 | Churchill defended, a poem |  |
Does Verse in any Poet that we know
With less Constraint and Affectation flow?
The Dignity of Churchill's Muse disdains
The Poetaster's little Tricks and Pains;
She pours her Strain with Negligence and Ease,
And sure to captivate, she scorns to please.
Though Giant-W---n should foam with Rage,
Thine is superior to Pope's polish'd Page:
Our Natures a Variety require,
And 'tis not only Terseness we admire:
'Twere better if in Pope there were not found
Mellifluous Uniformity of Sound,
A Poet seldom reaching the Sublime,
But in Sense happy, and spontaneous Rhyme.
In Arts congenial Souls each other prize,
And to each other's Glory strive to rise;
Thou keepest Dryden ever in thy View,
Praisest him largely, but thy Praise is true:
Henceforth, with him, then, be thou rank'd in Fame,
Your lofty Thoughts, unlabour'd Style the same.
Thou canst not still o'er Pinks and Daisies stray,
Thou leavest Mason every Fount and Spray.
Perhaps even now, in Luxury of Woe,
Thy Soul forgets each Trifle here below,
Proud for a Devonshire her Tears to shed,
And call up all the Virtues of the Dead.
Those very Virtues came to thy Relief,
And stop the Torrent of Affection's Grief:
For thou reflectest on his present Sphere,
And wipest soon the tributary Tear;
Thou recollectest what low childish Things
He now deems Courtiers, and the Smile of Kings,
Whom Patriot-Spirits hail'd with loud Acclaim,
And Cato's Ghost gave Sanction to his Fame!
With less Constraint and Affectation flow?
The Dignity of Churchill's Muse disdains
The Poetaster's little Tricks and Pains;
She pours her Strain with Negligence and Ease,
And sure to captivate, she scorns to please.
12
Thine is superior to Pope's polish'd Page:
Our Natures a Variety require,
And 'tis not only Terseness we admire:
'Twere better if in Pope there were not found
Mellifluous Uniformity of Sound,
A Poet seldom reaching the Sublime,
But in Sense happy, and spontaneous Rhyme.
In Arts congenial Souls each other prize,
And to each other's Glory strive to rise;
Thou keepest Dryden ever in thy View,
Praisest him largely, but thy Praise is true:
Henceforth, with him, then, be thou rank'd in Fame,
Your lofty Thoughts, unlabour'd Style the same.
Thou canst not still o'er Pinks and Daisies stray,
Thou leavest Mason every Fount and Spray.
Perhaps even now, in Luxury of Woe,
Thy Soul forgets each Trifle here below,
Proud for a Devonshire her Tears to shed,
And call up all the Virtues of the Dead.
Those very Virtues came to thy Relief,
And stop the Torrent of Affection's Grief:
13
And wipest soon the tributary Tear;
Thou recollectest what low childish Things
He now deems Courtiers, and the Smile of Kings,
Whom Patriot-Spirits hail'd with loud Acclaim,
And Cato's Ghost gave Sanction to his Fame!
| Churchill defended, a poem | |