Poems on Several Occasions With Imitations from Horace, Ovid, Martial, Theocritus, Bachylides, Anacreon, &c. To which is prefix'd A Discourse on Criticism, and the Liberty of Writing. In a letter to a Friend. By Samuel Cobb ... The Third Edition. To which is added, Poems on the Duke of Marlborough, Prince Eugene, the Electoral Prince of Hannover, with other Poems. Never before Printed |
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Of POETRY.
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 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
176
Of POETRY.
1. Its Antiquity. 2. Its Progress. 3. Its Improvement.
A POEM
Sure when the Maker in his Heav'nly Breast
Design'd a Creature to command the rest,
Of all th' Erected Progeny of Clay
His Noblest Labour was his First Essay.
There shone th' Eternal Brightness, and a Mind
Proportion'd for the Father of Mankind.
The Vigor of Omnipotence was seen
In his high Actions, and Imperial Mien.
Inrich'd with Arts, unstudy'd and untaught,
With loftiness of Soul, and dignity of Thought
To Rule the World, and what he Rul'd to Sing,
And be at once the Poet and the King.
Whether his Knowledge with his breath he drew,
And saw the Depth of Nature at a View;
Or, new descending from th' Angelick race,
Retain'd some tincture of his Native Place.
Design'd a Creature to command the rest,
Of all th' Erected Progeny of Clay
His Noblest Labour was his First Essay.
There shone th' Eternal Brightness, and a Mind
Proportion'd for the Father of Mankind.
The Vigor of Omnipotence was seen
In his high Actions, and Imperial Mien.
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With loftiness of Soul, and dignity of Thought
To Rule the World, and what he Rul'd to Sing,
And be at once the Poet and the King.
Whether his Knowledge with his breath he drew,
And saw the Depth of Nature at a View;
Or, new descending from th' Angelick race,
Retain'd some tincture of his Native Place.
Fine was the Matter of the curious Frame,
Which lodg'd his Fiery Guest, and like the same
Nor was a less Resemblance in his Sense,
His Thoughts were lofty, just his Eloquence.
Whene're He spoke, from his Seraphick Tongue
Ten Thousand comely Graces,-ever young,
With new Calliopes and Clio's sprung.
No shackling Rhyme chain'd the free Poet's mind,
Majestick was His Style, and unconfin'd.
Vast was each Sentence, and each wondrous strain
Sprung forth, unlabour'd, from His fruitful Brain.
Which lodg'd his Fiery Guest, and like the same
Nor was a less Resemblance in his Sense,
His Thoughts were lofty, just his Eloquence.
Whene're He spoke, from his Seraphick Tongue
Ten Thousand comely Graces,-ever young,
With new Calliopes and Clio's sprung.
No shackling Rhyme chain'd the free Poet's mind,
178
Vast was each Sentence, and each wondrous strain
Sprung forth, unlabour'd, from His fruitful Brain.
But when He yielded to deluding Charms,
Th' Harmonious Goddess shun'd His empty Arms.
The Muse no more his sacred Breast inspir'd,
But to the Skies, her Ancient Seat, retir'd.
Yet here and there Celestial Seeds She threw,
And rain'd melodious Blessings as She flew.
Which some receiv'd, whom Gracious Heav'n design'd
For high Employments, and their Clay refin'd.
Who, of a Species more sublime, can tame
The rushing God, and stem the rapid Flame.
When in their breasts th' impetuous Numen rowls,
And with uncommon heaves swells their Diviner Souls.
Th' Harmonious Goddess shun'd His empty Arms.
The Muse no more his sacred Breast inspir'd,
But to the Skies, her Ancient Seat, retir'd.
Yet here and there Celestial Seeds She threw,
And rain'd melodious Blessings as She flew.
Which some receiv'd, whom Gracious Heav'n design'd
For high Employments, and their Clay refin'd.
Who, of a Species more sublime, can tame
The rushing God, and stem the rapid Flame.
When in their breasts th' impetuous Numen rowls,
And with uncommon heaves swells their Diviner Souls.
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Thus the
Companion of the Godhead sung,
And wrote upon those Reeds from whence he Sprung.
He, first of Poets, told how Infant Light,
Unknown before, dawn'd from the Womb of Night.
How Sin and Shame th' Unhappy Couple knew,
And thro' affrighted Eden, more affrighted, flew.
How God advanc'd his Darling Abrom's fame,
In the sure Promise of his lengthen'd Name.
On Horeb's Top, or Sinah's flaming Hill
Familiar Heav'n reveal'd his Sacred Will.
Unshaken then Seth's stony Column stood,
Surviving the Destruction of the Flood.
His Father's Fall was letter'd on the Stone,
Thence Arts, Inventions, Sciences were Known.
Thence Divine Moses, with exalted thought,
In Hebrew Lines the Worlds Beginning wrote.
And wrote upon those Reeds from whence he Sprung.
He, first of Poets, told how Infant Light,
Unknown before, dawn'd from the Womb of Night.
How Sin and Shame th' Unhappy Couple knew,
And thro' affrighted Eden, more affrighted, flew.
How God advanc'd his Darling Abrom's fame,
In the sure Promise of his lengthen'd Name.
On Horeb's Top, or Sinah's flaming Hill
Familiar Heav'n reveal'd his Sacred Will.
Unshaken then Seth's stony Column stood,
Surviving the Destruction of the Flood.
His Father's Fall was letter'd on the Stone,
Thence Arts, Inventions, Sciences were Known.
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In Hebrew Lines the Worlds Beginning wrote.
The Gift of Verse descended to the Jews,
Inspir'd with something nobler than a Muse.
Here Deborah in fiery rapture sings,
The Rout of Armies, and the Fall of Kings.
Thy Torrent, Kison, shall for ever flow,
Which trampled o'er the Dead, and swept away the Foe.
Inspir'd with something nobler than a Muse.
Here Deborah in fiery rapture sings,
The Rout of Armies, and the Fall of Kings.
Thy Torrent, Kison, shall for ever flow,
Which trampled o'er the Dead, and swept away the Foe.
With Songs of Triumph, and the Maker's praise,
With Sounding Numbers, and united Lays,
The Seed of Judah to the Battle flew,
And Orders of Destroying Angels drew
To their Victorious side: Who marching round
Their Foes, touch'd Myriads at the signal Sound,
By Harmony they fell, and dy'd without a Wound.
So strong is Verse Divine, when we Proclaim
Thy Power, Eternal Light, and Sing thy Name!
With Sounding Numbers, and united Lays,
The Seed of Judah to the Battle flew,
And Orders of Destroying Angels drew
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Their Foes, touch'd Myriads at the signal Sound,
By Harmony they fell, and dy'd without a Wound.
So strong is Verse Divine, when we Proclaim
Thy Power, Eternal Light, and Sing thy Name!
Nor does it here alone it's Magick show,
But works in Hell, and binds the Fiends below.
So powerful is the Muse! When David plaid,
The Frantick Dæmon heard him, and obey'd.
No Noise, no Hiss: the dumb Apostate lay
Sunk in soft silence, and dissolv'd away.
But works in Hell, and binds the Fiends below.
So powerful is the Muse! When David plaid,
The Frantick Dæmon heard him, and obey'd.
No Noise, no Hiss: the dumb Apostate lay
Sunk in soft silence, and dissolv'd away.
Nor was this Miracle of Verse confin'd
To Jews alone: For in a Heathen mind
Some strokes appear: Thus Orpheus was inspir'd,
Inchanting Syrens at his Song retir'd.
To Rocks and Seas he the curst Maids pursu'd,
And their strong Charms, by stronger Charms subdu'd.
To Jews alone: For in a Heathen mind
Some strokes appear: Thus Orpheus was inspir'd,
Inchanting Syrens at his Song retir'd.
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And their strong Charms, by stronger Charms subdu'd.
But Greece was honour'd with a Greater Name,
Homer is Greece's Glory and her Shame.
How could Learn'd Athens with contempt refuse,
Th' immortal labours of so vast a Muse?
Thee, Colophon, his angry Ghost upbraids,
While his loud Numbers charm th' Infernal Shades.
Ungrateful Cities! Which could vainly strive
For the Dead Homer, whom they scorn'd Alive.
So strangely wretched is the Poet's Doom!
To Wither here, and Flourish in the Tomb.
Homer is Greece's Glory and her Shame.
How could Learn'd Athens with contempt refuse,
Th' immortal labours of so vast a Muse?
Thee, Colophon, his angry Ghost upbraids,
While his loud Numbers charm th' Infernal Shades.
Ungrateful Cities! Which could vainly strive
For the Dead Homer, whom they scorn'd Alive.
So strangely wretched is the Poet's Doom!
To Wither here, and Flourish in the Tomb.
Tho' Virgil rising under happier Stars,
Saw Rome succeed in Learning as in Wars.
When Pollio, like a asmiling Planet, shone,
And Cæsar darted on him, like the Sun.
Nor did Mecænas, gain a less repute,
When Tuneful Flaccus touch'd the Roman Lute.
Saw Rome succeed in Learning as in Wars.
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And Cæsar darted on him, like the Sun.
Nor did Mecænas, gain a less repute,
When Tuneful Flaccus touch'd the Roman Lute.
But when, Mecænas, will Thy Star appear
In our low Orb, and gild the British Sphere?
Say, art Thou come, and, to deceive our Eyes
Dissembled under DORSET's fair Disguise?
If so; go on, Great Sackvile, to regard
The Poet, and th' imploring Muse reward.
So to Thy Fame a Pyramid shall rise,
Nor shall the Poet fix thee in the Skies.
For if a Verse Eternity can claim,
Thy Own are able to preserve thy Name.
This Province all is Thine, o'er which in vain
Octavius hover'd long, and sought to Reign.
This Sun prevail'd upon his Eagle's sight,
Glar'd in their Royal Eyes, and stop'd their flight.
Let him his Title to such Glory bring,
You give as freely, and more nobly sing.
Reason will judge, when both their Claims produce,
He shall his Empire boast, and Thou the Muse.
Horace and He are in Thy Nature joyn'd,
The Patron's Bounty with the Poet's Mind.
In our low Orb, and gild the British Sphere?
Say, art Thou come, and, to deceive our Eyes
Dissembled under DORSET's fair Disguise?
If so; go on, Great Sackvile, to regard
The Poet, and th' imploring Muse reward.
So to Thy Fame a Pyramid shall rise,
Nor shall the Poet fix thee in the Skies.
For if a Verse Eternity can claim,
Thy Own are able to preserve thy Name.
This Province all is Thine, o'er which in vain
Octavius hover'd long, and sought to Reign.
This Sun prevail'd upon his Eagle's sight,
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Let him his Title to such Glory bring,
You give as freely, and more nobly sing.
Reason will judge, when both their Claims produce,
He shall his Empire boast, and Thou the Muse.
Horace and He are in Thy Nature joyn'd,
The Patron's Bounty with the Poet's Mind.
O Light of England, and her highest Grace!
Thou best and greatest of thy Ancient Race!
Descend, when I invoke thy Name, to shine
(For 'tis thy Praise) on each unworthy Line.
While to the World, unprejudic'd, I tell
The noblest Poets, and who most excel
Thee with the Foremost thro' the Globe I send,
Far as the British Arms or Memory extend.
Thou best and greatest of thy Ancient Race!
Descend, when I invoke thy Name, to shine
(For 'tis thy Praise) on each unworthy Line.
While to the World, unprejudic'd, I tell
The noblest Poets, and who most excel
Thee with the Foremost thro' the Globe I send,
Far as the British Arms or Memory extend.
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But 'twould be vain, and tedious to reherse
The meaner Croud, undignify'd for Verse.
On barren ground who drag th' unwilling Plough,
And feel the Sweat of Brain as well as Brow.
A Crew so vile, which, soon as read, displease,
May Slumber in forgetfulness and ease,
Till fresher Dulness wakes their sleeping Memories.
The meaner Croud, undignify'd for Verse.
On barren ground who drag th' unwilling Plough,
And feel the Sweat of Brain as well as Brow.
A Crew so vile, which, soon as read, displease,
May Slumber in forgetfulness and ease,
Till fresher Dulness wakes their sleeping Memories.
Some stuff'd in Garrets dream for wicked Rhyme,
Where nothing but their Lodging is sublime.
Observe their twenty faces, how they strain
To void forth Nonsense from their costive Brain.
Who (when they've murder'd so much costly time,
Beat the vext Anvil with continual chime,
And labour'd hard to hammer statutable Rhyme)
Create a BRITISH PRINCE; as hard a task,
As would a Cowley or a Milton ask,
To build a Poem of the vastest price,
A DAVIDEIS, or LOST PARADISE.
So tho' a Beauty of Imperial Mien
May labour with a Heroe, or a Queen,
The Dowdie's Offspring, of the freckled strain,
Shall cause like Travail, and as great a Pain.
Where nothing but their Lodging is sublime.
Observe their twenty faces, how they strain
To void forth Nonsense from their costive Brain.
Who (when they've murder'd so much costly time,
Beat the vext Anvil with continual chime,
And labour'd hard to hammer statutable Rhyme)
186
As would a Cowley or a Milton ask,
To build a Poem of the vastest price,
A DAVIDEIS, or LOST PARADISE.
So tho' a Beauty of Imperial Mien
May labour with a Heroe, or a Queen,
The Dowdie's Offspring, of the freckled strain,
Shall cause like Travail, and as great a Pain.
Such to the Rabble may appear inspir'd,
By Coxcombs envy'd, and by Fools admir'd,
I pity Madmen who attempt to fly,
And raise their Airy Babel to the Sky.
Who, arm'd with Gabble, to create a Name,
Design a Beauty, and a Monster frame.
Not so the Seat of Phœbus role, which lay
In Ruins buried, and a long Decay.
To Britany the Temple was convey'd,
By Natures utmost force, and more than Human Aid.
Built from the Basis by a noble Few,
The stately Fabrick in perfection view.
While Nature gazes on the polish'd piece,
The Work of amny rowling Centuries.
By Coxcombs envy'd, and by Fools admir'd,
I pity Madmen who attempt to fly,
And raise their Airy Babel to the Sky.
Who, arm'd with Gabble, to create a Name,
Design a Beauty, and a Monster frame.
Not so the Seat of Phœbus role, which lay
In Ruins buried, and a long Decay.
To Britany the Temple was convey'd,
187
Built from the Basis by a noble Few,
The stately Fabrick in perfection view.
While Nature gazes on the polish'd piece,
The Work of amny rowling Centuries.
For joyn'd with Art She labour'd long to raise
An English Poet, meriting the Bays.
How vain a Toil! Since Authors first were known
For Greek and Latin Tongues, but scorn'd their Own.
An English Poet, meriting the Bays.
How vain a Toil! Since Authors first were known
For Greek and Latin Tongues, but scorn'd their Own.
As Moors of old, near Guinea's precious Shore,
For glittering Brass exchang'd their shining Oar.
Involving Darkness did our Language shrowd,
Nor could we view the Goddess thro' the Cloud.
Sunk in a Sea of Ignorance we lay,
Till Chaucer rose, and pointed out the Day.
A joking Bard, whose antiquated Muse
In mouldy words could Solid sense produce.
Our English Enuius He, who claim'd his part
In wealthy Nature, tho' unskil'd in Art.
The sparkling Diamond on his Dunghil shines,
And golden fragments glitter in his Lines.
Which Spencer gather'd, for his Learning known,
And by successful gleanings made his Own.
So careful Bees, on a fair Summer's Day,
Hum o'er the Flowers, and suck the sweets away.
O had thy Poet, Britany, rely'd
On native Strength, and Foreign Aid deny'd!
Had not wild Fairies blasted his Design,
Mæonides and Virgil had been Thine!
Their Finish'd Poems He exactly view'd,
But Chaucer's steps religiously pursu'd.
He cull'd, and pick'd, and thought it greater praise
T'adore his Master, than improve his Phrase.
'Twas counted Sin to deviate from his Page;
So sacred was th' Authority of Age!
The Coyn must sure for currant Sterling pass;
Stamp'd with old Chaucer's Venerable Face.
But Johnson found it of a gross Alloy,
Melted it down, and flung the Dross away
He dug pure Silver from a Roman Mine,
And prest his Sacred Image on the Coyn.
We all rejoyc'd to see the pillag'd Oar,
Our Tongue inrich'd, which was so poor before.
Fear not, Learn'd Poet, our impartial blame,
Such Thefts as these add Lustre to thy Name.
Whether thy labour'd Comedies betray
The Sweat of Terence, in thy Glorious way,
Or Catliine plots better in thy Play.
Whether his Crimes more excellently shine,
Whether we hear the Consul's Voice Divine,
And doubt which merits most, Rome's Cicero, or Thine.
All yield, consenting to sustain the Yoke,
And learn the Language which the Victor spoke.
So Macedon's Imperial Hero threw
His wings abroad, and conquer'd as he flew.
Great Johnson's Deeds stand Parallel with His,
Were Noble Thefts, Successful Pyracies.
For glittering Brass exchang'd their shining Oar.
Involving Darkness did our Language shrowd,
Nor could we view the Goddess thro' the Cloud.
188
Till Chaucer rose, and pointed out the Day.
A joking Bard, whose antiquated Muse
In mouldy words could Solid sense produce.
Our English Enuius He, who claim'd his part
In wealthy Nature, tho' unskil'd in Art.
The sparkling Diamond on his Dunghil shines,
And golden fragments glitter in his Lines.
Which Spencer gather'd, for his Learning known,
And by successful gleanings made his Own.
So careful Bees, on a fair Summer's Day,
Hum o'er the Flowers, and suck the sweets away.
O had thy Poet, Britany, rely'd
On native Strength, and Foreign Aid deny'd!
Had not wild Fairies blasted his Design,
Mæonides and Virgil had been Thine!
Their Finish'd Poems He exactly view'd,
But Chaucer's steps religiously pursu'd.
189
T'adore his Master, than improve his Phrase.
'Twas counted Sin to deviate from his Page;
So sacred was th' Authority of Age!
The Coyn must sure for currant Sterling pass;
Stamp'd with old Chaucer's Venerable Face.
But Johnson found it of a gross Alloy,
Melted it down, and flung the Dross away
He dug pure Silver from a Roman Mine,
And prest his Sacred Image on the Coyn.
We all rejoyc'd to see the pillag'd Oar,
Our Tongue inrich'd, which was so poor before.
Fear not, Learn'd Poet, our impartial blame,
Such Thefts as these add Lustre to thy Name.
Whether thy labour'd Comedies betray
The Sweat of Terence, in thy Glorious way,
Or Catliine plots better in thy Play.
190
Whether we hear the Consul's Voice Divine,
And doubt which merits most, Rome's Cicero, or Thine.
All yield, consenting to sustain the Yoke,
And learn the Language which the Victor spoke.
So Macedon's Imperial Hero threw
His wings abroad, and conquer'd as he flew.
Great Johnson's Deeds stand Parallel with His,
Were Noble Thefts, Successful Pyracies.
Souls of a Heroe's, or a Poet's Frame
Are fill'd with larger particles of flame.
Scorning confinement, for more Lands they groan,
And stretch beyond the Limits of their Own.
Are fill'd with larger particles of flame.
Scorning confinement, for more Lands they groan,
And stretch beyond the Limits of their Own.
191
Fletcher, whose Wit, like some luxuriant Vine,
Profusely wanton'd in each golden Line.
Who, prodigal of Sense, by Beaumont's care,
Was prun'd so wisely, and became so fair.
Could from his copious Brain new Humours bring,
A bragging Bessus, or inconstant King.
Could Laughter thence, here melting pity raise
In his Amyntors, and Aspasia's.
But Rome and Athens must the Plots produce
With France, the Handmaid of the English Muse.
Profusely wanton'd in each golden Line.
Who, prodigal of Sense, by Beaumont's care,
Was prun'd so wisely, and became so fair.
Could from his copious Brain new Humours bring,
A bragging Bessus, or inconstant King.
Could Laughter thence, here melting pity raise
In his Amyntors, and Aspasia's.
But Rome and Athens must the Plots produce
With France, the Handmaid of the English Muse.
Ev'n Shakespear sweated in his narrow Isle,
And Subject Italy obey'd his Stile.
Boccace and Cinthio must a tribute pay,
T'inrich his Scenes, and furnish out a Play.
Tho' Art ne're taught him how to write by Rules,
Or borrow Learning from Athenian Schools:
Yet He, with Plautus, could instruct and please,
And what requir'd long toil, perform with ease.
By inborn strength so Theseus bent the Pine,
Which cost the Robber many Years Design.
And Subject Italy obey'd his Stile.
Boccace and Cinthio must a tribute pay,
T'inrich his Scenes, and furnish out a Play.
Tho' Art ne're taught him how to write by Rules,
192
Yet He, with Plautus, could instruct and please,
And what requir'd long toil, perform with ease.
By inborn strength so Theseus bent the Pine,
Which cost the Robber many Years Design.
Tho' sometimes rude, unpolish'd and undrest
His Sentence flows, more careless than the rest.
Yet, when his Muse, complying with his will,
Deigns with informing heat his Breast to fill,
Then hear him thunder in the Pompous strain
Of Æschylus, or sooth in Ovid's vein.
I feel a Pity working in my Eyes,
When Desdemona by Othello dyes.
When I view Brutus in his Dress appear,
I know not how to call him too severe.
His rigid Vertue there attones for all,
And makes a Sacrifice of Cæsar's Fall.
His Sentence flows, more careless than the rest.
Yet, when his Muse, complying with his will,
Deigns with informing heat his Breast to fill,
Then hear him thunder in the Pompous strain
Of Æschylus, or sooth in Ovid's vein.
I feel a Pity working in my Eyes,
When Desdemona by Othello dyes.
When I view Brutus in his Dress appear,
I know not how to call him too severe.
His rigid Vertue there attones for all,
And makes a Sacrifice of Cæsar's Fall.
193
Nature work'd Wonders then; when Shakespear dy'd
Her Cowley rose, drest in her gaudy Pride.
So from great Ruins a new Life she calls,
And Builds an Ovid when a Tully Falls.
Her Cowley rose, drest in her gaudy Pride.
So from great Ruins a new Life she calls,
And Builds an Ovid when a Tully Falls.
With what Delight he tunes his Silver-Strings,
And David's Toils in David's numbers Sings?
Hark! how he Murmurs to the Fields and Groves,
His rural Pleasures, and his various Loves.
Yet every Line so Innocent and Clear,
Hermits may read them to a Virgin's Ear.
Unstoln Promethean Fire informs his Song,
Rich is his Fancy, his Invention strong.
His Wit, unfathom'd, has a fresh Supply,
Is always flowing out, but never Dry.
And David's Toils in David's numbers Sings?
Hark! how he Murmurs to the Fields and Groves,
His rural Pleasures, and his various Loves.
Yet every Line so Innocent and Clear,
Hermits may read them to a Virgin's Ear.
Unstoln Promethean Fire informs his Song,
Rich is his Fancy, his Invention strong.
His Wit, unfathom'd, has a fresh Supply,
Is always flowing out, but never Dry.
194
Sure the profuseness of a boundless Thought,
Unjustly is imputed for a Fault.
A Spirit, that is unconfin'd and free,
Should hurry forward, like the Wind or Sea.
Which laughs at Laws and Shackles, when a Vain
Presuming Xerxes shall pretend to Reign,
And on the flitting Air impose his pond'rous Chain.
Unjustly is imputed for a Fault.
A Spirit, that is unconfin'd and free,
Should hurry forward, like the Wind or Sea.
Which laughs at Laws and Shackles, when a Vain
Presuming Xerxes shall pretend to Reign,
And on the flitting Air impose his pond'rous Chain.
Hail English Swan? for You alone could dare
With well pois'd Pinions tempt th' unbounded Air:
And to your Lute Pindaric Numbers call,
Nor fear the Danger of a threatned Fall.
O had You liv'd to Waller's Reverend Age,
Better'd your Measures, and reform'd your Page!
Then Britain's Isle might raise her Trophies high,
And Solid Rome, or Witty Greece outvy.
The Rhine, the Tyber, and Parisian Sein,
When e're they pay their Tribute to the Main,
Should no sweet Song more willingly rehearse,
Than gentle Cowley's never dying Verse.
The Thames should sweep his briny way before,
And with his Name salute each distant Shore.
With well pois'd Pinions tempt th' unbounded Air:
And to your Lute Pindaric Numbers call,
Nor fear the Danger of a threatned Fall.
O had You liv'd to Waller's Reverend Age,
Better'd your Measures, and reform'd your Page!
195
And Solid Rome, or Witty Greece outvy.
The Rhine, the Tyber, and Parisian Sein,
When e're they pay their Tribute to the Main,
Should no sweet Song more willingly rehearse,
Than gentle Cowley's never dying Verse.
The Thames should sweep his briny way before,
And with his Name salute each distant Shore.
Then You, like Glorious Milton, had been known
To Lands which Conquest has insur'd our Own.
Milton! whose Muse Kisses th'embroider'd Skies,
While Earth below grows little, as She Flies.
Thro' trackless Air she bends her winding Flight,
Far as the Confines of retreating Light.
Tells the findg'd Moor, how scepter'd Death began
His Lengthning Empire o'er offending Man.
Unteaches conquer'd Nations to Rebel,
By Singing how their Stubborn Parents fell.
To Lands which Conquest has insur'd our Own.
Milton! whose Muse Kisses th'embroider'd Skies,
While Earth below grows little, as She Flies.
Thro' trackless Air she bends her winding Flight,
Far as the Confines of retreating Light.
Tells the findg'd Moor, how scepter'd Death began
His Lengthning Empire o'er offending Man.
196
By Singing how their Stubborn Parents fell.
Now Seraphs crown'd with Helmets I behold,
Helmets of Substance more refin'd than Gold:
The Skies with an united Lustre shine,
And Face to Face th'Immortal Armies joyn.
God's plated Son, Majestically gay,
Urges his Chariot thro' the Chrystal-Way
Breaks down their Ranks, and Thunders, as he Flies,
Arms in his Hands, and Terrour in his Eyes.
O'er Heav'ns wide Arch the routed Squadrons Rore,
And transfix'd Angels groan upon the Diamond-Floor.
Then, wheeling from Olympus Snowy top,
Thro' the scorch'd Air the giddy Leaders drop
Down to th' Abyss of their allotted Hell,
And gaze on the lost Skies from whence they Fell.
Helmets of Substance more refin'd than Gold:
The Skies with an united Lustre shine,
And Face to Face th'Immortal Armies joyn.
God's plated Son, Majestically gay,
Urges his Chariot thro' the Chrystal-Way
Breaks down their Ranks, and Thunders, as he Flies,
Arms in his Hands, and Terrour in his Eyes.
O'er Heav'ns wide Arch the routed Squadrons Rore,
And transfix'd Angels groan upon the Diamond-Floor.
Then, wheeling from Olympus Snowy top,
Thro' the scorch'd Air the giddy Leaders drop
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And gaze on the lost Skies from whence they Fell.
I see the Fiend, who tumbled from his Sphere
Once by the Victor God, begins to fear
New Lightning, and a Second Thunderer.
I hear him Yell, and argue with the Skies,
Was't not enough, Relentless Power! he cries,
Despair of better state, and loss of Light
Irreparable? Was not loathsom Night
And ever-during Dark sufficient Pain,
But Man must Triumph, by our Fall to Reign,
And Register the Fate which we Sustain?
Hence Hell is doubly Ours: Almighty Name
Hence, after Thine, we feel the Poet's Flame
And in Immortal Song renew Reviving shame.
Once by the Victor God, begins to fear
New Lightning, and a Second Thunderer.
I hear him Yell, and argue with the Skies,
Was't not enough, Relentless Power! he cries,
Despair of better state, and loss of Light
Irreparable? Was not loathsom Night
And ever-during Dark sufficient Pain,
But Man must Triumph, by our Fall to Reign,
And Register the Fate which we Sustain?
Hence Hell is doubly Ours: Almighty Name
Hence, after Thine, we feel the Poet's Flame
And in Immortal Song renew Reviving shame.
198
O Soul Seraphick, teach us how we may
Thy Praise adapted to thy Worth display,
For who can Merit more? or who enough can Pay?
Earth was unworthy Your aspiring View,
Sublimer Objects were reserv'd for You.
Thence Nothing mean obtrudes on Your Design,
Your Style is equal to Your Theme Divine,
All Heavenly great, and more than Masculine.
Tho' neither Vernal Bloom, nor Summer's Rose
Their op'ning Beauties could to Thee disclose.
Tho' Nature's curious Characters, which we
Exactly view, were all eras'd to Thee.
Yet Heav'n stood Witness to Thy piercing sight,
Below was Darkness, but Above was Light:
Thy Soul was Brightness all; nor would it stay
In nether Night, and such a want of Day.
But wing'd aloft from sordid Earth retires
To upper Glory, and its kindred-Fires:
Like an unhooded Hawk, who, loose to Prey,
With open Eyes pursues th' Ethereal Way.
There, Happy Soul, assume thy destin'd Place,
And in yon Sphere begin thy glorious Race:
Or, if amongst the Laurel'd Heads there be
A Mansion in the Skies reserv'd for Thee,
There Ruler of thy Orb aloft appear,
And rowl with Homer in the brightest Sphere;
To whom Calliope has joyn'd thy Name,
And recompens'd thy Fortunes with his Fame.
Thy Praise adapted to thy Worth display,
For who can Merit more? or who enough can Pay?
Earth was unworthy Your aspiring View,
Sublimer Objects were reserv'd for You.
Thence Nothing mean obtrudes on Your Design,
Your Style is equal to Your Theme Divine,
All Heavenly great, and more than Masculine.
Tho' neither Vernal Bloom, nor Summer's Rose
Their op'ning Beauties could to Thee disclose.
Tho' Nature's curious Characters, which we
Exactly view, were all eras'd to Thee.
Yet Heav'n stood Witness to Thy piercing sight,
Below was Darkness, but Above was Light:
Thy Soul was Brightness all; nor would it stay
In nether Night, and such a want of Day.
199
To upper Glory, and its kindred-Fires:
Like an unhooded Hawk, who, loose to Prey,
With open Eyes pursues th' Ethereal Way.
There, Happy Soul, assume thy destin'd Place,
And in yon Sphere begin thy glorious Race:
Or, if amongst the Laurel'd Heads there be
A Mansion in the Skies reserv'd for Thee,
There Ruler of thy Orb aloft appear,
And rowl with Homer in the brightest Sphere;
To whom Calliope has joyn'd thy Name,
And recompens'd thy Fortunes with his Fame.
Tho' She (forgive our freedom) sometimes Flows
In Lines too Rugged, and akin to Prose.
Verse with a lively smoothness should be Wrote,
When room is granted to the Speech and Thought.
Like some fair Planet, the Majestick Song
Should gently move, and sparkle as it rowls along.
Like Waller's Muse, who tho' inchain'd by Rhime,
Taught wondring Poets to keep even Chime.
His Praise inflames my breast, and should be shown
In Numbers sweet and Courtly as his Own.
Who no unmanly Turns of Thought pursues,
Rash Errours of an injudicious Muse.
Such Wit, like Lightning, for a while looks Gay,
Just gilds the Place, and vanishes away.
In one continu'd blaze He upwards sprung,
Like those Seraphick flames of which He Sung.
If, Cromwel, he laments thy Mighty Fall
Nature attending Weeps at the Great Funeral.
Or if his Muse with joyful Triumph brings
the Monarch to His Ancient Throne, or Sings
Batavians worsted on the Conquer'd Main,
Fleets flying, and advent'rous Opdam Slain,
Then Rome and Athens to his Song repair
With British Graces smiling on his Care,
Divinely charming in a Dress so Fair.
As Squadrons in well-Marshal'd order fill
The Flandrian Plains, and speak no vulgar Skill;
So Rank'd is every Line, each Sentence such,
No Word is wanting, and no Word's too much.
As Pearls in Gold with their own Lustre Shine,
The Substance precious, and the Work Divine:
So did his Words his Beauteous Thoughts in chase,
Both shone and sparkled with unborrow'd Grace,
A mighty Value in a little Space.
So the Venusian Clio sung of Old,
When lofty Acts in well-chose Phrase he told.
But Rome's aspiring Lyrick pleas'd us less,
Sung not so moving, tho' with more Success.
O Sacharissa, what could steel thy Breast,
To Rob Harmonious Waller of his Rest?
To send him Murm'ring thro' the Cypress-Grove,
In strains lamenting his neglected Love.
Th' attentive Forest did his Grief partake,
And Sympathizing Oakstheir knotted Branches shake.
Each Nymph, tho' Coy, to Pity would incline;
And every stubborn Heart was mov'd, but Thine.
Henceforth be Thou to future Ages known;
Like Niobe, a Monument of Stone.
In Lines too Rugged, and akin to Prose.
Verse with a lively smoothness should be Wrote,
When room is granted to the Speech and Thought.
200
Should gently move, and sparkle as it rowls along.
Like Waller's Muse, who tho' inchain'd by Rhime,
Taught wondring Poets to keep even Chime.
His Praise inflames my breast, and should be shown
In Numbers sweet and Courtly as his Own.
Who no unmanly Turns of Thought pursues,
Rash Errours of an injudicious Muse.
Such Wit, like Lightning, for a while looks Gay,
Just gilds the Place, and vanishes away.
In one continu'd blaze He upwards sprung,
Like those Seraphick flames of which He Sung.
If, Cromwel, he laments thy Mighty Fall
Nature attending Weeps at the Great Funeral.
201
the Monarch to His Ancient Throne, or Sings
Batavians worsted on the Conquer'd Main,
Fleets flying, and advent'rous Opdam Slain,
Then Rome and Athens to his Song repair
With British Graces smiling on his Care,
Divinely charming in a Dress so Fair.
As Squadrons in well-Marshal'd order fill
The Flandrian Plains, and speak no vulgar Skill;
So Rank'd is every Line, each Sentence such,
No Word is wanting, and no Word's too much.
As Pearls in Gold with their own Lustre Shine,
The Substance precious, and the Work Divine:
So did his Words his Beauteous Thoughts in chase,
Both shone and sparkled with unborrow'd Grace,
A mighty Value in a little Space.
202
When lofty Acts in well-chose Phrase he told.
But Rome's aspiring Lyrick pleas'd us less,
Sung not so moving, tho' with more Success.
O Sacharissa, what could steel thy Breast,
To Rob Harmonious Waller of his Rest?
To send him Murm'ring thro' the Cypress-Grove,
In strains lamenting his neglected Love.
Th' attentive Forest did his Grief partake,
And Sympathizing Oakstheir knotted Branches shake.
Each Nymph, tho' Coy, to Pity would incline;
And every stubborn Heart was mov'd, but Thine.
Henceforth be Thou to future Ages known;
Like Niobe, a Monument of Stone.
Here could I dwell, like Bees on Flowry Dew,
And Waller's praise Eternally pursue,
Could I, like Him, in Harmony excel,
So sweetly strike the Lute, and Sing so Well.
And Waller's praise Eternally pursue,
203
So sweetly strike the Lute, and Sing so Well.
But now the forward Muse converts her Eye
To see where Denham, and Roscommon fly,
Cautiously daring, and correctly High.
Both chief in Honour, and in Learning's Grace,
Of Ancient Spirit, and of Ancient Race.
Who, when withdrawn from Business, and Affairs,
Their Minds unloaded of tormenting Cares,
With soothing Verse deceiv'd the sliding Time,
And, unrewarded, Sung in Noble Rhyme.
Not like those Venal Bards, who Write for Pence,
Above the Vulgar were their Names and Sense.
The Critick judges what the Muse indites,
And Rules for Dryden, like a Dryden, Writes.
'Tis true their Lamps were of the smallest Size,
But like the Stoicks, of prodigious Price.
Roscommon's Rules shall o'er our Isle be Read,
Nor Dye, till Poetry itself be Dead.
Fam'd Cooper's Hill shall, like Parnassus, stand,
And Denham reign, the Phœbus of the Land.
To see where Denham, and Roscommon fly,
Cautiously daring, and correctly High.
Both chief in Honour, and in Learning's Grace,
Of Ancient Spirit, and of Ancient Race.
Who, when withdrawn from Business, and Affairs,
Their Minds unloaded of tormenting Cares,
With soothing Verse deceiv'd the sliding Time,
And, unrewarded, Sung in Noble Rhyme.
Not like those Venal Bards, who Write for Pence,
Above the Vulgar were their Names and Sense.
The Critick judges what the Muse indites,
And Rules for Dryden, like a Dryden, Writes.
'Tis true their Lamps were of the smallest Size,
But like the Stoicks, of prodigious Price.
204
Nor Dye, till Poetry itself be Dead.
Fam'd Cooper's Hill shall, like Parnassus, stand,
And Denham reign, the Phœbus of the Land.
Among these sacred and immortal Names,
A Youth glares out, and his just Honour claims;
See circling Flames, in stead of Laurel, play
Around his Head, and Sun the brighten'd Way.
But misty Clouds of unexpected Night,
Cast their black Mantle o'er th' immoderate Light.
Here, pious Muse, lament a While; 'tis just
We pay some Tribute to his sacred Dust.
O'er his fresh Marble strow the fading Rose
And Lilly, for his Youth resembled those.
The brooding Sun took care to dress him Gay,
In all the Trappings of the flowry May.
He set him out unsufferably bright,
And sow'd in every part his beamy Light
Th' unfinish'd Poet budded forth too soon,
For what the Morning warm'd, was scorch'd at Noon.
A Youth glares out, and his just Honour claims;
See circling Flames, in stead of Laurel, play
Around his Head, and Sun the brighten'd Way.
But misty Clouds of unexpected Night,
Cast their black Mantle o'er th' immoderate Light.
Here, pious Muse, lament a While; 'tis just
We pay some Tribute to his sacred Dust.
O'er his fresh Marble strow the fading Rose
And Lilly, for his Youth resembled those.
The brooding Sun took care to dress him Gay,
In all the Trappings of the flowry May.
205
And sow'd in every part his beamy Light
Th' unfinish'd Poet budded forth too soon,
For what the Morning warm'd, was scorch'd at Noon.
His careless Lines plain Nature's Rules obey,
Like Satyrs Rough, but not Deform'd as they.
His Sense undrest, like Adam, free from Blame,
Without his Cloathing, and without his Shame.
True Wit requires no Ornaments of skill,
A Beauty naked, is a Beauty still.
Like Satyrs Rough, but not Deform'd as they.
His Sense undrest, like Adam, free from Blame,
Without his Cloathing, and without his Shame.
True Wit requires no Ornaments of skill,
A Beauty naked, is a Beauty still.
Warm'd with just Rage he lash'd the Romish Crimes,
In rugged Satyr and ill-sounding Rhymes.
All Italy felt his imbitter'd Tongue,
And trembled less when sharp Lucilius Stung.
Here let us pass in Silence, nor accuse
Th' extravagance of his Unhallow'd Muse.
In Jordan's stream she wash'd the tainted Sore,
And rose more Beauteous than She was before.
In rugged Satyr and ill-sounding Rhymes.
All Italy felt his imbitter'd Tongue,
And trembled less when sharp Lucilius Stung.
206
Th' extravagance of his Unhallow'd Muse.
In Jordan's stream she wash'd the tainted Sore,
And rose more Beauteous than She was before.
Then Fancy curb'd began to Cool her Rage,
And Sparks of Judgment glimmer'd in his Page,
When the wild Fury did his Breast inspire,
She rav'd, and set the Little World on Fire.
Thus Lee by Reason strove not to controul
That powerful heat which o'er-inform'd his Soul.
He took his swing, and Nature's bounds surpast,
Stretch'd her, and bent her, till she broke at last.
I scorn to Flatter, or the Dead defame;
But who will call a Blaze a Lambent Flame?
And Sparks of Judgment glimmer'd in his Page,
When the wild Fury did his Breast inspire,
She rav'd, and set the Little World on Fire.
Thus Lee by Reason strove not to controul
That powerful heat which o'er-inform'd his Soul.
He took his swing, and Nature's bounds surpast,
Stretch'd her, and bent her, till she broke at last.
I scorn to Flatter, or the Dead defame;
But who will call a Blaze a Lambent Flame?
Terrour and Pity are allow'd to be,
The moving parts of Tragic Poetry.
If Pity sooths us, Otway claims our Praise.
If Terrour strikes, then Lee deserves the Bays.
We grant a Genius shines in Jaffeir's Part,
And Roman Brutus speaks a Master's Art.
But still we often Mourn to see their Phrase
An Earthly Vapour, or a Mounting Blaze.
A rising Meteor never was design'd,
T'amaze the sober part of Human kind.
Were I to write for Fame, I would not chuse
A Prostitute and Mercenary Muse.
Which for poor Gains must in rich Trappings go,
Emptily Gay, magnificently Low,
Like Ancient Rome's Religion, Sacrifice and Show.
Things fashion'd for amusement and surprize,
Ne'er move the Head, tho' they divert the Eyes.
The Mouthing Actors well-dissembled Rage,
May please the Young Sir Foplings on the Stage.
But, disingag'd, the swelling Phrase I find
Like Spencer's Giant sunk away in Wind.
It grates judicious Readers when they meet
Nothing but jingling Verse, and even Feet.
Such false, such counterfeited Wings as these,
Forsake th' unguided Boy, and plunge him in the Seas.
Lee aim'd to rise above great Dryden's Height,
But lofty Dryden keeps a steddy Elight.
Like Dædalus, he times with prudent Care
His well-wax'd Wings, and Waves in Middle Air.
The Native Spark, which first advanc'd his Name,
By Industry he kindled to a Flame.
The proper Phrase of our exalted Tongue
To such Perfection from his Numbers sprung.
His Tropes continu'd, and his Figures fine,
All of a Piece throughout, and all Divine.
His Images so strong and lively be,
I hear not Words alon but Substance see
Adapted Speech, and just Expressions move
Our various Passions, Pity, Rage and Love.
I weep to hear fond Anthony complain
In Shakespear's Fancy, but in Virgil's Strain.
The moving parts of Tragic Poetry.
207
If Terrour strikes, then Lee deserves the Bays.
We grant a Genius shines in Jaffeir's Part,
And Roman Brutus speaks a Master's Art.
But still we often Mourn to see their Phrase
An Earthly Vapour, or a Mounting Blaze.
A rising Meteor never was design'd,
T'amaze the sober part of Human kind.
Were I to write for Fame, I would not chuse
A Prostitute and Mercenary Muse.
Which for poor Gains must in rich Trappings go,
Emptily Gay, magnificently Low,
Like Ancient Rome's Religion, Sacrifice and Show.
Things fashion'd for amusement and surprize,
Ne'er move the Head, tho' they divert the Eyes.
The Mouthing Actors well-dissembled Rage,
May please the Young Sir Foplings on the Stage.
208
Like Spencer's Giant sunk away in Wind.
It grates judicious Readers when they meet
Nothing but jingling Verse, and even Feet.
Such false, such counterfeited Wings as these,
Forsake th' unguided Boy, and plunge him in the Seas.
Lee aim'd to rise above great Dryden's Height,
But lofty Dryden keeps a steddy Elight.
Like Dædalus, he times with prudent Care
His well-wax'd Wings, and Waves in Middle Air.
The Native Spark, which first advanc'd his Name,
By Industry he kindled to a Flame.
The proper Phrase of our exalted Tongue
To such Perfection from his Numbers sprung.
His Tropes continu'd, and his Figures fine,
All of a Piece throughout, and all Divine.
209
I hear not Words alon but Substance see
Adapted Speech, and just Expressions move
Our various Passions, Pity, Rage and Love.
I weep to hear fond Anthony complain
In Shakespear's Fancy, but in Virgil's Strain.
Tho' for the Comick, others we prefer,
Himself the Judge; nor do's his Judgment Err.
But Comedy, 'tis Thought, can never claim
The sounding Title of a Poem's Name.
For Raillery, and what creates a Smile.
Betrays no lofty Genius, nor a Style.
That Heav'nly Heat refuses to be seen
In a Town-Character and Comick Mien.
Himself the Judge; nor do's his Judgment Err.
But Comedy, 'tis Thought, can never claim
The sounding Title of a Poem's Name.
For Raillery, and what creates a Smile.
Betrays no lofty Genius, nor a Style.
That Heav'nly Heat refuses to be seen
In a Town-Character and Comick Mien.
210
If we woold do him right, we must produce
The Sophoclean Buskin; when his Muse
With her loud Accents fills the List'ning Ear,
And Peals applauding shake the Theater.
The Sophoclean Buskin; when his Muse
With her loud Accents fills the List'ning Ear,
And Peals applauding shake the Theater.
They fondly seek, Great Name, to blast thy Praise,
Who think that Foreign: Thanks produc'd thy
Is he oblig'd to France, who draws from thence
By English Energy, their Captive Sense?
Tho' Edward and fam'd Henry Warr'd in vain,
Subduing what they could not long retain:
Yet now beyond our Arms the Muse prevails,
And Poets Conquer where the Hero falls.
Who think that Foreign: Thanks produc'd thy
Is he oblig'd to France, who draws from thence
By English Energy, their Captive Sense?
Tho' Edward and fam'd Henry Warr'd in vain,
Subduing what they could not long retain:
Yet now beyond our Arms the Muse prevails,
And Poets Conquer where the Hero falls.
211
This does superiour excellence betray;
O could I Write in thy Immortal Way!
If Art be Nature's Scholar, and can make.
Such vast improvements, Nature must forsake
Her Ancient Style; and in some grand Design
She must her Own Originals decline,
And for the Noblest Copies follow Thine.
Pardon this just transition to thy Praise,
Which Young Thalia sung in Rural Lays.
O could I Write in thy Immortal Way!
If Art be Nature's Scholar, and can make.
Such vast improvements, Nature must forsake
Her Ancient Style; and in some grand Design
She must her Own Originals decline,
And for the Noblest Copies follow Thine.
Pardon this just transition to thy Praise,
Which Young Thalia sung in Rural Lays.
As Sleep to weary Drovers on the Plain
As a sweet River to a thirsty Swain,
Such Tityrus's charming Number show,
Please like the River, like the River flow.
When his first Years in mighty Order ran,
And cradled Infancy bespoke the Man,
Around his Lips the Waxen Artists hung,
And drop'd ambrosial Dew upon his Tongue.
Then from his Mouth harmonious Numbers broke,
More sweet than Honey from a hollow Oke.
Pleasant as streams which from a Mountain Glide,
Yet lofty as the Top from whence they slide.
Long He possest th' Hereditary Plains,
Admir'd by all the Herdsmen and the Swains.
Till he resign'd his Flock, opprest with cares,
Weaken'd by num'rous Woes, and grey with Years.
Yet still, like Ætna's Mount, he kept his Fire,
And look'd like beauteous Roses on a Brier.
He smil'd, like Phœbus in a Stormy Morn,
And sung, like Philomel against a Thorn.
As a sweet River to a thirsty Swain,
Such Tityrus's charming Number show,
Please like the River, like the River flow.
When his first Years in mighty Order ran,
And cradled Infancy bespoke the Man,
212
And drop'd ambrosial Dew upon his Tongue.
Then from his Mouth harmonious Numbers broke,
More sweet than Honey from a hollow Oke.
Pleasant as streams which from a Mountain Glide,
Yet lofty as the Top from whence they slide.
Long He possest th' Hereditary Plains,
Admir'd by all the Herdsmen and the Swains.
Till he resign'd his Flock, opprest with cares,
Weaken'd by num'rous Woes, and grey with Years.
Yet still, like Ætna's Mount, he kept his Fire,
And look'd like beauteous Roses on a Brier.
He smil'd, like Phœbus in a Stormy Morn,
And sung, like Philomel against a Thorn.
213
Here Syren of sweet Poesy, receive
That little praise my unkown Muse can give,
Thou shalt immortal be, no Censure fear
Tho' angry B***more in Heroicks jeer.
That little praise my unkown Muse can give,
Thou shalt immortal be, no Censure fear
Tho' angry B***more in Heroicks jeer.
A Bard, who seems to challenge Virgil's Flame,
And would be next in Majesty and Name.
With lofty Maro he at first may please;
The Righteous Briton rises by degrees.
But once on Wing, thro' secret Paths he rows,
And leaves his Guide, or follows him too close,
The Mantuan Swan keeps a soft gentle Flight,
Is always Tow'ring, but still Plays in Sight.
Calm and Serene his Verse; his active Song
Runs smooth as Thames's River, and as strong
Like his own Neptune he the Waves confines,
While Bl---re rumbles, like the King of Winds.
His flat Descriptions, void of Manly Strength,
Jade out our Patience with excessive length.
While Readers, Yawning o'er his Arthurs, see
Whole Pages spun on one poor Simile.
We grant he labours with no want of Brains,
Or Fire, or Spirit; but He spares the Pains,
One happy Thought, or two, may at a Heat
Be struck, but Time and Study must compleat
A Verse, sublimely Good, and justly Great.
It call'd for an Omnipotence to raise
The World's Imperial Poem in Six Days,
But Man, that offspring of corrupting Clay,
Subject to Err, and Subject to Decay:
In Hopes, Desires, Will, Power, a numerous Train,
Uncertain, Fickle, Impotent and Vain:
Must tire the Heav'nly Muse with endless Prayer,
And call the smiling Angels to his care.
Must sleep less Nights, Vulcanian Labours prove,
Like Cyclops, forging Thunder for a Jove.
With Flame begin thy Glorious Thoughts and Style,
Then Cool, and bring them to the smoothing File.
If You design to make Your Prince appear
As perfect as Humanity can bear.
Whom Vertues at th' expence of Danger please,
Deaf to the Syrens of alluring ease.
No Terrours Thee, Achilles, could invade,
Nor Thee, Ulysses, any Charms persuade.
This must be done, if Poets would be Read,
Who seek to emulate the Sacred Dead.
And would be next in Majesty and Name.
With lofty Maro he at first may please;
The Righteous Briton rises by degrees.
But once on Wing, thro' secret Paths he rows,
And leaves his Guide, or follows him too close,
The Mantuan Swan keeps a soft gentle Flight,
Is always Tow'ring, but still Plays in Sight.
Calm and Serene his Verse; his active Song
Runs smooth as Thames's River, and as strong
Like his own Neptune he the Waves confines,
While Bl---re rumbles, like the King of Winds.
214
Jade out our Patience with excessive length.
While Readers, Yawning o'er his Arthurs, see
Whole Pages spun on one poor Simile.
We grant he labours with no want of Brains,
Or Fire, or Spirit; but He spares the Pains,
One happy Thought, or two, may at a Heat
Be struck, but Time and Study must compleat
A Verse, sublimely Good, and justly Great.
It call'd for an Omnipotence to raise
The World's Imperial Poem in Six Days,
But Man, that offspring of corrupting Clay,
Subject to Err, and Subject to Decay:
In Hopes, Desires, Will, Power, a numerous Train,
Uncertain, Fickle, Impotent and Vain:
Must tire the Heav'nly Muse with endless Prayer,
And call the smiling Angels to his care.
215
Like Cyclops, forging Thunder for a Jove.
With Flame begin thy Glorious Thoughts and Style,
Then Cool, and bring them to the smoothing File.
If You design to make Your Prince appear
As perfect as Humanity can bear.
Whom Vertues at th' expence of Danger please,
Deaf to the Syrens of alluring ease.
No Terrours Thee, Achilles, could invade,
Nor Thee, Ulysses, any Charms persuade.
This must be done, if Poets would be Read,
Who seek to emulate the Sacred Dead.
Thus in bright Numbers and well polish'd Strains
Virgilian Addison describes Campaigns.
Whose Verse, like a proportion'd Man, we find,
Not of the Gyant, nor the Pigmy kind.
Such Symmetry appears o'er all the Song,
Lofty with justness, and with Caution strong.
Virgilian Addison describes Campaigns.
216
Not of the Gyant, nor the Pigmy kind.
Such Symmetry appears o'er all the Song,
Lofty with justness, and with Caution strong.
This Congreve follows in his Deathless Line,
And the Tenth Hand is put to the Design.
The Happy boldness of his Finish'd Toil
Claims more than Shakespear's Wit, or Johnson's Oil.
Sing on, Harmonious Swan, in weeping strains,
And tell Pastora's Death to mournful Swains.
Or with more pleasing Charms, with softer Airs
Sweeten our Passions, and delude our Cares.
Or let thy Satyr grin with half a Smile,
And jeer in Easy Etherege's Style.
Let Manly Wycherly chalk out the Way,
And Art direct, where Nature goes astray.
'Tis not for Thee to Write of Conqu'ring Kings,
The Noise, of Arms will break thy Am'rous Strings.
The Teian Muse invites Thee from above
To lay Thy Trumpet down, and sing of Love,
Let MONTAGUE describe Boyn's swelling Flood
And purple Streams scented with Hostile Blood.
O Heavenly Patron of the needy Muse
Whose powerful Name can nobler heat infuse,
When You Nassau's bright Action's dar'd to see,
You was the Eagle, and Apollo He.
But when He read You, and Your Valne knew,
He was the Eagle, and Apollo You.
Both spoke the Bird in her Æthereal height,
The Majesty was His, and Thine the Flight.
Both did Apollo in His Glory shew,
The Silver Harp was Thine, and His the Bow,
And the Tenth Hand is put to the Design.
The Happy boldness of his Finish'd Toil
Claims more than Shakespear's Wit, or Johnson's Oil.
Sing on, Harmonious Swan, in weeping strains,
And tell Pastora's Death to mournful Swains.
Or with more pleasing Charms, with softer Airs
Sweeten our Passions, and delude our Cares.
Or let thy Satyr grin with half a Smile,
And jeer in Easy Etherege's Style.
Let Manly Wycherly chalk out the Way,
And Art direct, where Nature goes astray.
217
The Noise, of Arms will break thy Am'rous Strings.
The Teian Muse invites Thee from above
To lay Thy Trumpet down, and sing of Love,
Let MONTAGUE describe Boyn's swelling Flood
And purple Streams scented with Hostile Blood.
O Heavenly Patron of the needy Muse
Whose powerful Name can nobler heat infuse,
When You Nassau's bright Action's dar'd to see,
You was the Eagle, and Apollo He.
But when He read You, and Your Valne knew,
He was the Eagle, and Apollo You.
Both spoke the Bird in her Æthereal height,
The Majesty was His, and Thine the Flight.
Both did Apollo in His Glory shew,
The Silver Harp was Thine, and His the Bow,
218
So may Tierian Clio cease to fear,
When Honour deigns to sing, and Majesty to hear!
So may she favour'd live, and always please
Our Dorset's, and Judicious Normandy's!
When Honour deigns to sing, and Majesty to hear!
So may she favour'd live, and always please
Our Dorset's, and Judicious Normandy's!
Nor does the Coronet alone defend
The Muses Cause The Miter is Her Friend,
Can we forget how Damon's lofty Tongue
Shook the glad Mountains? how the Valleys rung
When Rochester's Seraphick Shepherd Sung.
How Mars and Pallas wept to see the Day
When Athens by a Plague dispeopled lay
What Learning perish'd, and what Lives it cost!
Sung with more Spirit than all Athens lost.
Nor can the Miter now conceal the Bays,
For still we view the Sacred Poet's praise.
So tho' Ertaanus becomes a Star
Exalted to the Skies, and shines afar,
Below he loses nothing but his Name,
Still faithful to his Banks, his Streams the same.
The Muses Cause The Miter is Her Friend,
Can we forget how Damon's lofty Tongue
Shook the glad Mountains? how the Valleys rung
When Rochester's Seraphick Shepherd Sung.
How Mars and Pallas wept to see the Day
When Athens by a Plague dispeopled lay
What Learning perish'd, and what Lives it cost!
Sung with more Spirit than all Athens lost.
Nor can the Miter now conceal the Bays,
For still we view the Sacred Poet's praise.
219
Exalted to the Skies, and shines afar,
Below he loses nothing but his Name,
Still faithful to his Banks, his Streams the same.
But smile, my Muse, once more upon my Song,
Let Creech be numbred with the Sacred Throng:
Whose daring Muse could with Manilius fly,
And, like an Atlas, shoulder up the Sky.
He's mounted, where no vulgar Eye can trace
His Wondrous footsteps and mysterious race.
See, how He walks above in mighty strains,
And wanders o'er the wide Ethereal Plains!
He sings what Harmony the Spheres obey,
In Verse more tuneful, and more sweet than they.
Let Creech be numbred with the Sacred Throng:
Whose daring Muse could with Manilius fly,
And, like an Atlas, shoulder up the Sky.
He's mounted, where no vulgar Eye can trace
His Wondrous footsteps and mysterious race.
See, how He walks above in mighty strains,
And wanders o'er the wide Ethereal Plains!
He sings what Harmony the Spheres obey,
In Verse more tuneful, and more sweet than they.
'Tis cause of Triumph, when Rome's Genius shines
In nervous English, and well-worded Lines.
Two Famous
Latins our bright Tongue adorn,
And a new Virgil is in England born.
An Æneid to translate, and make a new,
Are Tasks of equal Labour to pursue.
In nervous English, and well-worded Lines.
220
And a new Virgil is in England born.
An Æneid to translate, and make a new,
Are Tasks of equal Labour to pursue.
For tho' th' Invention of a Godlike Mind
Excels the Works of Nature, and Mankind;
Yet a well languag'd Version will require
An equal Genius, and as strong a Fire.
These claim at once our Study and our Praise,
Fam'd for the Dignity of Sense and Phrase.
These gainful to the Stationer, shall stand
At Paul's or Cornhill, Fleetstreet or the Strand.
Shall wander far and near, and cross the Seas,
An Ornament to Foreign Libraries.
Excels the Works of Nature, and Mankind;
Yet a well languag'd Version will require
An equal Genius, and as strong a Fire.
These claim at once our Study and our Praise,
Fam'd for the Dignity of Sense and Phrase.
These gainful to the Stationer, shall stand
At Paul's or Cornhill, Fleetstreet or the Strand.
Shall wander far and near, and cross the Seas,
An Ornament to Foreign Libraries.
Hail; Glorious Titles! who have been my Theme!
O could I write so well as I esteem!
From her low Nest my humble Soul shou'd rise
As a young Phœnix out of Ashes flies.
Above what France or Italy can shew,
The Celebrated Tasso, or Boileau.
O could I write so well as I esteem!
221
As a young Phœnix out of Ashes flies.
Above what France or Italy can shew,
The Celebrated Tasso, or Boileau.
Come You, where'er you be, who seek to find
Something to pleasure, and instruct your Mind:
If, when retir'd from Bus'ness, or from Men,
You love the Labour'd Travels of the Pen:
Imploy the Minutes of your vacant Time
On Cowley, or on Dryden's useful Rhyme:
Or whom besides of all the Tribe you chuse,
The Tragick, Lyrick, or Heroick Muse:
For they, if well observ'd, will strictly shew
In Charming Numbers, what is false, what true,
And teach more good than Hobbs or Lock can do.
Something to pleasure, and instruct your Mind:
If, when retir'd from Bus'ness, or from Men,
You love the Labour'd Travels of the Pen:
Imploy the Minutes of your vacant Time
On Cowley, or on Dryden's useful Rhyme:
Or whom besides of all the Tribe you chuse,
The Tragick, Lyrick, or Heroick Muse:
For they, if well observ'd, will strictly shew
In Charming Numbers, what is false, what true,
And teach more good than Hobbs or Lock can do.
Hail, ye Poetick Dead, who wander now
In Fields of Light! at your fair Shrines we bow.
Freed from the Malice of Injurious Fate,
Ye blest Partakers of a happier State
Whether Intomb'd with English Kings you sleep,
Or Common Urns your Sacred Ashes keep:
There, on each Dawning of the tender Day,
May Tuneful Birds their pious Off'rings pay!
There may sweet Myrrh with Balmy Tears perfume
The hallow'd Ground, and Roses deck the Tomb.
In Fields of Light! at your fair Shrines we bow.
222
Ye blest Partakers of a happier State
Whether Intomb'd with English Kings you sleep,
Or Common Urns your Sacred Ashes keep:
There, on each Dawning of the tender Day,
May Tuneful Birds their pious Off'rings pay!
There may sweet Myrrh with Balmy Tears perfume
The hallow'd Ground, and Roses deck the Tomb.
While You, who live, no frowning Tempest fear,
Sing on; let Montague and Dorset hear.
In Stately Verse let William's Praise be told,
WILLIAM rewards with Honour and with Gold.
No more of Richelieu's Worth: Forget not, Fame,
To change Augustus for Great William's Name.
Who, tho' like Homer's Jupiter, he sate,
Musing on something eminently great
And ballanc'd in his Mind the World's important Fate;
Lays by the vast Concern, and gladly hears
The loud sung Triumphs of his Warlike Years.
Whether this Praise to Stepny's Muse belong
Or Prior claim it for Pindarick Song.
The sleeping Dooms of Empire were delay'd;
And Fate stood silent while the Poet play'd.
The double Vertue of Nassovian Fire
At once the Soldier and the Bard inspite.
The Hero listen'd when the Canons rung
A Fatal Peal, or when the Harp was strung,
When Mars has Acted, or when Phœbus Sung.
Sing on; let Montague and Dorset hear.
In Stately Verse let William's Praise be told,
WILLIAM rewards with Honour and with Gold.
No more of Richelieu's Worth: Forget not, Fame,
To change Augustus for Great William's Name.
Who, tho' like Homer's Jupiter, he sate,
Musing on something eminently great
And ballanc'd in his Mind the World's important Fate;
223
The loud sung Triumphs of his Warlike Years.
Whether this Praise to Stepny's Muse belong
Or Prior claim it for Pindarick Song.
The sleeping Dooms of Empire were delay'd;
And Fate stood silent while the Poet play'd.
The double Vertue of Nassovian Fire
At once the Soldier and the Bard inspite.
The Hero listen'd when the Canons rung
A Fatal Peal, or when the Harp was strung,
When Mars has Acted, or when Phœbus Sung.
O cou'd my Muse reach Milton's tow'ring Flight,
Or stretch her Wings to the Mœonian Height!
Thro' Air, and Earth, and Seas, I wou'd disperse
His Fame, and sing it in the loudest Verse.
The rowling Waves to hear me shou'd grow tame,
And Winds should calm a Tempest with his Name.
But we must all decline: The Muse grows dumb,
Not weary'd with his Praise, but overcome.
Who shall describe Him? or what Eye can trace
The Matchless Glories of his Princely Race?
What Prince can equal what no Muse can praise?
No Land but Britain, must pretend to shine
With Gods and Heroes of an equal Line.
So may this Island a new Delos prove,
Joyn Young Apollo to the Cretan Jove!
What Bloom! what Youth! what Hopes of future Fame!
How his Eyes sparkle with a Heav'nly Flame!
How swiftly Gloster in his Bud began!
How the Green Hero blossoms into Man
Smit with the Thirst of Fame, and Honours Charms,
To tread his Uncle's Steps, and shine in Arms:
See, how he Spurs, and Rushes to the War!
Pale Legions view, and tremble from afar.
What Blood! what Ruin! Thrice unhappy They
Who shall attempt him on that fatal Day!
Edwards and Harry's to his Eyes appear
In Warlike form, and shake the glitt'ring Spear.
At Agincourt so terrible they stood,
So when Pictavian Fields were dy'd with Blood.
The Royal Youth with Emulation glows,
And pours thick Vengeance on his ghastly Foes.
Troops of Commission'd Angels from the Sky,
Unseen, above Him, and about Him, Fly.
O'er England's Hopes their flaming Swords they hold,
And wave them, as o'er Paradise of Old.
Nor shall they cease a Nightly Watch to keep,
But, ever waking, bless him in his Sleep.
Their Golden Wings for his Pavilion spread,
Their softest Mantles for his Downy Bed,
Defend the Sacred Youth's Imperial Head.
Or stretch her Wings to the Mœonian Height!
Thro' Air, and Earth, and Seas, I wou'd disperse
His Fame, and sing it in the loudest Verse.
The rowling Waves to hear me shou'd grow tame,
And Winds should calm a Tempest with his Name.
224
Not weary'd with his Praise, but overcome.
Who shall describe Him? or what Eye can trace
The Matchless Glories of his Princely Race?
What Prince can equal what no Muse can praise?
No Land but Britain, must pretend to shine
With Gods and Heroes of an equal Line.
So may this Island a new Delos prove,
Joyn Young Apollo to the Cretan Jove!
What Bloom! what Youth! what Hopes of future Fame!
How his Eyes sparkle with a Heav'nly Flame!
How swiftly Gloster in his Bud began!
How the Green Hero blossoms into Man
Smit with the Thirst of Fame, and Honours Charms,
To tread his Uncle's Steps, and shine in Arms:
See, how he Spurs, and Rushes to the War!
Pale Legions view, and tremble from afar.
225
Who shall attempt him on that fatal Day!
Edwards and Harry's to his Eyes appear
In Warlike form, and shake the glitt'ring Spear.
At Agincourt so terrible they stood,
So when Pictavian Fields were dy'd with Blood.
The Royal Youth with Emulation glows,
And pours thick Vengeance on his ghastly Foes.
Troops of Commission'd Angels from the Sky,
Unseen, above Him, and about Him, Fly.
O'er England's Hopes their flaming Swords they hold,
And wave them, as o'er Paradise of Old.
Nor shall they cease a Nightly Watch to keep,
But, ever waking, bless him in his Sleep.
Their Golden Wings for his Pavilion spread,
Their softest Mantles for his Downy Bed,
Defend the Sacred Youth's Imperial Head.
226
After whose Conquests, and the Work of Fate,
The Arts and Muses on his Triumph wait.
The Streams of Thamisis, exulting, Ring,
When fair Augusta's lofty Clio's Sing
Granta and Rhedycina's Tuneful Throng
Fill the resounding Vales with Learned Song.
The Arts and Muses on his Triumph wait.
The Streams of Thamisis, exulting, Ring,
When fair Augusta's lofty Clio's Sing
Granta and Rhedycina's Tuneful Throng
Fill the resounding Vales with Learned Song.
Live, Heav'nly Youth, beyond invidious Time,
Adorning Annals, and immortal Rhyme.
Thy Glories, which no Malice can obscure,
Bright as the Sun, shall as the Sun endure.
But on thy Fame no envious spots shall prey,
Till English Sense and Valour shall decay.
Till Learning and the Muses Mortal grow,
Or Cam or Isis shall forget to Flow.
Adorning Annals, and immortal Rhyme.
Thy Glories, which no Malice can obscure,
Bright as the Sun, shall as the Sun endure.
But on thy Fame no envious spots shall prey,
Till English Sense and Valour shall decay.
Till Learning and the Muses Mortal grow,
Or Cam or Isis shall forget to Flow.
| Poems on Several Occasions | |