Non, tu ne penfes point, miférable: tu ders: Inutile à la terre, & mis au rang des Morts. Ton efprit énervé croupit dans la Moleffe. Reveille toi, fois homme, & fors de ton Xvreffe. L'homme eft né pour agir, & tu pretens penfer? &c. The Original runs thus: Hold, mighty Man, I cry, all this we know, And 'tis this very Reafon I defpife, This fupernatural Gift, that makes a Mite Think he's the Image of the infinite; Comparing his fhort Life, void of all rest, To the eternal and the ever bleft. This bufy puzzling Stirrer up of Doubt, That frames deep Mysteries, then finds 'em out, Filling, with frantic Crowds of thinking Fools, Thefe reverend Bedlams, Colleges and Schools; Borne on whofe Wings, each heavy Sot can pierce The Limits of the boundless Universe. Sa So charming Ointments make an old Witch And bear a crippled Carcass through the 'Tis this exalted Power, whofe Business In Nonfenfe and Impoffibilities. This made a whimfical Philofopher, And we have modern cloister'd Coxcombs, Retire to think, 'cause they have nought to do: But Thoughts are giv'n for Actions Ga vernment, Where Action ceafes, Thought's imperti nent. WHETHER thefe ideas are true or false, it is certain they are expreffed with an energy and fire which form the poet. I fhall be very far from attempting to examine philofophically into thefe verfes; to lay down the pencil and take up the rule and compafs on this occafion; my only defign in this letter, being to display the genius of the English poets, and therefore I shall continue in the fame view... THE celebrated Mr. Waller has been very much talked of in France, and Mr. de la Fontaine, St. Evremont and Bayle have written written his Elogium, but ftill his name only is known. He had much the fame reputation in London as Voiture had in Paris, and in my opinion deferved it better. Voiture was born in an age that was just emerging from barbarity; an age that was ftill rude and ignorant, the people of which aimed at wit, tho' they had not the leaft pretenfions to it, and fought for points and conceits instead of fentiments. Brif tol Stones are more easily found than Diamonds. Voiture, born with an easy and frivolous genius, was the first who shohe in this Aurora of French literature. Had he come into the world after thofe great genius's who fpread fuch a glory over the age of Lewis the Fourteenth, he would either have been unknown, would have been despised, or would have corrected his ftyle. Boileau applauded him, but it was in his first fatyrs, at a time when the taste of that great poet was not yet formed. He was young, and in an age when perfons form a judgment of men from their reputation, and not from their writings. Befides, Boileau was very partial both in his encomiums and his cenfures. He applauded Segrais, whofe works no body reads; he abused Quinault, whofe poetical pieces every one has got by heart, and is wholly filent upon La Fontaine. Waller, though a better poet than Voiture, was not yet yet a finished poet. The graces breathe in fuch of Waller's works as are writ in a tender ftrain, but then they are languid thro' negligence, and often disfigured with falfe thoughts. The English had not, in his time, attained the art of correct writing. But his ferious compofitions exhibit a ftrength and vigour which could not have been expected from the foftness and effeminacy of his other pieces. He wrote an elegy on Oliver Cromwell, which, with all its faults, is nevertheless looked upon as a mafter-piece. To understand this copy of verses, you are to know that the day Oliver died was remarkable for a great ftorm. His poem begins in this manner: Il n'est plus, s'en est fait foumettons nous Le ciel a fignalé ce jour par des tempètes, Vient d'anoncer la mort. Par fes derniers foupris il ébranle cet ile; Cet ile que fon bras fit trembler tant de fois, Quand dans le cours de fes Exploits, Il brifoit la tête des Rois, Et foumettoit un peuple à fon joug feul docile. Mer Mer tu t'en és trouble; O Mer tes flots émus Semblent dire en grondant aux plus lointains rivages Que l'effroi de la terre & ton Maitre n'eft plus. Tel au ciel autrefois s'envola Romulus, Tel il quita la Terre, an milieu des orages, Tel d'un peuple guerrier il reçut les bo mages; Obéi dans fa vie, à fa mort adoré, Son palais fut un Temple, &c. We must refign! Heav'n his great Soul does claim In Storms as loud as his immortal Fame: His dying Groans, his laft Breath Shakes our Ifle, And Trees uncut fall for his fun'ral Pile: About his Palace their broad Roots are toft Into the air; fo Romulus was left ! New Rome in fuch a Tempest miss'd her And from obeying fell to worshipping : Na |