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Not Neptune's self from all her streams receives "Tis yours, iny Lord, to bless out soft retreats,
Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage,
To the same potes of love, and soft desire: His sov'reign favors, and his country loves : lair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Happy next him, who to these shades retires, Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Nira now: Whom Nature charms, and whom the Muse Oh would'st thou sing what heroes Windsor inspires;
bore, Whom humbler joys of home-felt quict please, What kivgsfirst breath'd upon her winding shore; Successive study, exercise, and ease.
Or raise old warriors, whose ador'd remains He gathers health from herbs the forests yields, In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth centains ; And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields ; With Edward's acts adorn the shining pace, With chemic arts exalts the min'ral pow'rs, Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age; And draws the aromatic souls of flow'rs: Draw monarchschain'd,and Cressi'sgloriousfield, Now marhs the course of rolling orbs on high; The lilies blazing on the regal shield: O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye; Then, from her roofs wben Verrio's colors fall, Of antient writ unlocks the learned store, And leave inanimate the naked wall, Consults the dead and lives past ages o'er: Still in thy songshould vanquish d France appear, Or, wand'ring thoughtsul in the silent wood, And bleed for crer under Britain's spear. Attends the duties of the wise and good,
Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn, T' observe a mean, but to himself a friend, And palms eternal Novrish round his urn. To follow nature, and tegard his end ; Here o'er the Martyr king the inarble weeps, Or looks on heaven with more than mortal eyes, And, fast beside hiin, once-fear'd Edward sleeps: Bids his free soul expatiate in the skies, Whom not th' estended Albion could contain, Amid her kindred stars familiar roam,
From old Belerium to the northern main, Survey the region, and confess her home! Thegrare unites : where e'en the great find rest, Such was the life great Scipio once admir’d; And blended lie th' oppressor and th' opprest: Thus Atticus, and Trumbal thus, retir'd. Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known
Ye sacred nine! that all my soul possess, (Obscure the place, and uninscrib'd the stone), Whose faptures fire me, and whose visions bless. Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion shed ! Bear me, oh bear me to sequester'd scenes, Heavens! what new wounds! and how her old The bow'ry mazes, and surrounding greens ;
have blod! To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill, She saw her sons with purple deaths expire, Or where ye Muses sport on Cooper's Hill Her sacred domes involv'd in rolling fire, (On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow, A dreadful series of intestine wars, While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall In glorious triumphs, and dishonest scars. I seem thro' consecrated walks to rove, [flow) At length great Anna said — Let discord cease!" I hear soft music die along the grove:
She said, the world obey'd, and all was peace! Led by the sound, I roam froin shade to shade, In that blest moment from his oozy bed By gorlike poets venerable made:
Old father Thames adranc'd his rev'rend head; Here his first lays majestic Denham sung; His tresses droop'd with dews, ando'er the stream There the last numbers fow'd from Cowley's His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam: tongue.
Gravid on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides O early lost! what tears the river shed, His swelling waters and alternate tides; When the sad pomp along his banks were led! The figur'd streams in waves of silver roll'd, Hisdrooping swans on ev'ry note expire, And on their banks Augusta rose in gold; And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre. Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood,
Since fate relentless stopp dtheir heavenly voice, Who swell with tributary urns his flood; No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; First, the fam'd authors of his antient pame, Who now shall charin the shades whercCowley The winding Isis, and the fruitful Thame ; strung
The Kennet swift, for silver cels renown'd; His living harp, and loftv Denham sung? The Loddon slott, with verdant alders crown'd; But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rinds! Cole, whose clear streams his floy'ry islands lare Are these sevird? or is it Granville sings? And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wasc:
The The blue, transparent Vandalis appears; And naked youths and painted chiefs admire The gulphy Lee his sergy tresses rears ; (ur speech, our color, and our strange attire ! And sullea Mole, that hides his diving food; Oh stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore te And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood.
shore, High in the midst, upon his urn reclin'd, Till Conquest cease, and Slavery be no more; His
sea-green mantle waving with the wind, Till the freed Indians in the native groves
Hail, sacred Peace! hail, long expected day's, In brazen bonds shall barb'rous Discord dwell;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught, Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their
Where heavenly visions Plato fird, woods,
And Epicurus lay inspir'd! And half thy forests rush into my floods,
In vain your guiltless Jaurels stood Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display,
Unspotted long with human blood, To the bright regions of the rising day :
War, horrid war, your thoughtless walks invades, Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll, And steel now glitters in the Muses' shades. Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole;
ANTISTROPHE 1. Or under southern skies exalt their sails,
O heaven-born sisters ! source of art! led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales : Who charm the sense, or mend the heart; For me the balm shall bleed, the amber flow, Who lead fair Virtue's train along, The coral redden, and the ruby glow:
Moral Truth, and Mystic Song! The pearly shell its lucid globe infold,
To what new elime, what distant sky, And Phoebus warm the rip'ning ore to gold, Forsaken, friendless, shall yo-fly? The time shall come when, free as seas or wind, Sag, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore? Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind; Or bid the furious Gaul be tude no more? Whole nations enter with each swelling tide, And seas but join the regions they divide;
STROPHE 11. Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold,
When Athens 'sinks by fates unjust, And the new world launch forth to seek the old. When wild Barbarians spurn her dust; Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide, Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore And feather'd people erowd my wealthy side ;
Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore; Altered from Shakspeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whose desire these two Choruses were composed, to supply as many wanting in his Play. They were set many years afterwards by the fatdous Bononcini, and performed at Buckingham-House.
See Arts her savage sons control,
Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure,
§ 7. Ode on Solitude*. Pope.
A few paternal acres Lound;
In his own ground.
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
Whose flocks supply bin with antire ; Still when the lust of tyrant pow'r succeeds, Whose trecs in summer yield him shade, Some Athens perishes, some l'ully bleeds.
In winter fire. CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS. Blest, who can unconcern'dly find SEMICHORUS.
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away: OH, Tyrant Love! hast thou possessid
In health of budy, peace of mind, The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast?
Quiet by day : Wisdom and Wit in vain reclaim,
Sound sleep by night, study and ease
Together inix'd; sweet recreation!
And innocence which most does please
l'hus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;
Tell wh'crc I lie.
VITAL spark of heavenly Aame !
Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying And stesner Cassius melts at Junia's eyes. What is loose love? a transient gust,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, foud Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!
Hark! they whisper; angels say,
Sister spirii, come away!
What is this absorbs nie quite,
Steals my 'senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?
The world recedes, it (lisappears!
Ileav'n opens on my eyes! my ears What various joys on one attend,
With sounds seraphic ring! As son, as father, brother, husband, friend! Lend, lend your wings ! I mount! I fiy! Whether his hoary sire he spies,
O Grave where is thy Victory?
O Death! where is thy Sting!
$ 9. An Essay on Criticism. Pope. What tender passions take their turns,
"Tis hard to say, if greater want of skill What home-felt raptures move! His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns, But, of the two, less dangʻrous is th' offence
Appear in writing, or in judging ill ;
To tire our patience, than mislead our sense.
Some few in thai, but numbers err in this ; Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmises;
Ten censure wrong for one who writes arniss. Hence false tears, deceit, disguises,
A fool inight once himself alone expose; Dangers, doubts, delays, surprises ;
Now one in verse inakes many more in prose. Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine! "Tis without judgements, as our watches; none Purest love's unwasting treasure,
Go just alike, yet cach believes his own. . This was a very early production of our Author, written at ahont twelve years old.
Io Poets as true Genius is but rare,
Art from that fund each just supply provides ; True Taste as seldom is the Critic's share; Works without show, and without poinp resides : Both must alike from Heaven derive their light, In some fair body thus th' informing soul These born to judge, as well as those to write. With spirits feeds, with vigor fills the whole, Let suci teach others who themselves excel, Each motion guicles, and ev'ry nerve sustains; And censure freely who hare written well.
| Itselt unseen,
but in th' effect remains. Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true; Some, to whoin lIcaven in wit has been profuse, But are not Critics to their judgenient too? Want as much more to turn it io its use;
Yet, if we look niore closely, we shall find For wit and judgeinent often are at strife,
The winged courser, like a gen'rous horse,
indites, Fach burns alike, who can or cannot write, When to repress, and when indulge our flights: Or with a Rival's or an Eunuch's spite. High on Parnassus' top her sons she show'd, All fools have still an itching to deride, And pointed out those arduous paths they trod : And fain would be upon the laughing side. Held from afar, aloft, th' iminoital prize, If Mævius scribble in Apollo's spite, And urg'd the rest by equal steps to rise. There are whojudge still worse than he can write. Just precepts thus from great examples given,
Some have at first, for Wiis, then Poets pass’d, She drew from them what they deriv'd from Turu'd Critics next, and prov'd plain fool at last, heaven, Some neither can for Wits nor Critics
pass; The gen'rous Critic fann'd the Poet's fire, is heavy inulo are neither horse nor ass. And taught the world with reason to admire. Those half-learn'd writings, num'rous in our isle, Then Criticism the Musc's handniaid prov'd, As half-forin'd insects on the banks of Nile ; Todress her charms, and make her morebelov’d: Unfinishi'd things, one knows not what to call, But following wits from that intention stray'd; Their generation's so equivocal:
Who could not win the inistress, woo'd the maid; To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require; Against the Poets their own arins they turnd, Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. Sure to hate inost the men froin whoin they
But you, who seek to give and merit fame, So modern 'Pothecaries taught the art [learn'd And justly bear a Critic's noble name, By Doctors bills to play the Doctor's part, Be sure yourself and your own reach to know, Bold in the practice of mistaken rulcs, llow far your genius, taste, and learning.go; Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools. Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, Some on the leaves of antient authors prey; And mark that point where sense and dullness Nor time nor moths e'er spoil'd so muchas they:
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit, (meet. Some drily plain, without invention's aid, And wisely curb proud man's pretending wit: Write dull receipts how pocts may be inasle. As on the land while here the ocean sains ; These leave the sense, their lcarning to display; In other parts it leaves wide sandy plains ; And those explain the meaning quite away. 'Thus in the soul while memory prevails, You then whose judgeineni the right course The solid pow'r of understanding fails;
would steer, Where beans of warm imagination play, Know well each Aniicnt's proper character : The memory's soft figures melt away,
His fable, subject, scopc, in ev'ry page : One science only will a genius fit;
Religion, country, genius of his age: So vast is art, só narrow human wit:
Without all these at once before your eyes ; Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
Cavil you inay, but never criticise. But oft in those confin'd to single parts. Be Homer's works your study and delight ; Like Kings, we lose the conquest gain'd before, Read them by day, and meditatc hy night: By vain ambition still to inake them more: Thence form your judgenient, theuce your Fach might his servile province well coinmand, maxims bring, Would all but stoop to what they understand. And trace the Muses upwards to their spring.
First follow Nature, and your judgement fraine Still with itself compar'd his text peruse; By her just standard, which is still the same; Or let your comment be the Mantua's Musc. Unerring Nature, s:ill divinely bright,
When first young Maro in his boundless mind One clear, unchang'd, and universal light, A work t' outlast immðrtal Rome design'd, life, force, and beauty, must to all impart ; Perhaps he seem'd above the Critics law, At once the source, and end, and rest of Art. And but from Nature'- fountains scora'd to draw:
But when t'examine ev'ry part he came, (That on weak wings, from far, pursues your
Man's crring judgement, and misguide the mind,
Whatever Nature has in worth denied, Are nameless graces which no methods teach, She gives in large recruits of neediul Pride; And which a master-hand alone can teach. For as in bodies, thus in son's we find [wind: Ji, where the rules not far enough extend What wants in blood and spirits, swelld with (Since rules were made but to promote theirend) Pride, where it fails, steps in to our defence, Some lucky Licence answer io the full And fills up all the nighty void of sen:c. Th’intent propos'il, that Licence is a rule. If once right reson drives that cloud away, Thus Perasus, a nearer way to take,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. May boldly cleviate from the common track. Trust nor yourself; but, your defects to know, Great Wits sometimes may gloriously offend, Make use of ev'ry friend -- and ev'ry foe. And rise to faults true Crities dare not mend; A little learning is a dang rous thing; From vulgár bounds with brave disorder part, Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: Ind snatch a grace beyond the reach of art; There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, Which, without passing through thejudgement, and drinking largely sobers us again. The heart, and all its end at once attains. [gains Fir'd at first sight, with what the Muse imparts, In prospects thus, some objects please ourejes? In fearless youth we tempt the heights or Ans, The shapeless rock or common precipice. S short view swe take, nor see the lengtis belind; But tho' the Intients thus their rules invade, But, more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise Askingsdispense with lausthemselves havemade, New distant scenes of endless science rise! Moderns, beware! or, if you must offend So pleas’d at first the tow'ring Alps we try, Against the precept, nc'er transgress its end; Mount o'er thevales, and secun to tread the sky; Let it he schlom, and compellid by need; Th' eternal snows appear already pasi, And have, at least, their precedent to plead. And the first clouds and mountains seem the last. 'The Critic else proceeds without reinorse',
But, those attain'd, we iremble to survey Seises your fame, and puts his law's in force. The growing labors of the lengthen'd way; I know there are, to whose presumptuous Th increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes, thoughts
pieep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise! Those freer beauties, er'n in them, seemn faults. A perficijudge will read each work of Wit Some figures monstrous and mis-shap'd appear, With the same spirit that its author writ; Consider’d.ingly, or beheld too near ; Survey the whole, nor seck slight faults to find. Which, but praportion'd to their light, or place, Wherenaturemoves&and rapturewarm-themind; Due distance reconciles to form and grace. Vor lose', for that malignani dull delighi, A prulent chief not always must display The yelı'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit. His pow'rs in anal ranks, and fair array; But in such lay's as neitherebb ijor flow, But with th' occasion and the place comply, Correctly cold, and regularly low; Conceal hin force, may seem soinetimes to fly. That shunning faults, one quiet iener keep; Those oft are stratagems where errors seem; We cannot blame indeed -- but we may sleep. Nor is it Huiner nods, but we that dream. In Wit, as Nature, what afiecis our leares
Still green usith bays each antiene altar stands, is not th' exactness of peculiar parts ; Above the reach of sacrilegions hands; "Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage, But the joint force and full result of all, Destructive War, and all-involving Aye. Thus wlienweview somewell-proportion'ddome, See from cachclime the learn'd theirincensebring! The world's just wonder, ande'enthine, O Rome; Ilear, in all tongues consenting Peans ring!
No single parts unequally surprise ; In praise so just let ev'ry voice be join'd, All comes united to th' admiring eyes : And fill the gen'ral chorus of inankind. No monstrous height, or breadth, or length 11ail, Bards triumphant! born in happier days ; appear; Immortal heirs of universal praise!
The whole at once is bold and regular. Whose honors with increase of ages grow, Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see, As streamis roll down, enlarging as they flow; Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be. Nations unborn your lighty names shall sound, In ev'ry work regard the writer's end, And worlds applaud that must not yet be iound! Since none can compass more than they intend; O may some spark of your celestial fire And if the means be just, the conduct true, The last, the incapest, of your sons inspire Applause, in spite of trivial faulls, is due.