$20

His master's frowns impatient to sustain,
Strait he returns, and wins the day again.
This is the boy his better fates defign
To rife the future darling of the Nine;
For him the Mufes weave the facred crown,
And bright Apollo claims him for his own.
Not the leaft hope th' unactive youth can raise,
Dead to the prospect, and the sense of praise;
Who your just rules with dull attention hears,
Nor lends his understanding, but his ears,
Resolv'd his parts in indolence to keep,
He lulls his drowsy faculties afleep;
The wretch your best endeavours will betray,
And the fuperfluous care is thrown away.

I fear for him, who ripens ere his prime;
For all productions there's a proper time.
Oh! may no apples in the spring appear,
Out-grow the seasons, and prevent the year,
Nor mellow yet, till autumn ftains the vine,
And the full presses foam with floods of wine.
Torn from the parent-tree too soon, they lie
Trod down by every swain who passes by.

Nor should the youth too strictly be confin'd,
"Tis fometimes proper to unbend his mind;
When tir'd with study, let him seek the plains,
And mark the homely humours of the swains;
Or pleas'd the toils to fpread, or horns to wind,
Hunt the fleet mountain-goat, or forest-hind.
Mean time the youth, impatient that the day
Should pafs in pleafures unimprov'd away,

Steals

Steals from the fhouting crowd, and quits the plains,
To fing the fylvan Gods in rural strains;

Or calls the Muses to Albunea's fhades,
Courts, and enjoys, the visionary maids.
So labour'd fields, with crops alternate bleft,
By turns lie fallow, and indulge their rest ;
The swain contented bids the hungry foil
Enjoy a sweet viciffitude from toil;
Till earth renews her genial powers to bear,
And pays his prudence with a bounteous year.
On a strict view your folid judgment frame,
Nor think that genius is in all the fame ;
How oft the youth, who wants the facred fire,
Fondly mistakes for genius his defire?
Courts the coy Mufes, though rejected still,
Nor nature feconds his mifguided will:
He ftrives, he toils with unavailing care;
Nor heaven relents, nor Phoebus hears his prayer,
He with fuccefs, perhaps, may plead a cause,
Shine at the bar, and flourish by the laws;
Perhaps difcover rature's fecret fprings,
And bring to light th' originals of things.
But fometimes precept will fuch force impart,
That nature bends beneath the power of art.

Befides, 'tis no light province to remove
From the rash boy the fiery pangs of love;
Till, ripe in years, and more confirm'd in age,
He learns to bear the flames of Cupid's rage;
Oft hidden fires on all his vitals prey,
Devour the youth, and melt his soul away

By flow degrees;

-blot out his golden dreams,

and fighs;

The tuneful poets, and Castalian streams;
Struck with a fecret wound, he weeps
In every thought the darling phantoms rife;
The fancy'd charmer fwims before his fight,
His theme all day, his vifion all the night:
The wandering object takes up all his care,
Nor can he quit th' imaginary fair.

Mean time his fire, unconscious of his pain,
Applies the temper'd medicines in vain;
The plague, fo deeply rooted in his heart,
Mocks every flight attempt of Pæan's art;
The flames of Cupid all his breast inspire,
And in the lover's quench the poet's fire.

When in his riper years, without control,
The Nine have took poffeffion of his foul;
When, facred to their god, the crown he wears.
To other authors let him bend his cares;
Confult their ftyles, examine every part,
And a new tincture take from every art.
First study Tully's language and his fenfe,
And range that boundless field of eloquence..
Tully, Rome's other glory, ftill affords
The best expreffions and the richest words;
As high o'er all in eloquence he stood,
As Rome o'er all the nations the fubdued..
Let him read men and manners, and explore
The fite and distances from shore to shore ;
Then let him travel, or to maps repair,
And fee imagin'd cities rifing there;

Range

Range with his eyes the earth's fictitious ball,
And pafs o'er figur'd worlds that grace the wall,
Some in the bloody fhock of arms appear,

To paint the native horrors of the war ;
Through charging hosts they rush before they write,
And plunge in all the tumult of the fight.
But fince our lives, contracted in their date
By fcanty bounds and circumfcrib'd by fate,
Can never launch through all the depths of arts,
Ye youths, touch only the material parts;

There ftop your labour, there your fearch control,
And draw from thence a notion of the whole.
From diftant climes when the rich merchants come,
To bring the wealth of foreign regions home ;
Content the friendly harbours to explore,
They only touch upon the winding shore;
Nor with vain labour wander up and down
To view the land, and visit every town;
That would but call them from their former road,
To spend an age in banishment abroad;
Too late returning from the dangerous main,
To fee their countries and their friends again.
Still be the facred poets your delight,

Read them by day, confult them in the night;
From those clear fountains all your raptures bring,
And draw for ever from the Mufes' fpring.
But let your fubject in your bofom roll,
Claim every thought, and draw in all the foul.
That conftant object to your mind display,
Your toil all night, your labour all the day.

I need not all the rules of verfe difclofe,
Nor how their various measures to difpofe;
The tutor here with eafe his charge may guide
To join the parts and numbers, or divide.
Now let him words to ftated laws fubmit,
Or yoke to measures, or reduce to feet;
Now let him foftly to himfelf rehearse
His first attempts and rudiments of verfe;
Fix on thofe rich expreffions his regard
To ufe made facred by fome ancient bard;
Toft by a different guft of hopes and fears,
He begs of heaven an hundred eyes and ears.
Now here, now there, coy nature he purfues,
And takes one image in a thousand views.
He waits the happy moment that affords
The nobleft thoughts, and most expreffive words,
He brooks no dull delay; admits no rest ;
A tide of paffion ftruggles in his breaft;
Round his dark foul no clear ideas play,
The most familiar objects glide away.
All fixt in thought, astonish'd he appears,
His foul examines, and confults his ears;
And racks his faithlefs memory, to find
Some traces faintly sketch'd upon his mind.
There he unlocks the glorious magazine,
And opens every faculty within;

Brings out with pride their intellectual spoils,
And with the noble treasure crowns his toils;
And oft' meer chance fhall images difplay,
That ftrike his mind engag'd a different way.