Page images

[And naked youths and painted chiefs admi
Our fpeech, our colour, and our strange att
Oh ftretch thy reign, fair Peace! from the

Till Conqueft ceafe, and Slavery be no mo
Till the freed Indians in their native grow
Reap their own fruits, and woo their fable 1
Peru once more a race of kings behold,
And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold.
Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell,
In brazen bonds fhall barb'rous Difcord d
Gigantic Pride, pale Terror, gloomy Ca
And mad Ambition fhall attend her ther
There purple Vengeance bath'd in gore re
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fir
There hateful Envy her own Inakes fhall
Aud Perfecution mourn her broken whe
There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her ch
And grafping furies thirst for blood in v

The blue, transparent Vandalis appears;
The gulphy Lee his fedgy treffes rears;
And fullen Mole, that hides his diving flood;
And filent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood.
High in the midft, upon his urn reclin'd,
His fea-green mantle waving with the wind,
The god appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes
Where Windfor domes and pompous turrets rife!
Then bow'd and fpoke; the winds forget to roar,
And the hufh'd waves glide foftly to the fhore.
Hail, facred Peace! hail, long expected days,
That Thames's glory to the stars fhall raife!
Tho' Tybers' ftreams immortal Rome behold,
Tho' foaming Hermus fwells with tides of gold,
From Heaven itself tho' feven-fold Nilus flows,
And harvests on a hundred realms bestows;
These now no more fhall be the Mufes' themes,
Loft in my fame, as in the fea their streams.
Let Volga's banks with iron fquadrons thine,
And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine;
Let barb'rous Ganges arm a fervile train;
Be mine the bleffings of a peaceful reign!
No more my fons fhall dye with British blood
Red Iber's fands, or Ifter's foaming flood:
Safe on my fhore each unmolefted fwain
Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain;
The fhady empire fhall retain no trace
Of war or blood but in the fylvan chace;
Thetrumpets fleepwhile cheerful hornsareblown,
And arms employed on birds and beafts alone.
Behold! th' afcending villas on my fide
Project long fhadows o'er the chryf i tide.
Behold! Augufta's glitt'ring fpires increase,
And temples rife, the beauteous works of peace.
I fee, I fee, where two fair cities bend
Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend!
There mighty nations fhall enquire their doom,
The world's great oracle in times to come;
There kings fhall fue, and fuppliant ftates be feen YE
Once more to bend before a British queen.

Thy trees, fair Windfor! now fhall leave their

And half thy forefts rufh into my floods,
Bear Britain's thunder, and her crofs difplay,
To the bright regions of the rifing day:
Tempt icy feas, where fcarce the waters roll,
Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole;
Or under fouthern fkies exalt their fails,
Led by new ftars, and borne by spicy gales:
For me the balm fhall bleed, the amber flow,
The coral redden, and the ruby glow:
The pearly fhell its lucid globe infold,
And Phoebus warm the rip'ning ore to gold,
The time fhall come when, free as feas or wind,
Unbounded Thames fnall flow for all mankind;
Whole nations enter with each fwelling tide,
And feas but join the regions they divide;
Earth's diftant ends our glory fhall behold,
And the new world launch forth to feek the old.
Then fhips of uncouth form fhall ftem the tide,
And feather'd people crowd my wealthy fide;

Here ceafe thy flight, nor with unhallow Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden The thoughts of gods let Granville's verfe And bring the fcenes of op'ning fate to 1 My humble Mufe, in unambitious ftrain Paints the green forefts and the flow'ry p Where Peace defcending bids her olives And fcatters bleflings from her dove-like Ev'n I more fweetly pafs my careless da Pleas'd in the filent fhade with empty pr Enough for me, that to the lift'ning fwai First in these fields I fung the fylvan ftra

$6. Two Chorufes to the Tragedy of Bra



fhades, where facred truth is fough
Groves, where immortal Sages tau
Where heavenly vifions Plato fir'd
And Epicurus lay infpir'd!

In vain your guiltlefs laurels ftood
Unfpotted long with human blood
War, horrid war, your thoughtless walks
And steel now glitters in the Mufes' fha


O heaven-born fifters! fource of a Who charm the fenfe, or mend the Who lead fair Virtue's train along Moral Truth, and myftic Song! To what new clime, what diftant Forfaken, friendlefs, fhall ye fly? Say, will ye blefs the bleak Atlantic th Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no m


When Athens finks by fates nnju
When wild Barbarians fpurn her
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmoft tho
Shall ceafe to blufh with ftrangers

Altered from Shakspeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whofe defire these two Chor compofed, to fupply as many wanting in his Play. They were fet many years afterwards by th Bononcini, and performed at Buckingham-houfe.


In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Tafte as feldom is the Critic's fhare;
Both muft alike from Heaven derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as thofe to write.
Let fuch teach others who themselves excel,
And cenfure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true;
But are not Critics to their judgment too?

Yet, if we look more closely, we fhall find
Moft have the feeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn


But as the flightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
Is by ill-colouring but the more difgrac'd';
So by falfe learning is good fenfe defac'd.
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
Andfomemade coxcombs Nature meant butfools.
In fearch of wit thefe lofe their common fenfe,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a Rival's or an Eunuch's fpite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing fide.
If Mævius fcribble in Apollo's fpite,
There are whojudge ftill worfe than he can write.
Some have at firit for Wits, then Poets pafs'd,
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fool at laft,
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pafs;
As heavy mules are neither horse nor ass.
Thofe half-learn'dwritings,num'rous in our ifle,
As half-form'd infects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
'Their generation's fo equivocal:
To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require;
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.
But you, who feek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a Critic's noble name,
Be fure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, talte, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be difcreet,
And mark that point where fenfe and dullnefs
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit, [meet.
And wifely curb'd proud man's pretending wit:
As on the land while here the ocean gains,
In other parts it leaves wide fandy plains;
Thus in the foul while memory prevails,
The folid pow'r of understanding fails;
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's foft figures melt away,
One fcience only will one genius fit;
So vaft is art, fo narrow human wit:
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in thofe confin'd to fingle parts.
Like Kings, we lose the conqueft gain'd before,
By vain ambition till to make them more:
Each might his fervile province well command,
Would all but ftoop to what they understand.

First follow Nature, and your judgment frame
By her just standard, which is ftill the fame;
Unerring Nature, ftill divinely bright,
One clear, unchang'd, and univerfal light,
Life, force, and heauty, must to all impart;
At once the fource, and end, and test of Art.

Jas C

Art from that fund each just fapply provide
Works without fhow,and without pomp prefi
In fome fair body thus th' informing foul
With fpirits feeds, with vigour fills the who
Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve fuftain
Itfelf unfeen, but in th' effect remains.
Some, to whom Heaven in wit has been prof
Want as much more, to turn it to its ufe;
For wit and judgment often are at ftrife,
Tho' meant each other's aid, like man and y
'Tis more to guide, than fpur the Mufe's fte
Restrain his fury, than provoke his fpeed:
The winged courser, like a genʼrous horfe
Shewsmuch true mettle whenyoucheckhiscom
Thofe rules of old difcover'd, not devis'd th
Are Nature ftill, but Nature methodiz'd.
Nature, like monarchy, is but restrain'd
By the fame laws which first herself ordain
Hear how learn'd Greece her useful r

When to reprefs, and when indulge our flig
High on Parnaffus' top her fons the fhew'd
And pointed out thofe arduous paths they t
Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize,
And urg'd the reft by equal steps to rife.
Juft precepts thus from great examples give
She drew from them what they deriv'd t

The gen'rous Critic fann'd the Poet's fire,
And taught the world with reafon to adini
Then Criticism the Mufe's handmaid prov
To drefs her charms, and make her more bela
But following wits from that intention stra
Who could not win the mistress,woo'd the m
Against the Poets their own arms they turn
Sure to hate moft the men from whom
So modern 'Pothecaries, taught the art [lea
By Doctor's bills to play the Doctor's part
Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,
Prefcribe, apply, and call their masters foo
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey
Nor time nor moths e'er (poil'd fo much as t
Some drily plain, without invention's aid,
Write dull receipts how poets may be made
Thefe leave the fenfe, their learning to dip
And thofe explain the meaning quite away.
You then whofe judgment the right co
would fteer,

Know well each Ancient's proper character
His fable, fubject, fcope, in ev'ry page:
Religion, country, genius of his age:
Without all thefe at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticize.

Be Homer's works your ftudy and delight;
Read them by day, and meditate by night
Thence form your judgment, thence y
maxims bring,

And trace the Mufes upwards to their fprin
Still with itself compar'd his text perule;
Or let your comment be the Mantia's Muf

When firft young Maro in his boundless m
A work t'outlaft immortal Rome defign'd,
Perhaps he feem'd above the Critics law,
And but fromNature's fountains scorn'd to dr


But when t'examine ev'ry part he came,
Nature and Homer were, he found, the fame.
Convinc damaz'd, he checks the bold defign;)
And rules as ftrict his labour'd work confine,
As if the Stagyrite o'erlook'd each line.
Larn bence for ancient rules a juft efteem;
To copy nature is to copy them.

Some beauties yet no precepts can declare;
For there's a happiness as well as care:
Mafic refembles Poetry; in each
Are nameles graces which no methods teach,
And which a matter-hand alone can teach.
If, where the rules not far enough extend
(Since rules were made but to promote their end)
Some lucky Licence anfwer to the full
Th' intent propos'd, that Licence is a rule.
Thus Pegalus, a nearer way to take,
May boldly deviate from the common track.
Great Wits fometimes may gloriously offend,
And rife to faults true Crítics dare not mend;
From vulgar bounds with brave diforder part,
And fnatch a grace beyond the reach of art;
Which, without paffing through the judgment,
The heart, and all its end at once attains. [gains
In profpects thus, fome objects please our eyes
Which out of nature's common order rife,
The fhapelets rock or common precipice.
But tho the Ancients thus their rules invade,
Askings difpenfewithlawsthemfelveshavemade, New diftant fcenes of endless science rife!

Of all the caufes which confpire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and mifguide the mind,
What the weak head with ftrongeft bias rules,
Is Pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth denied,
She gives in large recruits of needful Pride;
For as in bodies, thus in fouls we find [wind:
What wants in blood and fpirits, fwell'd with
Pride, where Wit fails, fteps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of fenfe.
If once right reafon drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with refiftless day.
Truft not yourfelf; but, your defects to know,
Make ufe of ev'ry friend-and ev'ry foe.
A little learning is a dang'rous thing;
Drink deep, or tafte not the Pierian fpring:
There fhallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely fobers us again.
Fir'd at firft fight, with what the Mufe imparts,
In fearlefs youth we tempt the heights of Arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor fee the lengths behind;
But, more advanc'd, behold with strange surprife

So pleas'd at firft the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and feem to tread the sky;
Th' eternal fnows appear already past,
And the first clouds and mountains feem the lafta
But, thofe attain'd, we tremble to furvey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
Th' increafing profpect tires our wand'ring eyes,
Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arife!

Moderns, beware! or, if you must offend
gainst the precept, ne'er tranfgefs its end;
et it be feldom, and compell'd by need;
And have, at least, their precedent to plead.
The Critic elfe proceeds without remorse,
beizes your fame, and puts his laws in force.
are, to whofe prefumptuous
Thofe freer beauties, ev'n in them, feem faults.
Some figures monitrous and mis-fhap'd appear,
Confider'd fingly, or beheld too near;
Wach, but proportion'd to their light, or place,
Due ditance reconciles to form and grace.
A predent chief not always muft difplay
is pow'rs in equal ranks, and fair array;
But with th' occafion and the place coinply,

A perfect judge will read each work of Wit
With the fame fpirit that its author writ;
Survey the whole, nor feek flight faults to find,
Where nature moves, & rapture warms the mind;
Nor lofe, for that malignant dull delight,
The gen'rous pleafure to be charm'd with wit.
But in fuch lays as neither ebb nor flow,
Correctly cold, and regularly low;

Conceal his force, nay feem fometimes to fly. That fhunning faults, one quiet tenor keep;

Thote oft are ftratagems which errors feem;
Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream.
Above the reach of facrilegious hands;
Sral green with bays each ancient altar ftands,
Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage,
Derative War, and all-involving Age.

We cannot blame indeed-but we may fleep.
In Wit, as Nature, what affects our hearts
Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full refult of all.
Thuswhenweview fome well-proportion'd dome,

Sadrom each clime the learn'dtheir incenfebring! The world's just wonder,and e'en thine,O Rome;

Her, in all tongues confenting Pæans ring!
In praife to juft let ev'ry voice be join'd,
And fal the gen'ral chorus of mankind.
Hail, Bards triumphant! born in happier days; |
Immortal heirs of univerfal praise!
Whole honours with increafe of ages grow,

streams roll down, enlarging as they flow; Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er fhall be.


anborn your mighty names fhall found, dorids applaud that muft not yet be found! be lait, the meaneft, of your fons infpire fpark of your celeftial fire


(That on weak wings, from far, purfues your

Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes),
To teach vain Wits a fcience little known;
T'admire fuperior fenfe, and doubt their own!

No fingle parts unequally furprife;

All comes united to th' admiring eyes:
No monftrous height, or breadth, or length


The whole at once is bold and regular.
Whoever thinks a faultlefs piece to fee,

In ev'ry work regard the writer's end,
Since none can compafs more than they intend,
And if the means be juft, the conduct true,
Applaufe, in fpite of trivial faults, is due.


As men of breeding, fometimes men of wit, T'avoid great errors, muft the lefs commit; Neg the rules each verbal Critic lays, For not to know fome trifles is a praife. Moft Critics, fond of fome fubfervient art, Still make the Whole depend upon a Part: They talk of principles, but notions prize; And all to one lov'd folly facrifice.

A vile conceit, in pompous words expre Is like a clown in regal purple dreft: For diff'rent ftyles with diff'rent fubjects As fev'ral garbs with country, town, and Some, by old words, to fame have made pre Ancients in phrafe, mere moderns in their Such labour'd nothings, in fo ftrange aft Amaze th' unlearn'd,and make the learne Unlucky as Fungofo in the play, Thefe fparks, with awkward vanity, difp fage,What the fine gentleman wore yesterday And but fo mimic ancient wits at belt, As apes our grandfires, in their doublets In words, as thions, the fame rule will Alike fantastic, if too new or old. Be not the firft by whom the new are trie Nor yet the last to lay the old afide.

Once on a time, La Mancha's Kaight, they fay, A cert in Bard encount'ring on the way, Difcours'd in terms as juft, with looks as As e'er could Dennis, of the Grecian stage; Concluding all were defp'rate fots and fools Who durit depart from Aritotle's rules. Our Author, happy in a judge fo nice, Produc'd nisplay,andbegg'd the Knight'sadvice, Made him obferve the fubje&t and the plot, The manners, paffions, unities: what not? All which, exact to rule, were brought about, Were but a Combat in the lifts left out. What! leave the Combat out?" exclaims the Knight;

Yes, or we must renounce the Stagyrite. "Not fo, by heaven!" he anfwers in a rage; "Knights, fquires, and steeds, muft enter on the "stage."

So vaft a throng the ftage can ne'er contain. "Then build a new, or act it in a plain." Thus Critics of lets judgment than coprice, Curious, not knowing; not exact, but nice, Form thort ideas; and offend in arts (As most in manners) by a love to parts.

Some to Conceit alone their taste confine, And glitt ring thoughts ftruck out at ev'ry line; Pleas'd with a work where nothing's juft or fit; One glaring Chaos and wild heap of wit. Poets, like painters, thus, unfkiil'd to trace The naked nature and the living grace, With gold and jewels cover ev'ry part, And hide with ornaments their want of art. True wit is Nature to advantage drefs'd; What oft was thought, but ne'er fo wellexprefs'd; Something,whofe truth convinc'datfight wefind, That gives us back the image of our mind. As flades more fweetly recommend the light, So modeft plainnefs fets off fprightly wit. For works may have more wit thandoes 'emgood, As bodies perish thro' excess of blood.

Others for language all their care exprefs, And value books, as women men, for dress: Their praife is ftill-The Style is excellent; The Senfe they humbly take upon content. Words are like leaves; and, where they moft abound,

Much fruit of fenfe beneath is rarely found.
Falfe eloquence, like the prifmatic glass,
Its gaudy colours ipreads on ev'ry place;
The face of Nature we no more furvey;
All glares alike, without diftinétion gay:
But true expreffion, like th' unchanging
Clears and improves white'er it fhines upon;
It gilds all objects, but it alters none.
Expression is the drefs of thought, and fill
Appears more decent as more fuitable;

But moft by numbers judge a poet's i And fimooth or rough with them is right or In thebright Mule tho'thoufandcharms co Her voice is all thefe tuneful fools adm Who haunt Parnaflus but to please their Not mend their minds; as fome to church Not for the doctrine, but the music the Thefe equal fyllables alone require, Tho' oft the ear the open vowels tire; While expletives their feeble aid do joi And ten low words oft creep in one dull While they ring round the fame unvaried With fure returns of still expected rhy Where'er you find "the cooling western k In the next line, "it whispers thro' the If crystal streams "with pleafingmurmurs Thereader'sthreaten'd(notinvain) with Then, at the laft and only couplet frau With fome unmeaning thing they call at A needlefs Alexandrine ends the fong, That, like a wounded snake,drags its lov Leave fuch to tune their own dull thyn

[blocks in formation]

Hear how Timotheus' varied lays furpri Sun,And bid alternate paffions fall and rife! While, at each change, the ton of Libyan Now burns with glory, and then melts with Now his fierce cyes with fparkling fury Now fighs fteal ont, and tears begin to flo

« PreviousContinue »