Bear me, oh bcar me to fequefter'd scenes,
haye bled! The bow'ry mazes, and surrounding greens; She saw her fans with purple deaths expire, To Thames's banks with fragrant brcezes fill, Her sacred domes involv'd in roiling fire, Or where ye Mufes sport on Cooper's Hill.
A dreadful series of intestine wars, (On Cooper's Hill eternal wreathis thall grow, Inglorious triumphs, and dishonest scars, While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall At length great Anna faid, Let difcord cease!" I fcem thro' confecrated walks to rove, [fow.) She said, the world obey'd, and all was peace! I hear foft inufic die along the grove:
In that blest moment, from his oozy bed, Led by the found, I roam froin Thade to shade, Old father Thames advanc'd his rey'rend lead ; By god-like poets venerable made:
His trelles dropp'd with dews, and o'er the streams Here his first lays majestic Denham sung; His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam: There the last nunbers fou'd from Cowley's Gravid on his urn appear'd the Moon, that guides Oearly loft! what tears the river sned (tongue. His swelling waters and alternate tides; When the sad pomp along his banks was led ! The figur’d streams in waves of silver rollid, His drooping fwans on ev'ry note expire, And on her banks Augusta role in gold; And on his willows hung cach Mufc's lyrc. Around his throne the lea-born brothers stood,
Since Fate relentless stopp'd their heav'nly voice, who livellid with tributary urns his flood ! No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; First, the fam'd authors of his ancient name, Who now shall charm the shades where Cowley The winding Isis and the fruitful Thame: strung
The Kennet (wift, for silver cels renown'd; His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? The Loddon flow, with verdant alders crown'd; But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings! Cole, whole dark streams his flow'rv illands lave; Are these revird? or is it Granville sings ? And chalkey Wey, that rolls a milky wave: 'Tis yours, my Lord, to bless our soft retreats, The blue, transparent Vandalis appears ; And call che Muses to their ancient scats; The gulphy Lec his scdgy tresses rcars; To paint anew the flow'ry fylvan scenes, And lullen Mole, that hides his diving Hood; To crown the forests with immortal greens, And silent Darent, ftain`d with Danish blood. Make Windsor hills in lofty numbers rise, High in the inidft, upon his urn reclin'd And lift her currets nearer to the skies; (His fca-green mantle waving tvith the wind) To sing those honours you defcrve to wear, The God appcard : hc turn'd his azure cyes And add new lustre to her lilver star.
Where Windfor domes and pompous furets Here noble Surrey felt the facrcd rage,
rise! Surrey-the Granville of a foriner age: Then bow'd and spoke; the winds forget to roar, Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance, And the hudh'd waves glide softly to the ibore. Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance : Hail, facred Peace! hail, long-expected days, In the saine Thades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, That Thames's glory to the stars thali raise ! To the same notes, of love and soft delire: Tho' Tyber's ftreains immortal Rome behold, Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Tho' foaming Hermus fivells with ti des of gold, Then fillid the groves, as heav'nly Mira now. From heav'n itself tho' leven-fold Nilus flows, Oh! would'i thou sing what hcrocs Windsor And harvests on a hundred realms bestows; bore,
There now no more fhall be the Muse's themes, What kings first breath'd upon her winding shore, Lost in my fame, as in the ica their it reais. Or raise old warriors, whote ador'd remains Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons fhine, In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains ! And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine; With Edward's acts adorn the shining page, Let barb'rous Ganges arın a servile train; Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age. Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign. Draw monarchs chain'd, and Crelli's glorious No more my sons Thall dve with British blood The lilies blazing on the regal shield : [field, Red Iber's lands, or Ister's foaming flood: Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall, Safe on my fhore, each unmolested Twain And leave inanimate the naked wall,
Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain;
The flady empire shall retain no trace
Where Peace descending bids her olives spring, Of war or blood, but in therylvan chace; (bloin, And icatters blessings from her dove-like wing The trumpet sleep, while cheerrul horns are Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days, And aros employ'd oa birds and beasts alone. Pleas'd in the silent Thade with einpty praise; Behold! th’aicending villa, on my side
Enough for me, that to the list'ning sivaios Proiect long shadows o'er the cryital tide. First in these fields I sung the tylvan ftrains. Behold! Augusta's glitt'ıing ipires incrcase, And zeinples rise, the beauteous works of peace. I fee, I fee, where two fair cities bend
§ 3. Two Chorusses to the Tragedy of Brutus? Their ample bow, a new l'hitchall ascend!
POPE. There mighty nations thall enquire their doom,
CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.
VE shades, where sacred truth is sought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught:
Where heav'nly visions Plato fir'd,
And Epicurus lay infpir’d!
In vain your guiltless laurels stood Tenpe icy fcas, where scarce the waters roll,
Unspotted long with human blood. Where clearer Hamnes glow round the ti ozen pole: And steel now glitters in thc Mules shades.
War, horrid war, your thoughtless walksinrades,
Oh heav'n-born sisters ! source of art!
Who charın the sense or inend the heart; And Phobus "arm the rip’ning ore to gold.
Who lead fair Virtuc's train along, The time thall come, when, free as seas or wind,
Moral Truth and mystic Song ! Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind;
To what new clime, what distant ky, Whole nations enter with cach livelling tide, Forsaken, friendless, thall ye fly? And fuas but join the regions they divide;
Say, will ve bless the bleak Atantic shore?
Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?
When Athens links by fates unjust,
When wild Barbarians spurn her duft; Our ipeech, our colour, and our strange attire! Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore; Oh stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from thore to thore,
Sce Arts her savage sons controul,
And Athens rising ncar the pole!
Till some new Tyrant lifts his purple hand, Reap their own fruits, and -voo their lable loves; And civil madness tcars them from the land. Peru once more a race of kings behold,
Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball! In brazen bonds Thall barb'rous difcord dwell: Freedom and arts together fall; Gigantic Pride, pale Terror, gloomy Care,
Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves, And mad Ambition shall attend her there:
And inen, once ignorant, are flaves. There purple Vengeance bath'd in gore retires,
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate, Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires :
In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state ! There hateful Envy her own inakes shall feel,
Still, when the luft of tyrant pow'r succeeds, And Perfecution mourn her broken whcel :
Somc Athens perishes, fome T'ully bleeds. There Faction roar, Rebellion bitc her chain, And gasping Furies thirst for blood in vain. CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.
Here ceate thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days:
SEMICHORUS. The thoughts of Gods let Granville's verse recite, OH, Tyrant Lore! hast thou poffeft And bring the scenes of op'ninfate to light: The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast? My humble Mufe, in unambitious strains, Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim, Paints the green forests and the flow'ry plains, And Arts but soften us to feel thy flame.
* Altered from Shakespear by the Duke of Buekingham, at whose desire these two Choruffes were come pored, to su;ply as many wanting in his play. They were iet, many years afterwards, by the famous Bononcini, and performed at Buckingham-luuic.
Love, soft intruder, criters here;
Sound Neep by night ; study and case,
Together inix'd ; tweet recreation !
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
s. The Dying Christian to his Soul. Pope. The Gods and Brutus bend to love; Brutus for absent Portia fighs,
t What is loose love? A transient gust,
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame! Spent in a sudden storm of lust;
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, Aying, A vapour, fed from wild desire,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying !
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy Itrift,
And let me languith into life!
Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister Spirit come away!
What is this abforbs me quite ?
Stcals my senses, shuts iny siglit,
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath!
tye, United with, and mutual joy!
Tell me, iny Soul, can this bc Death? What various joys on one attend,
The world recedes; it disappears !
With founds feraphic ring:
O Grave ! where is thy victory?
O Death! where is thy sting?
What home-felt raptures move !
'T'S hard to say, if greater want of skill
Appear in writing, or in jydying ill ;
But, of the two, less dang'rous is th’offence Hence, guilty joys, distastes, surmises;
To tire our patience, than inillead our sense. Hence, false tears, deceits, disguises;
Sume few in that, but numbers err in this; Dangers, doubts, delays, surprises ;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss. Fires that socrch, yet dare not shine : A fool might once himself alone expose; Purest love's unwasting treasure,
Now one in versc makes many more in prose. Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure ;
'Tis with our judgments as our watches, none Days of case, and nights of pleasure ;
Go just alike, yet cach belicves his own.
In Pocts, as true Genius is but rare,
Both inuft alike from Heav'n derive their light, § 4. Ode o% Solitudet. Pope. Thefe born to judge, as well as those to write.
Let such teach others who theintclves excel, HAPPY the man, whofe with and care A few paternal acres bound;
And censure freely who have written well. Content to breathe his native air,
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true;
But are not Critics to their judgment 100 ?
Yet, if we look more closely, we tall find Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, Moft have the seeds of judgment in their iniud.
Whose flocks fupply him with attire, Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light; Whose trees in luminer yield himn Thade, The lines, tho'touch'd but faintly, are drawn right. In winter fire.
But as the flightest sketch, if justly trac'd, Bleft, who can unconcern’dly find
Is by ill colouring but the more disgrac'd, Hours, days, and years flide soft away; So by falfe learning is good fente defac'd. In health of body, peace of inind,
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools, Quiet by day.
And some made coxcombs Nature meant but fook,
This was a very early production of our Author, writtca at about twelve years old.
In search of wit these lose their common sense, Hear how learn'd Greece her useful rules indices,
Just precepts thus from great examples givin, There are who judge still worte than he can write. She drew from them what they deriv'd from
Sone have fini for Wits, then Pocts paft, The gen'rousCriticfann dthe Poet'sfire,[Hear'n. Turn'u Critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last. And taught the world with seaton to admire. Sone neither can for Wits nor Critics pats; Then Crincilin the Mute's hand-maid prov'd, As lieavy mules are ncither horie nor afs. Todress hercharms, and make her more belor'd: Thcie half-learn'drriilinys, numérous in our ille, But following wits from that intention fray'd, As half-form'd infects on the banks of Nile; Who could not win the mistress woo'd the maid; Cornish'd things, one knows not what to call, Against the poets their own arms they turn'd; Their generation's so equivocal :
Sure to hateinofi the men from whom they learn'd. To tell 'ein would a hundred tongues require, So inodern 'Pothecarics taught the art, Or onc vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. By Doctors bills, to play the Doctor's part ;
But you who seek to give and mcrit fame, Bold in the practice of iniftaken rules, And just!y bear a Critic's noble name, Pretcribe, apply, and call their masters fools. Be fure yourself and your own reach to know, Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey; How far your genius, taste, and learning go; Nortime por months e'er spoild so much as they: Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, Some drily plain, without invention's aid, Andinark that point where tense and dulnefs meet. Write dull receipts how poems may be made.
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit, These leave the sense, their learning to display;
Without all these at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticize. So vast is art, so narrow human wit:
Be Homer's works your ttudy and delight; Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
Read them by day, and meditate by night: But oft in those conñn'd to single parts. Thence form your judgment, thence your mari Like kings, we lose the conquests gain'd before, ims bring, By vain ambition till to make them more: Aud trace the Mules upward to their spring. Each might his fervile province well command, Still with ittelf compard his text peruse ; Would all but stoop to what they understand. And let your comment le the Mantuan Muse.
First follow Nature, and your judyinent frame When lift young Maro in his boundless mind, By her just standard, which is still the same : A work t'outsatt immortal Rome dslign'd, Uncrring Nature, still divinely bright,
Perhaps he seem'd above the Critic's law, One clcar, unchang'd, and universal light, And but from Nature's fountains scorn'd to draw: Life, force, and beauty, muft to all impart; But when t'examine ev'ry part he camne, At once the source, and end, and teft of Art. Nature and Homer were, lie found, the fame. Art from that fund each just supply provides ; Convinc'd, amaz’d, he checks the bold design; Works without show, and without pomppresides: And rules as strict his labour'd work confine, In some fair body thus th’informing foul As if the Stagirite o'erlook'd each line. With Spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole, Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem; Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve sustains ; To copy nature is to copy them. Itfeif unseen, but in th'cffccts remains.
Some beautics yet no precepts can declare; Some, to whom Hcay’n in wit has been profuse, For there's a happiness as well as care, Want as much more, to turn it to its use; Music resembles Poetry; in each For wit and judgment often are at strife, Are nameless graces which no methods teach, Tho' meant cach other's aid, like man and wife. And which a master-hand alone can reach. 'Tis more to guide, than spur the Muse's steed; If, where the rules pot far enough extend Restrain his fury, than provokc his speed : (Since rules were made but to promote their end) The winged courser, like a gen'rous horse, Some lucky Licence antiver to the full Shows most truc mettle when you check his course. Th’intent propos'd, that Licence is a rule.
Those rules of old discover'd, not devis'd, Tuus Pegatus, a nearer way to take, Are Nature ftill, but Nature methodiz'd: May boldly deviate from the common track. Nature, like liberty, is but restrain'd
Great Wits sometimes inay gloriously offend, By the same laws which first herself ordain'd. And rise to faults true Critics dare not mend;