To the unknown AUTHOR of the MEDAL; and of ABSALOM and ACHITOPHEL.
THUS pious ignorance, with dubious praise,
Altars of old to Gods unknown did raise:
They knew not the lov'd deity; they knew
Divine effects a cause divine did shew;
Nor can we doubt, when such these numbers are,
Such is their cause, though the worst Muse shall dare
Their facred worth in humble verse declare.
As gentle Thames, charm'd with thy tuneful fong,
Glides in a peaceful majesty along;
No rebel stone, no lofty bank, does brave
The easy passage of his filent wave :
So, facred poet, so thy numbers flow,
Sinewy, yet mild as happy lovers wooe;
Strong, yet harmonious too as planets move,
Yet soft as down upon the wings of love.
How sweet does virtue in your dress appear;
How much more charming, when much less severe!
Whilft you our fenfes harmlessly beguile,
With all th' allureinents of your happy stile;
Y' infinuate loyalty with kind deceit,
And into sense th' unthinking many cheat.
So the sweet Thracian with his charming lyre
Into rude nature virtue did inspire;
So he the favage herd to reason drew,
Yet scarce so sweet, so charmingly as you.
O that you would, with some fuch powerful charm,
Enervate Albion to just valour warm!
Whether much-fuffering Charles shall theme afford,
Or the great deeds of godlike James's sword.
Again fair Gallia might be ours, again
Another fleet might pass the subject main,
Another Edward lead the Britons on,
Or fuch an Ofsory as you did moan;
While in such numbers you, in fuch a strain,
Inflame their courage, and reward their pain.
Let false Achitophel the rout engage,
Talk easy Abfalom to rebel rage;
Let frugal Shimei curse in holy zeal,
Or modeft Corah more new plots reveal;
Whilft constant to himself, secure of fate,
Good David still maintains the royal state.
Though each in vain such various ills employs,
Firmly he stand, and ev'n those ills enjoys;
Firm as fair Albion, midft the raging main,
Surveys incircling danger with difdain.
In vain the waves affault the unmov'd shore,
In vain the winds with mingled fury roar,
Fair Albion's beauteous cliffs shine whiter than before.
Nor fhalt thou move, though hell thy fall conspire,
Though the worse rage of zeal's fanatic fire;
Thou best, thou greatest of the British race,
Thou only fit to fill great Charles's place.
Ah, wretched Britons! ah, too stubborn ifle!
Ah, stiff-neck'd Ifrael on blest Canaan's foil!
Are those dear proofs of heaven's indulgence vain,
Reftoring David and his gentle reign?
Is it in vain thou all the goods dost know,
Aufpicious stars on mortals shed below,
While all thy streams with milk, thy lands with honey
No more, fond isle! no more thyself engage
In civil fury, and inteftine rage:
No rebel zeal thy duteous land molest,
But a finooth calm foothe every peaceful breast.
While in such charming notes divinely sings
The best of poets, of the best of kings.
To Mr. DRYDEN, on his RELIGIO LAICL.
HOSE Gods the pious ancients did adore,
They learnt in verse devoutly to implore,
Thinking it rude to use the common way
Of talk, when they did to fuch beings pray.
Nay, they that taught religion first, thought fit
In verfe its facred precepts to tranfmit:
So Solon too did his first statutes draw,
And every little stanza was a law.
By these few precedents we plainly fee
The primitive design of poetry;
Which, by restoring to its native use,
You generously have rescued from abuse.
Whilft your lov'd Muse does in sweet numbers fing,
She vindicates her God, and godlike king,
Atheist, and rebel too, she does oppofe
(God and the king have always the fame foes).
Legions of verfe you raise in their defence,
And write the factious to obedience;
You the bold Arian to arms defy,
A conquering champion for the Deity
Against the whigs first parents, who did dare
To difinherit God-Almighty's heir.
And what the hot-brain'd Arian first began,
Is carried on by the Socinian,
Who ftill affociates to keep God a man.
But 'tis the prince of poets' task alone
T'affert the rights of God's and Charles's throne.
Whilst vulgar poets purchase vulgar fame
By chaunting Chloris' or fair Phyllis' name;
Whose reputation shall last as long,
As fops and ladies sing the amorous fong.
A nobler fubject wisely they refuse,
The mighty weight would crush their feeble Mufe.
So, story tells, a painter once would try
With his bold hand to limn a deity:
And he, by frequent practising that part,
Could draw a minor-god with wondrous art:
But when great Jove did to the workman fit,
The thunderer fuch horror did beget,
That put the frighted artist to a stand,
And made his pencil drop from 's baffled hand.
To Mr. DRYDEN, upon his Tranflation of the Third Book of VIRGIL'S GEORGICKS.
A PINDARIC ODE.
By Mr. JOHN DENNIS. W HILE mounting with expanded wings The Mantuan swan unbounded heaven explores,
While with feraphic sounds he towering fings,
Till to divinity he foars:
Mankind stands wondering at his flight,
Charm'd with his musick, and his height:
Which both tranfcend our praife.
Nay Gods incline their ravish'd ears,
And tune their own harmonious spheres,
To his melodious lays.
Thou, Dryden, canst his notes recite
In modern numbers, which express
Their mufick, and their utmost might:
Thou, wondrous poet, with success
Canst emulate his flight.
Sometimes of humble rural things,
Thy Muse, which keeps great Maro still in fight,
In middle air with varied numbers fings;
And fometimes her fonorous flight
To heaven fublimely wings.
But first takes time with majesty to rise,
Then, without pride, divinely great,
She mounts her native skies;
And, Goddess like, retains her state
on down again the flies.
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