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Not Neptune's felf from all her streams receives l 'Tis yours, my Lord, to blets our fost retreats,
Hore nuble Surrey felt the sacred rage,
To the same notcs, of love, and soft desire : His sov'reign favours, and his country loves : Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Happy, next him, who to chcte fhades retires, Then fillid the groves, as heavenly Mira now. W'hom Naturc charms, and whom the Muse Oh wouldit thou sing what heroes Windsor inspires;
bore, "'hom humbler joys of home-felt quict please, Whakings tirst bıcath'd upon her winding shore; Succellive study, exercise, and cale.
Or raise old warriors, whole ador'd remains He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields, In wecping vaults her hallow'd earth contains ; And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields ; With Idward's acts adorn the thining page, With chemic arts exalis the min'ral pow'rs, Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age; And draws the aroinatic fouls of How'rs : Draw monarchs chain’d, and Crelli's glorious field, Now marks the courle of rolling orbs on high; The lilies blazing on the regal thield: O'er figurd worlds now travels with his cyc; . Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall, Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store, And leave inanimate the naked wall, Consults the dead, and lives past ages o'er: Still in thy fong thould vanquish'd France appear, Or, wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood, And bleed for ever under Britain's lpear. Attends the duties of the wife and good,
Let lofter strains ill-fated Henry mourn, T'observe a mean, be to himself a friend, And palms eternal fourith round his urn. To follow nature, and regard his end ;
Here o'er thc Martyr King the marble weeps, Or looks on heaven with more than mortal eyes, And, fast beside him, once-fcar'd Edward Nicepst: Bids his free foul expatiate in the skies,
Whom not th' extended Albion could contain, Amid her kindred stars familiar roam,
From old Bclerium to the northern main, Survey the region, and confess her hoine ! The grave 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 foul possess, (Obfcure the place, and uninscrib'd the fionc). Whyse raptures fue me, and whole vihons bless, Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion fhed' Bear me, oh bear me to fequefier'd scenes, Heavens! what now wounds! and how her oid The bow'ry mazes, and surrounding greens ;
have bled ! To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes till, She saw her fous with purple deaths expire, Or where ye Muses sport on Cooper's Hill Her facred domes involv'd in rolling fire, (On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths Thall grow, A dreadful feries of inteftinc wars, While laits the mountain, or while Thames thall Inglorious triumphs, and dishoneft sears. I seem thro' consecrated walks to rove, [How). At length great Anna said — Let difcord cease!" I hear foft music die along ihe grove:
She said, the world obey'd, and all was peace! Led by the found, I roani from thade to fhade, Io that blest moment froin his
bed By godlike poets venerable made :
Old father Thames advanc'd his rev'rend head; Here his firit lays majestic Denham sung; His treiles dropp'd with dews, and o'er the stream There the last numbers How'd froin Cowley's His thining horns diffus'd a golden gleam: tongue.
Grav'd on his urn appear'd the incon, that guides O early log! what tears the river shed, His sivelling waters and alternate tides ; When the sad pomp along his banks were led ! The figur'd streams in waves of silver rollid, His dropping fwans on ev'ry note expire, And on their banks Augusta rofe in gold; And on his willows hung each Muse's lyre. Around bis throne the sea-born brothers food,
Since fate relentless stopp'd their heaveoly voice, Who swell with tributary urns his flood; No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; First, the fam'd authors of his ancient name, Who now shall charm the inades where Cowley The winding Isis, and the fruitful Thame; ftrung
The Keonet (wift, for silver cels renown'd; His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? The Loddon low, with verdant alders crown'd; But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings ! Cole, whose clear streams his flow'ry islands lare; Are these reviv d? or is it Granville fings? And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave:
The blue, transparent Vandalis appears; And naked youths and painted chicfs admire The gulphy Lee his sedgy tresses rears; Our speech, our colour, and our ftrange attire ! And lullen Mole, that hides his diving flood; Oh stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore to And filent Darent, stain'd with Danith blood,
Thore, High in the midst, upon his urn reclin’d, Till Conquest cease, and Slavery be no more ; His fca-green mantle waving with the wind, Till the freed Indians in their native groves The God appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes Rcap their own fruits, and won their fable lores; Where Windsor domes and pompous turrets rise ! Peru once more a race of kings behold, Then bow'd and spoke ; the winds forget to roar, And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold. And the huth'd waves glide softly to the shore. Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell,
Hail, facred Peace! hail, long expected days, In brazen bonds Thall barb'rous Discord dweil ; That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise ! Gigan:ic Pride, pałe Terror, gloomy Care, Tho' Tyber's streams immortal Rome behold, And mad Ambition shall attend her there; Tho' foaming Hermus swells with rides of gold, There purple Vengeance bath'd in gore retires, Frem Heaven itself tho' seven-fold Nilus flows, Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires; And harvests on a hundred realms bestows; There hateful Envy her own snakes shall feel, Thesc now no more shall be the Muses' thcines, And Persecution mourn her broken wheel; Loft in my fame, as in the sea their streams. There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain, Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons thine, And gasping furies thirst for blood in vain. And grores of lances glitter on the Rhine ; Here ceaie thy Hight, nor with unhallow'd lays Let barb’rous Ganges arm a fervile train; Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days : Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign! The thoughts of Gods let Granville's verse recite, No more my sons shall dye with British blood And bring the scenes of op'ning fate to light: Red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood : My humble Mufe, in unambitious strains, Safe on my Thore cach unmolested livain Paints the green forests and the How'ry plains, Shall tend the Aocks, or reap the bearded grain ; Where Peace descending bids her olives fprings The fhady empire shall retain no trace
And scatters bleflings from her dove-like wing. Of war or blood but in the fylvan chace; Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless davs, The trumpet seep while cheerful horns are blown, Pleas'd in the filent Thade with empty praise ; And arms employed on birds and bcasts alone. Enough for me, that to the lift'ning fivains Behold! th'alcending villas on my side First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains. Project long shadows o'cr the crystal tide. Behold! Augufta's glitt'ring spires increase, And temples rife, the beauteous works of peace
. $ 6. Two Choruses 10 ibe Tragedy of Brutus *. I fee, I sce, where two fair cities bend
Pori. Their ample bow, a new Whitchall ascend !
CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.
Groves, where immortal Sages taught, Thy trees, fair Windfor! now fhail leave their Where heavenly visions Plato fir'd, woods,
And Epicurus lay inspir'd! And half thy forests rush into my floods,
In vain your guiltless laurels 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 leas, where scarce the waters roll, And steel now glitters in the Muses' fhades. Where clearer Hames glow round the frozen pole;
ANTIS TROPHE 1. Or under fouthern fkies exalt their fails,
Oh heaven-born fisters! source of art!
Moral Truth, and mystic Song!
To what new clime, what distant sky,
Forsaken, friendless, shall ye fly?
• Altered from Shakespeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whose defire these two Choruses were conpoiled, to supply as many wanting in his play. They were set many years afterwards by the amous Bonescini, and performed at Buckingham-loufe.
See Arts her savage sons controul, Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure,
And Athens rising near the pole! Days of ease and nights of pleasure ;
Ode on Solitude * Pope. Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball ? HAPPY the man, whose with and care Freedom and Arts together fall ;
few paternal acres bound; Fvols grant whate'er ambition craves; Content to breathe his native air, And men, once ignorant, are Naves.
In his own ground. Oh curs d effects of civil hate,
Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state !
Whofe flocks fupply him with attire; Still when the luft of tyrant pow'r succeeds,
Whole trecs in fummer yield him thade, Some Athens perishes, forne Tully bleeds.
In winter fire. CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS. Biest, who can unconcern'dly find SEMICHORUS.
Hours, days, and years side soft away ; OH, Tyrant Love ! hast thou possess'd
In health of body, peace of mind, The prudcnt, Icarn’d, and virtuous breast?
Quier by day : Wildom and Wit in vain reclaim,
Sound Ncep by night, study and ease And Arts but soften us to feel thv Hame.
Together mix'd; Tweet recreation! Love, loft intruder, enters here;
And innocence which most does plcala But ent'ring learns to be sincere.
Thus unlamented let me dic;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
§ 8. The Dying Christian 10 bis Soul. Pope. CHORUS.
VITAL spark of heavenly fame!
Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame !
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Ceale, fond Nature, cease thy Itrife,
And let me languish into life!
Hark! they whisper ; angels say,
Sifter fpirit, come away!
What is this abforbs me quite,
Steals my fentes, fhuts my light,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?
The world recedes, it disappears !
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my cars
With lounds seraphic ring!
O Grave! where is thy Victory?
O Death! where is thy Sting:
$ 9. An Equy on Criticism. Pope. What tender paflions take their turns,
'T's hard to fay, if greater want of skill What home-felt raptures inove !
Appear in writing, or in judging, ill; His hcare now melts, now leaps, now bụrns, But, of the two, lefs dang'rous is th' offence With rev'rence, hope, and lose.
To tire our patience, than millead our ienie..
Some fuw in that, bu: numbers crr in this; Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, surmises ; Ten centure wrong for one who writes amissa Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,
A fool might once himself alone expose; Dangers, doubts, delays, furprises;
Now one in verse makes many more in prose. Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine ! 'Tis with our judgments as our watches; none Pureft love's unwafting treasure,
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.
• This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twolve years old.
In Jn Poets as true Genius is but rare,
Art from that fund each just supply provides; Truc Taste as seldom is the Critic's share , Works without show, and without pomp prefides: Bosh 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 vigour fills the whole, Let such teach others who theinfelvcs excel, Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve suftains; And cenfure frecly who have written well. Itself unlocn, but in th'effects remains. Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true; some, to whom Heaven in wit has been profuse, But are not Cricies to their judgment to?? Want as much more, to turn it to its use;
Yet, if we look more closely, we shall find For wit ard judgment often are at ftrife, Most have the feeds of judgment in their inind: Tho'mcant each other's aid, like man and wife. Nature afiords at leatt a glim’ring light; 'Tis more to guide, than spur the Muse's ftced; The lines, tho' touch'd but faitly, are drawr. Reftrain his fury, than provoke his speed: right.
The winged courser, like a gen'rous horse, But as the flightest sketch, if juar trac'd, Shews most true mettle when you check his course. Is by ill colouring but the more difyrac'd; Those rules of old discover'it, not devis'd, So by false learning is good fenfe defac'd. Are Nature still, but Nature methodiz'd. Some are bewilder'd in the maze of (cliools, Nature, like monarclay, is but restrain'd And fome made coxcombs Nature meant but fools. By the fame laws which first herself ordain'd. In search of wit thefc lose thcir common fente, Hear how learn'd Grcccc her useful rulcs inAnd then turn Critics in their own defence :
dites, Each 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 Parnafsus'top her sons the fhew'd, All fools hare still an itching to deride,
And pointed out those arduous paths they trod; And fain would be upon the laughing side.
licld'froin afar, aloft, th’immortal prize, If Mævius scribble in Apollo's fpite,
And urg'd the rest by cqual steps to rise. There are who judge still worse than he can write. Just precepts thus from great examples given,
Some have at firit for Wits, then Poets pafs'd, She drew from them what they deriv'd from Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at latt. heaven. Some neither can for Wits nor Crities pais; The gen'rous Critic fann'd the Poet's fire, As heavy mules are neither horse nor ais. And taught the world with reason to admire.
Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our isle, Then Criticism the Muse's hand-maid provid, As half-form'd infects on the banks of Nile; To dress her charms, and make her more bclavid: Unfinish'd things, one knovs not what to call, But following wits froin that intention stray'd; Their generation's 10 equivocal:
Who could not win ihc mistress, woo'd the maid; To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require; Against the Poets their own arms they turn'd, Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. Sure to hate most the men from whom they
But you, who feek 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 inistaken rulcs, How far your genius, taste, and learning yo; Prescribe, apply, and call their masters fools. Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet, Some on the Icaves of ancient authors prey ; And mark that point where lense and dulness mcct. Nor tine nor moths c'er fpoil'd fo much as they:
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit, Some drily plain, without invention's aid, And wisely curb'd proud man's pretending wit: Write dull receipts how pocts may be made. As on the land while here the occan gains, These leave the iente, their learning 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 wholc judgment the right course The solid pow'r of understanding fails ;
would steer, Where beams of warm imagination play, Know well each Ancient's
character: The memory's foft figures melt away.
His fable, subject, scope in ev'ry page; Onc science only will one genius fit;
Religion, country, genius of his age : So vast is art, so nariow human wit:
Without all these at once before your eyes, Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
Cavil you may, but never criticizc. But oft in those confia'd to single parts. Be Homer's works your study and delight; Like Kings, we lose the conquests gain'd before, Read them by day, and ineditate by night: By vain ambition still to inake them more : Thence form your judgment, thence your maxEach might his fervile province well command, ims bring, Would all but stoup to what they understand. And trace the Muses upward to their spring.
First follow Nature, and your judgment frame Still with itself compar'd his text peruse; By her just standard, which is still the same : Or let your coinment be the Mantuan Muse. Unerring Nature, ftill divinely bright,
When first young Maro in his boundless mind One clear, unchang'd, and univerfal light, A 'work t' outlast immortal Rome design'd, Life, force, and beauty, muft to all impart; Perhaps he scem'd abovc the Critic's law, At once the source, and end, and test of Art. And but from Nature's fountains (corn'd to draw:
But when t'examine ev'ry part he came,
(That on weak wings, from far, pursues your Nature and Homer were, he found, the same.
flights; Convinc'd, amaz'd, he checks the bold defign; Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes), And rules as strict his labour'd work confine, To teach vain Wits a science little known; As if the Stagyrite n'erlock'd each line.
T'admire superior sense, and doubt their own! Learn hence for ancient rules a just cstcem ; Of all the causes which conlpire to blind To copy nature is to copy them.
Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind, Some beauties yet no precepts can declare ; What the weak head with strongest bias rules, For there's a happiness as well as care : Is Pride, the never-failing vice of fools. Music resembles Poetry ; in each
Whatever Nature has in worth deried, Are nameless graces which no methods teach, She gives in large recruits of needful Pride; And which a master-hand alone can reach. For as in bodies, thus in souls we find (wind: If, where the rules not far enough extend What wants in blood and spirits, swell’d with (Since rules were made but to promote their end), Pride, where Wit fails, steps in to our defence, Some lucky Licence answer to the full
And fills up all the mighty void of sense. Th'intent propos’d, that Licence is a rule. If once right reason drives that cloud away, Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take,
Truth breaks upon us with refiftless day: May boldly deviate from the common track. Trust not 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 Crítics dare not mend ; A little learning is a dang'rous thing; From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, Drink deep, or taste not the Pierian spring: And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art; There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain, Which, without palling through the judgment, And drinking largely sobers us again. The heart, and all its end at once attains. Tgains Fir'd at first light with what the Muse imparts, In prospects thus, some objects please our eyes In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts, Which out of nature's common order rise, While from the bounded level of our mind The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice. Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; But tho' the Ancients thus their rules invade, But, more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise As Kings dispenfe with laws themselves have made, 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, ne'er transgre!s its end; Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; Let it be seldom, and compellid by need ;
Th'eternal snows appear already past, And have, at least, their precedent to plead. And the first clouds and mountains seem the last: The Critic elle proceeds without remorie, But, those attain'd, we tremble to survey Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. The growing labours of the lengthen'd way; I know there are, to whose presumptuous Th’increasing prospect tires our wand'ring eyes, thoughts
peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise ! Those freer beauties, ev'n in them, seem faults. A perfect judge will read each work of Wit Some figures monstrous and mis-thap'd appear, With the same fpirit that its author writ; Confider'd fingly, or beheld too near;
Survey the whole, nor seck Night faults to find,
But with th’occasion and the place comply, Corre&tly cold, and regularly low ;
Still green with bays each ancient altar stands, Is not th’exactness of peculiar parts ;
Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage, But the joint force and full result of all. Deftructive War, and all-involving Age. Thus when we view some well-proportion'd dome,
See from each clime the learn’d their incense bring! The world's just wonder, andev’n thine, O Romei · Hear, in all tongues confenting Pæans ring! No single parts unequally surprise ;
In praise fo just let ev'ry voice be join'd, All comes united to th’admiring cyes :
And fill the gen'ral chorus of mankind. No monstrous height, or breadth, or length ap- Hail, Bards triumphant! born in happier days; pear; Immortal heirs of universal praise !
The whcle at once is bold and regular. Whole honours with increase of ages grow, Whoever thinks a faukless piece to see, As streams roll down, enlarging as they flow; Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be.
Nations unborn your mighty names shall found, In ev'ry work regard the writer's end,
O may some spark of your celestial fire And if the means be just, the conduct true,