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No feas fo rich, so gay no banks appear, Here his first lays majeftic Denham sung;
No lake fo gentis, and no spring fo clcar; There the last numbers flow'd from Cowley's
Nor Po fo lwells the fabling Poet's lays,

While led along the skies his current strays, early lost! what tears the river thed,
As chine, which visits Windsor's fam'd abodes, When the sad pump along his banks was led!
To grace the manfion of our earthly Gods: His drooping swans on ev'ry note expire, ||
Nor all tis stars above a lustre shew

And on his willows hung cach Muse's lyre. Like the bright beauties on thy banks below; Since faterelentleissopp'd their heavenly voice, Where Jore, fubdued by mortal pallion ftill, No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; Mighe change Olympus for a nobler hill. Who now shall charm the shades where Cowley Happy the man whom this bright Court ap- Itrung proves t,

His living haip, and lofty Denham sung? His fov'reign favours, and his country loves : But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings! Happy, next him, who to these thades retires, Are these reviv'd? or is it Granville sings? Wiem Nature charms, and whom the Muse | 'Tis yours, my Lord, to bless our foft retreats, inspires;

And call the Iuses to their ancient feats; Whom humbier joys of home-felt quiet please, To paint anew the flow'ry sylvan scenes, Succeílive study, exercise, and case.

To crown the forests with immortal greens, He gathers health from herbs the forest yields, Make Windfor hills in lofty numbers rise, And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields; And lift her turrets nearer to the skies; With chemic arts exalts the min’ral pow'rs, To sing those honours you deserve to wear, And draws the aromatic fouls of flow'rs : And add new lustre to her silver star. S Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high; Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, Oer figurd worlds now travels with his eye; Surrey, the Granville of a former age : Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store, Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance, Consules the dead, and lives past ages o’er: Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance : Or wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood, In the same shades the Cupids tun'd his lyre, Attends the duties of the wife and good, To the same notes, of love, and soft desire: Ti observe a mean, be to himself a friend, Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, To follow nature, and regard his end;

Then fill'd the groves, as hcavenly Mira now. Or looks on heaven with more than mortal eyes, Oh wouluft thou sing what herces Windsor bore, Bids his free foul expatiate in the skies, What kings first breath'd upon her winding lhore; Amid her kindred stars familiar roam,

Or raise old warriors, whose ador'd remains Survey the region, and confess her home! In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains; Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd; With Edward's acts adorn the thining page, Thus Atticus, and Tiumbal thus, retir'd. Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age.

Ye sacred Nine! that all my foul possess, Draw monarchs chain'd, and Creíli's glorious field, Whole raptures tire me, and whose visions bless, The lilies blazing on the regal shield : Bear me, oh bear me to fequefter'd scenes, Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall, $$ The bow'ry mazes, and surrounding greens; And leave inanimate the naked wall, To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill, Still in thy song should vanquish'd France appear, Or where ye Mules sport on Cooper's Hill And bleed for ever under Britain's spear. (On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow, Let lofter strains ill-fated Henry mourn, While laits the mountain, or while Thames shall And palms eternal flourish round his urn. I seem thro' confecrated walks to rove, I [flow). Here o'er the Martyr King the marble weeps, I hear soft music dic along the grove:

And, fast beside him, once-fear'd Edward sleeps: Led by the found, I roam from thade to shade, Whom not th’extended Albion could contain, By godlike pouts venerable made :

From old Belerium to the northern main,

VARIATIONS. * It food thus :

All the lines that follow were not added to the And force great Jove, if Jove's a lover ftiil, poem till the year 1710. What immediately fola To change Olympus, &c.

jowed this, and made the conclusion, were there : + Happy the man who to the shades retires; But doubly happy, if the Muse inspires !

My humble Muse, in unambitious Itrains, Bleft whom the sweets of home-feli quiet please ;

Paints the green forests and the flow'ry plains; But far more blett, who Itudy joins with ease!

Where I obscurely pass my careless days, 1 11 food ibus :

Pleas'd in the filent thade with empty praise ; Methinks around your holy scenes I rove,

Enough for me that to the list'ning swains
And hear your music echoing thro' the grove;

First in these fields I sung the fyivan strains.
With transport visit each inspiring Thade,
By godlike poets venerable made.

If Originally thus : 1 What fighs, what murmurs, fillid the vocal shore ! When brafs decays, when trophies lie o'erthrown, His tunelul fwans were heard to sing no more.

And mould'ring into duft drops she proud ftore.


The grave unites; where c'en the great find rest, Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons lhinell, And blended lie th'oppressor and th’ oppreit! And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine ;

Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known Ler barb'rous Ganges arm a servile train; (Obscure the place, and uninfcrib'd the stone). Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign ! Oh fact accurs’d! what tears has Albion thed *! No more my fons thall dye with British blood Heavens! what new wounds! and how her old Red Iber's lands, or Ister's foaming flood : have bled!

Safe on my thore each unmolested Twain She saw her sons with purple deaths expire, Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grains Her sacred domes involv'd in rolling fire, The shady empire Thall retain no trace A dreadful series of intestine wars,

Of war or blood but in the fylvan chace; Inglorious triumphs, and dishoneft scars. The trumpet sleep while cheerful horns are blowing At length great Anna said — Let discord cease t!' And arins employ'd on birds and beasts alone. She said, the world obey'd, and all was peace! Behold! th'alcending villas on my side

In that blest moment from his oozy bed Projeet long shadows o'er the crystal tide. Old farher Thames advanc'd his rev'rend head I; Behold! Augusta's glitt'ring spires increase, His trefies dropp'd with dews, and o’er the stream And temples rise, the beauteous works of peace. His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam : I see, I fee, where two fair cities bend Gravid on his urn appear'd the moon, that guides Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend! His swelling waters and alternate tides; There mighty nations Thall enquire their doom, The figur'd streams in waves of silver roll’d, The worid's great oracle in times to come; And on their banks Augusta role in gold; There kings ihall sue, and fuppliant states be seen Around his throne the tea-born brothers stood, Once more to bend before a British queen. Who swell with tributary urns his flood !

Thy trees, fair Windsor! now thall leave their First, the fam'd authors of his ancient name, And half thy forestsruth into my flouds , (woods,

The winding lsis, and the fruitful Thaine; Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display,
The Kennet fivift, for silver eels renown'd; To the bright regions of the rising day:
The Loddon Now, with verdant alders crown'd; Tempt icy feas, where scarce the waters roll,
Cole, whose clear streams his flowry illands lave; Where clearer fames glow round the frozen pole;
And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave: Or under fouthern skies exalt their fails,
The blue, trantparent Vandalis appears; Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales:
The gulphy Lee his sedgy treffis reais; For me the balm shall bleed, the amber flow,
And lullen Mole, that hides his diving flood; The coral redden, and the ruby glow;
And silent Darent, stain'd with Danith blood. The pearly shell its lucid globe infold,

High in the midst, upon his urn reclind, And Phæbus warm the rip'ning ore to gold.
His sea-green mantle waving with the wind, The time shall come when, free as 'cas or wind,
The God appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind;
Where Windsor domes and pompous turrets rise! Whole nations enter with each swelling tide,
Then bow'd and spoke; the winds forget to roar, And scas but join the regions they divide;
And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore. Earth's distant ends our g!ory shall behold,

Hail, sacred Peace! hail, long-expected days, And the new world launch forth to seek the old, That Thames's glory to the stars Thall raise ! Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide, Tho' Tyber's sticams immortal Rome behold, And feather d people crowd my wealthy fide; Tho' foaming Hermus swells with rides of gold, And naked youths and painted chiefs admire Froin Heaven itself tho' seven-fold Nilus flows, Our speech, our colour, and our strange attire! And harvests on a hundred realms bestows; Oh stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from thore to These now no more shall be the Muses themes, thore, Loft in my fame, as in the sea their streams. Till Conquest ccase, and Slavery be no more;

VARIATIONS. Originally thus :

With pearl and gold his tow'ry front was dreft, Oh fact accurs'd! oh sacrilegious brood,

The tributes of the distant East and Weft. Sworn to rebellion, principled in blood!

ll Originally thus : Since that dire morn what tears has Albion thed!

Let Venice boast her tow'rs amidst the main, Gods! what new wounds, &c.

Where the rough Adrian swells and roars in vain; Till Anna rose, and bade the Furies ceare;

Here not a town, but spacious realm, shall have Let ibere be peace-lhe said, and all was peace. A fure foundation on the rolling wave, Originally food tbe fe lines:

& Were originally tbus : From Thore to shore exulting shouts he heard, Now shall our fleets the bloody cross display O'er alt his banks a lambent light appeard;

To the rich regions of the rising day, With sparkling flames heaven's glowingconcave Shone, Or those green illes where headlong Titan Ateepe Fictitious stars, and glories not her own.

His hissing axle in th Atlantic deeps; He saw, and gently rose above the stream;

Tempt icy seas, &c. His thining horns diffufe a golden gleam ;


Till the freed Indians in their native groves

ANTISTROPHE II. Reap their own fruits, and woo their fable loves; Ye Gods! what justice rules the ball ?. Peru once more a race of kings behold,

Freedom and arts together fall; And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold.

Fools grant'whate'er ambition craves ; Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell,

And men, once ignorant, are slaves. In brazen bonds shall barb'rous Discord dwell; Oh curs'd effects of civil hate, Gigantic Pride, pale Terror, gloomy Cate,

In ev'ry age, in cv'ry state ! And mad Ambition shall attend her there; Still when the luft of tyrant pow'r succeeds, There purple Vengeance bath'd in gore retires, Some Athens perishes, fome Tully bleeds. Her weapons blunted, and extin&t her fires; There hateful Envy her own snakes shall feel,

CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS. And Perfecution mourn her broken wheel;

SEMICHORUS. There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain,

OH, Tyrant Love ! haft thou possess’d And gasping furies thirst for blood in vain.

The prudent, learn’d, and virtuous breast Here ceate thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays Wisdom and wit in vain reclaim, Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days: And Arts but soften us to feel thy Aame. The thoughts of Gods let Granville's verse recite, Love, soft intruder, enters here; And bring the scenes of op'ning fate to light: But ent'ring Icarns to be sincere. My humble Muse, in unambitious strains,

Marcus, with blushes, owns he loves; Paints the green forests and the flow'ry plains, And Brutus tenderly reproves. Where Peace descending bids her olives spring, Why, Virtue, dort thou blame desire, And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing.

Which Nature has impress'd ? Evin I more fiveetly pass my careless days,

Why, Nature, dost thou soonest fire Pleas'd in the filent shade with empty praise ;

The mild and gen'rous breast?
Enough for me, that to the lift’ning swains
Firk in these fields I sung the sylvan strains. Love's purer flames the Gods approve;

The Gods and Brutus bend to love; 4. Two Choruses to the Tragedy of Brutus *.

Brutus for absent Portia sighs,

And stemer Cassius melts at Junia's eyes.

What is loose love? a transient gutt,

Spent in a sudden storm of luft,

A vapour fed from wild deire,

A wand'ring, self-consuming fire.
YE Thades, where facred truth is fought;
Groves, where immortal Sages taught,

But Hymen's kinder flames unite,

And burn for ever one; Where heavenly visions Plato fir'd,

Chaste as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
And Epicurus lay inspir'd !

Productive as the Sun.
In vain your guiltless laurels stood
Unspotted long with human blood.

War, horrid war, your thoughtless walks invades,

Oh, source of ev'ry social tie,
And steel now glitters in the Muses shades. United with, and mutual joy!

What various joys on one attend,

As son, as father, brother, husband, friend? Oh heaven-born fifters ! fource of art!

Whether his hoary fire he spies, Who charm the sense, or mend the heart;

While thousand grateful thoughts arise ; Who lead fair Virtue's train along,

Or mects his fpoufe's fonder eye, Moral truth, and mystic Song !

Or views his smiling progeny; To what new clime, what diitant sky,

What tender passions take their turns, Forsaken, friendless, shall ye fly?

What home-felt raptures move! Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore !

His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns, Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?

With rev'rence, hope, and love.
When Athens links by fates unjust,

Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmises ;
When wild Barbarians fpurn her dust; Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,
Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore

Dangers, doubts, delays, furprifes;
Shall cease to blush with strangers' gore; Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine !
See Arts her savage fons controul,

Pureft love's unwasting treasure,
And Athens rising near the pole!

Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure, Till some new Tyrant lifts his purple hand, Days of ease and nights of pleasure; And civil madness tears them from the land.

Sacred Hymen! these are thine. * Altered from Shakespeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whole desire these two Choruses were como posed, to supply as many wanting in his play. They were set many years afterwards by the famous Bonona sini, and performed at Buckinghm-house.




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§ 5. Ode on Solitude *. Pore.

'Tis with our judgments as our watches; nono HAPPY the man, whose with and care Go just alike, yet each believes his own. A few paternal acres bound ;

In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
Content to breathe his native air,

True Tafte as feldom is the Critic's share";
In his own ground.

Both must alike from Heaven derive their light,
Whose herds with milk, whose ficlds with bread, Let futh teach others who themselves excel,

These born to judge, as well as those to write.
Whose flocks fupply him with attire ;

And censure frecly who have written well.
Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true;

But are not Critics to their judgment too? Blest, who can unconcern’dly find :

Yet, if we look more closely, we shall find Hours, days, and years side foft away; Most have the feeds of judgment in their mind: In health of body, peace of mind,

Nature arlords at least a glim’ring light;
Quiet by day.

Thelines, tho’touch'd butfaintly, are drawn right. Sound sleep by night, study and ease

But as the flighteft sketch, if justly trac'd, Together mix’d; sweet recreation !

Is by ill colouring but the more disgrac'd;
And innocence, which most does please

So by false learning is good sense defac'd.
With meditation.

Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,t

And fome made coxcombs Nature meant but fools. Thus let me live, unfcen, unknown,

In search of wit these lose their common sense, Thus unlamented let me die;

And then turn Critics in their own defences
Steal from the world, and not a stone

Each burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Tell where I lie.

Or with a Rival's or an Eunuch's spite.
All fools have still an itching to deride,

And fain would be upon the laughing fide. § 6. The dying Chrijiian to bis Soul. Pore.

If Mavius fcribble in Apollo's fpite,
O D E.

There arc who judge still worse than he can write. VITAL spark of hcavenly flame!

Some have at firit for Wits, then Poets paf'd, Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame!

Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last. Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying, Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pass; Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!

As heavy mules are neither horse nor afs. Cease, fond Nature, cease thy Itrife,

Those half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our ille

, And let me languish into life!

As half-form'd infccts on the banks of Nile; Hark! they whisper; angels say,

Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call, Sister Spirit, come away!

Their generation's so equivocal : What is this absorbs me quite,

To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require ; Steals my fentes, fhuts my fight,

Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?

But you, who seek to give and merit fame, Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death:

And justly bear a Critic's noble name,

Be sure yourself and your own reach to know, The world recedes, ir disappears !

How far your genius, taste, and learning go ; Heav'n opens on my eyes ! iny cars With founds seraphic ring !

Launch not beyond your depth, but be discreet


And mark that point where fenfe and dulness meet. Lend, lend your wings! I mount ! I fly!

Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit,
O Grave! where is thy Victory?
O Death! where is thy Sting?

And wisely curb’d proud man's pretending wit.
As on the land while here the ocean gains,

In other parts it leaves wide fandy plains ;
§ 7 An Ef'ay on Criticism. POPE.

Thus in the foul while memory prevails


The folid pow'r of understanding fails ; 'TS hard to say, if greater want of skill

Where beams of warm imagination play,
Appear in writing, or in judging, ill;

The memory's soft figures inelt away.
But, of the two, less dang'rous is th' offence

One science only will one genius fit; To tire our patience, than mislead our fente,

So vast is art, lo narrow human wit : Some few in that, but numbers err in this ;

Not only bounded to peculiar arts, Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss.

But oft in those confin'd to fingle parts. A fool might once himself alone expose ;

Like Kings, we lose the conquests gain'd before, Now one in verse makes many more in prose.

By vain arnbition still to make them more : * This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old.

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VARIATION. Many are spoil'd by that pedantic throng,

Draw off the sense we have, to pour in new; Who with great pains teach youth to reason wrong. Which yet, with all their skin, they ne'er could Tutors, like virtuosos, oft inclin'd

du. By Atrange transfusion to improve the mind,




Each might his fervile province well command, His Fable, Subject, fcope in ev'ry page ;
Would all but stoop to what they understand. Religion, Country, genius of his age :
First follow Nature, and your judgment frame

Without all there at once before your eyes, By her just standard, which is still the fame: Cavil you may, but never criticize f. Unerring Nature, ftill divinely bright,

Be Homer's works your study and delight; One clear, unchang'd, and unireital light, Road them by day, and meditate by night: Life, force, and bcauty, must to all impart; Thence form your judgment, thence your maxAt once the source, and end, and test of Art.

ims bring, Art from that fund each just supply provides ; And trace the Muses upward to their spring. Works without thow, and without pomp presides: Still with itself compar'd his text per use; In some fair body thus th’informing soul Or let your comment be the Mantuan Muse. With spirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole, Wlien first young Maro in his boundless mindf, Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve sustains ; A work t' outlast immortal Rome design'd, Itself unseen, but in th'effects remains.

Perhaps he fiem'd above the Critic's law, Some, to whom Heaven in wit has been profuse*, And but from Nature's fountains fcorn’d to draw: Want as much more, to turn it to its ule ; But when t'examine ev'ry part he came, For wit and judgiment often are at strife,

Nature and Homer were, he found, the same, Tho' meant each other's aid, like man and wife. Convinc'd, amaz’d, he checks the bold design; 'Tis more to guide, than spur the Muse's steed; And rules as strict his labour'd work confine, Refrain his fury, than provoke his speed : As if the Stagyrite o'erlook'd each line. The winged courfer, like a gen'rous horse, Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem; Shews most true mettle when you check his course. To copy nature is to copy them.

Those rules of old discover’d, not devis'd, Some beauties yet no precepts can declare;. Are Nature ítill, but Nature methodiz’d. For there's a happiness as well as care. Nature, like monarchy, is but restrain'd

Music resembles Poetry ; in each By the same laws which first herself ordain’d. Are nameless graces which no methods teach, Hear how learn'd Greece her useful rules in- And which a master-hand alone can reach. dites,

If, where the rules not far enough extend When to repress, and when indulge our flights : (Since rules were made but to promote their end), High on Parnassus' top her fons the shew'd, Some lucky Licence answer to the full And pointed out those arduous paths they trod; Th'intent propos'd, that Licence is a rule. Held from afar, aloft, th’immortal prize, Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take, And urg'd the reft by equal steps to rise. May boldly deviate from the common track. Just precepts thus from great examples given, Great Wits sometimes may gloriously offend, She drew from them what they deriv'd from And rise to faults true Critics dare not mend; Thegen'rousCritic fann'dthe Poet's fire,[heaven. From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And taught the world with renfon to admire. And Inatch a grace beyond the reach of art; Then Criticism the Muse's hand-maid provid, Which, without passing through the judgment, To dress her charms, and make her more belov'd: gains But following wits from that intention stray'd ; The heart, and all its end at once attains. Who could not win the mistress, woo'd the maid; In prospects thus, some objects please our eyes Against the pocts their own arms they turn’d, Which out of nature's common order rise, Sure to hate most the men from whom they The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice. So modern 'Pothecaries, taught the art [learn'd. But tho' the Ancients thus their rules invade, By Doctors bills to play the Doctor's part, Askings dispense with laws themselves have made, Bold in the practice of mistaken rules,

Moderns, beware! or, if you muit offend Prefcribe, apply, and call their masters fools. Againt the precept, ne'er tranfgrefs its end; Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey; Let it be feldom, and compelld by need; Nor time nor moths c'er fpoild som uch as they: And have, at least, their precedent to plead. Some drily plain, without invention's aid, The Critic elle proceeds without remorse, Write dull receipts how poems may be made. Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. These leave the sense, their learning to display; I know there are, to whose presumptuous And those explain the meaning quite away.

thoughts You then whose judgment the right course Those freer beautics, ev'n in them, seem faults. would steer,

Some figures monstrous and mil-thap'd appear, Know well each Ancient's proper character :: Confiderd singly, or beheld too near;

VARIATION S. There are whom heaven has bless’d with store of wit, None e'er had thought his comprehensive mind Yet want as much again to manage it.

To modern cuitoms, modern rules confin'd, + Zoilus, had these been known, without a name

Who for all ages writ, and all mankind. Had died, and Perault ne'er been damn'd to fame; When first young Maro sung of Kings and Wars, The sense of found Antiquity had reign'd,

Ere warning Phebus touch'd his trembling ears. And sacred Homer yet been unfrüphan'd.


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