The works of John Dryden Illustrated with notes, historical, critical, and explanatory, and a life of the author, by Sir Walter Scott |
 | IX. |
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TO THE CONCEALED AUTHOR OF THIS INCOMPARABLE POEM. |
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| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
| XIII. |
| XIV, XV. |
 | The works of John Dryden |  |
217
TO THE CONCEALED AUTHOR OF THIS INCOMPARABLE POEM.
Hail, heaven-born muse! hail every sacred page!
The glory of our isle and of our age.
The inspiring sun to Albion draws more nigh,
The north at length teems with a work to vie
With Homer's flame and Virgil's majesty.
While Pindus lofty heights our poet sought,
(His ravished mind with vast ideas fraught),
Our language failed beneath his rising thought;
This checks not his attempt, for Maro's mines,
He drains of all their gold t'adorn his lines;
Through each of which the Mantuan Genius shines.
The rock obeyed the powerful Hebrew guide,
Her flinty breast dissolved into a tide;
Thus on our stubborn language he prevails,
And makes the Helicon in which he sails.
The dialect, as well as sense, invents,
And, with his poem, a new speech presents.
Hail then, thou matchless bard, thou great unknown,
That give your country fame, yet shun you own!
In vain—for everywhere your praise you find,
And not to meet it, you must shun mankind.
Your loyal theme each loyal reader draws,
And even the factious give your verse applause,
Whose lightning strikes to ground their idol cause.
The cause for whose dear sake they drank a flood
Of civil gore, nor spared the royal blood;
The cause whose growth to crush, our prelates wrote
In vain, almost in vain our heroes fought.
Yet by one stab of your keen satire dies;
Before your sacred lines their shattered Dagon lies.
The glory of our isle and of our age.
The inspiring sun to Albion draws more nigh,
The north at length teems with a work to vie
With Homer's flame and Virgil's majesty.
While Pindus lofty heights our poet sought,
(His ravished mind with vast ideas fraught),
Our language failed beneath his rising thought;
This checks not his attempt, for Maro's mines,
He drains of all their gold t'adorn his lines;
Through each of which the Mantuan Genius shines.
The rock obeyed the powerful Hebrew guide,
Her flinty breast dissolved into a tide;
Thus on our stubborn language he prevails,
And makes the Helicon in which he sails.
The dialect, as well as sense, invents,
And, with his poem, a new speech presents.
Hail then, thou matchless bard, thou great unknown,
That give your country fame, yet shun you own!
In vain—for everywhere your praise you find,
And not to meet it, you must shun mankind.
Your loyal theme each loyal reader draws,
And even the factious give your verse applause,
Whose lightning strikes to ground their idol cause.
The cause for whose dear sake they drank a flood
Of civil gore, nor spared the royal blood;
The cause whose growth to crush, our prelates wrote
In vain, almost in vain our heroes fought.
Yet by one stab of your keen satire dies;
Before your sacred lines their shattered Dagon lies.
Oh! if unworthy we appear to know
The sire, to whom this lovely birth we owe;
Denied our ready homage to express,
And can at best but thankful be by guess;
This hope remains,—May David's godlike mind,
(For him 'twas wrote) the unknown author find,
And, having found, shower equal favours down,
On wit so vast as could oblige a crown.
The sire, to whom this lovely birth we owe;
Denied our ready homage to express,
And can at best but thankful be by guess;
This hope remains,—May David's godlike mind,
(For him 'twas wrote) the unknown author find,
And, having found, shower equal favours down,
On wit so vast as could oblige a crown.
N. T.
| The works of John Dryden | |