When o'er thy head the baleful fury flew,
And in dire omens fet thy fate to view :
A bird obfcene, fhe flutter'd o'er the field,

And scream'd thy death, and beat thy founding shield.
For lo! the time, the fatal time is come,

Charg'd with thy death, and heavy with thy doom.
When Turnus, though in vain, shall rue the day;
Shall curfe the golden belt he bore away ;
Shall wish too late young Pallas' spoils unfought,
And mourn the conqueft he fo dearly bought.
Th' event fhould glimmer through its gloomy shrowd,
Though yet confus'd, and struggling in the cloud.
So, to the traveller, as he journies on

To reach the walls of fome far diftant town,
If, high in air, the dubious turrets rite,
Peep o'er the hills, and dance before his eyes;
Pleas'd the refreshing profpect to survey,
Each fride he lengthens, and beguiles the way.
More pleas'd (the tempting fcene in view) to go,
Than penfively to walk the gloomy vales below.
Unless the theme within your bofom roll,

Work in each thought, and run through all the foul;
Unless you
alter with inceffant pain,

Pull down, and build the fabrick o'er again;

In vain, when rival-wits your wonder raise,

You'll ftrive to match those beauties which you praise.
To one just scope with fixt defign go on;

Let fovereign reafon dictate from her throne,
By what determin'd methods to advance,
But never trust to arbitrary chance.

3

Where

Where chance prefides, all objects wildly join'd,
Crowd on the reader, and distract his mind;
From theme to theme unwilling is he toft,
And in the dark variety is loft.

You fee fome Bards, who bold excurfions make
In long digreffions from the beaten track;
And paint a wild unneceffary throng

Of things and objects foreign to the fong;
For new descriptions from the road depart,
Devoid of order, difcipline, and art.

So, many an anxicus toil and danger past,
Some wretch returns from banishment at last;
With fond delay to range the fhady wood,
Now here, now there, he wanders from the road;
From field to field, from ftream to ftream he roves,
And courts the cooling fhelter of the groves.
For why fhould Homer * deck the gorgeous car,
When our rais'd fouls are eager for the war?
Or dwell on every wheel, when loud alarms,
And Mars in thunder calls the hofts to arms?
When with his heroes we fome daftard + find,
Of a vile aspect, and malignant mind;

His awkward figure is not worth our care;
His monstrous length of head, or want of hair,
Not, though he goes with mountain shoulders by,
Short of a foot, or blinking in an eye.

Such trivial objects call us off too long
From the main drift and tenor of the song.

* Vid. Hom. Iliad, Lib. V. v. 722.

+ Ibid. Lib. II. v. 212.

Drances* appears a jufter character,

In council bold, but cautious in the war;
Factious and loud the listening throng he draws,
And fwells with wealth, and popular applause;
But, what in our's would never find a place,
admit with grace.

The bold Greek language may

Why should I here the stratagems recite,
And the low tricks of every little wit?

Some out of time their stock of knowledge boast,
Till in the pedant all the Bard is loft.

Such without care their useless lumber place;
One black, confus'd, and undigested mafs,
With a wild heap encumbers every part,

Nor rang'd with grace, nor methodiz'd with art.
But then in chief, when things abftrufe they teach,
Themes too abftracted for the vulgar reach;
The hidden nature of the deities;

The fecret laws and motions of the skies ;
Or from what dark original began
The fiery foul, and kindled up the man
Oft they in odious instances engage,
And for examples ranfack every age,
With every realm; no hero will they pafs,
But act against the rules of time and place.
Avoid, ye youths, thefe practices; nor raise
Your fwelling fouls to fuch a thirst of praise.
Some Bards of eminence there are, we own,
Who fing fometimes the journies of the fun,
The rifing ftars, and labours of the moon :
*Eneid. Lib. XI. v. 336.

}

What

What impulfe bids the ocean rife and fall;
What motions shake and rock the trembling ball.
Though foreign subjects had engag'd their care,
The rage, the din and thunder of the war,
Through the loud field; the genius of the earth;
Or rules to raise the vegetable birth :

Yet 'tis but feldom, and when time and place
Require the thing, and reconcile to grace.
Those foreign objects neceffary feem,

And flow, to all appearance, from the theme;
With so much art fo well conceal'd they please,
When wrought with skill, and introduc'd with ease.
Should not Anchifes, fuch occasion shown,
Refolve the questions of his god-like fon?
If fouls depriv'd of heaven's fair light repair
Once more to day, and breathe the vital air?
Or if from high Olympus first they came,
Infpir'd with portions of ethereal flame,

Though here encumber'd with the mortal frame?
Tire not too long one fubject when you write,
For 'tis variety that gives delight;

But when to that variety inclin'd,

You feek new objects to relieve the mind,
Be fure let nothing forc'd or labour'd feem,
But watch your time, and steal from off
your
Conceal with care your longing to depart,
For art's chief pride is still to cover art.

*Vid. Æneid. Lib. VI.

theme.

}

So* Mulciber, in future ages skill'd,
Engrav'd Rome's glories on Æneas' shield,
On the bright orb her future fame enroll'd,
And with her triumphs charg'd the rifing gold;
Here figur'd fights the blazing round adorn,
There his long line of heroes yet unborn.
But if a Poet of Aufonian birth
Defcribes the various kingdoms of the earth,
Wide intersperst; the Medes, or fwarthy Moors;
The different natures of their foils explores,
And paints the trees that bloom on India's shores :
On his own land he looks with partial eyes,
And lifts the fair Hefperia to the skies;
To all the fair Hefperia he prefers,

And makes the woods of Bactria yield to her's,
With proud Panchaia; though her groves the boasts,
And breathes a cloud of incenfe from her coafts.
Hear then, ye generous youths, on this regard

I fhould not blame the conduct of the Bard,
Who in foft numbers, and a flowing strain,
Relieves and reconciles our cars again.
When I the various implements had fung
That to the fields, and rural trade belong,
In fweet harmonious meafures would I tell
How § nature mourn'd when the great Cæfar fell.
When Bacchus' curling vines had grac'd my lays,
The rural pleasures | next fhould share my praise.

*Virg. Æneid. Lib. VIII. v. 626.
Georgic. Lib. II. v. 136.

Lib. I. v. 466.