Lo! there were they whofe fouls the Furies fteel'd,
And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pafs the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perish all whofe breaft ne'er learn'd to glow
For others good, or melt at others woe.

What can atone, oh ever-injur'd fhade!
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?,
No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear,
Pleas'd thy pale ghoft,or grac'd thy mournful bier:
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By ftrangers honour'd, and by ftrangers mourn'd!
What tho' no friends in fable weeds appear,
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe

To midnight dances, and the public show;
What tho no weeping loves thy afhes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face;
What tho' no facred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb;
Yet fhall thy grave with rifing flow'rs be drefs'd,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast.
There fhall the morn her earliest tears beftow,
There the first rofes of the year fhall blow;
While angels with their filver wings o'ershade
The ground, now facred by thy reliques made.
So peaceful refts, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.

How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot:
A heap of duft alone remains of thee;
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud fhall be !
Poets themselves muft fall, like thofe they fung,
Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue.
Ev'n he, whofe foul now melts in mournful lays,
Shall fhortly want the gen'rous tear he pays;
Then from his clofing eyes thy form fhall part,
And the laft pang fhall tear thee from his heart;
Life's idle bufinefs at one gap be o'er,
The Muse forgot, and thou belov'd no more !

$10. Prologue to Mr. Addifon's Tragedy of Cato. POPE.

To wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind in confcious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:
For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream thro' ev'ry age;
Tyrants no more their favage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.
Our Author fhuns by vulgar fprings to move
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love;
In pitying love we but our weakness fhew,
And wild ambition well deferves its woe.
Here tears shall flow from a more gen'rous cause,
Such tears as patriots thed for dying laws:
He bids your breafts with ancient ardour rife,
And calls forth Roman drops frotn British eyes,
Virtuc confefs'd in human thape he draws,
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was :
No common object to your fight difplays,
But what with pleature Heaven itfelf furveys-

A brave man ftruggling in the storms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little senate laws,
What bofom beats not in his country's cause ?
Who fees him act, but envies ev'ry deed?
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Ev'n when proud Cæfar, 'midft triumphal cars,
The fpoils of nations, and the pomp of wars,
Ignobly vain, and impotently great,
Shew'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in ftate;
As her dead father's rev'rend image past,
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercaft;
The triumph ceas'd, tears gufh'd from ev'ry eye;
The world's great victor pafs'd unheeded by;
Her laft good man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword.

Britons, attend: be worth like this approv'd;
And fhew, you have the virtue to be mov'd.
With honeft fcorn the first fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning arts from Greecewhomshe subdued;
Our scene precariously fubfifts too long
On French tranflation and Italian fong,
Dare to have sense yourselves; affert the stage;
Be juftly warm'd with your own native rage:
Such plays alone fhould win a British ear,
As Cato's felf had not difdain'd to hear.

§ 11. Epilogue to Mr. Rowe's Jane Shore. POPE PRODIGIOUS this! the frail one of our play

From her own fex fhould mercy find to-day!
You might have held the pretty head afide,
Peep'd in your fans, been ferious thus, and cried,
The play may pafs-but that ftrange creature,
I can't--indeed now--I fo hate a whore--[ Shore,
Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull,
And thanks his stars he was not born a fool,
So from a fifter finner
you fhall hear,
"How ftrangely you expofe yourfelf, my dear
But let me dic, all raillery apart,

Our fex are still forgiving at their heart;
And, did not wicked cuftom fo contrive,
We'd be the best good-natur'd things alive

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale,
That virtuous ladies envy while they rail;
Such rage without betrays the fire within;
In fome close corner of the foul they fin;
Still hoarding up, moft fcandaloufly nice,
Amidft their virtues a referve of vice.
The godly dame, who flefhly failings damns,
Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams.
Would you enjoy foft nights and folid dinners,
Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with
Well, if our author in the wife offends,[finners.
He has a husband that will make amends:
He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving;
And fure fuch kind good creatures may be living.
In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows;
Stern Cato's felf was no relentless spouse:
Plu-Plutarch-what's his name that writes his
Tells us that Cato dearly lov'd his wife: [life
Yet if a friend a night or fo fhould need her,
He'd recommend her as a fpecial breeder.
To lend a wife, few here would fcruple make;
But, pray, which of you all would take her back?

The'

Tho' with the Stoic chief our stage may ring,
The Stoic husband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true,
And lov'd his country-but what's that to you?
Thofeftrange examples ne'er were made to fit ye;
But the kind cuckold might inftru&t the city:
There many an honeft man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a difgrace
That Edward's Mifs thus perks it in your face;
To fee a piece of failing fleth and blood
In all the rest so impudently good;
Faith, let the modeft matrons of the town
Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down.

§ 12. The Temple of Fame. POPE.
N that foft feafon, when defcending fhow'rs
Call forth the greens, and wake the rifing flow'rs;
When op'ning buds falute the welcome day,
And earth relenting feels the genial ray;
As balmy fleep had charm'd my cares to reft,
And love itself was banish'd from my breaft
(What time the morn mysterious vitions brings,
While purer flumbers fpread their golden wings);
A train of phantoms in wild order rofe;
And, join'd, this intellectual fcene compofe.
Iftood, methought, betwixt earth, feas,and skies;
The whole creation open to my eyes:
In air self-balanc'd hung the globe below,
Where mountains rife, and circling oceans flow:
Here naked rocks and empty waftes were feen,
There tow'ry cities, and the forests green;
Here failing fhips' delight the wand'ring eyes,
There trees and intermingled temples rife:
Now a clear fun the fhining fcene difplays,
The tranfient landscape now in clouds decays.
O'er the wide profpect as I gaz'd around,
Sudden I heard a wild promifcuous found,
Like broken thunders that at diftance roar,
Or billows murm'ring on the hollow flore:
Then, gazing up, a glorious pile beheld,
Whofe tow ring fummit ambient clouds conceal'd.
High on a rock of ice the ftructure lay,
Steep its afcent, and flipp'ry was the way;
The wondrous rock like Parian marble fhone,
And feem'd to diftant fight of folid stone.
Infcriptions here of various names I view'd,
The greater part by hoftile time fubdued;
Yet wide were spread their fame in ages paft,
And poets once had promis'd they should laft.
Some, fresh engrav'd, appear'd of wits renown'd;
I look'd again, nor could their trace be found.
Critics I faw, that other names deface,

And fix their own with labour in their place;
Their own, like others, foon their place refign'd,
Or difappear'd, and left the first behind.
Nor was the work impair'd by ftorins alone,
But felt th' approaches of too warm a fun;
For fame, impatient of extremes, decays
Not more by envy than excefs of praife.
Yet part no injuries of heaven could feel,
Like crystal, faithful to the graving steel:
The rock's high fummit, in the temple's fhade,
Nor heat could inclt, nor beating ftorm invade.

There names infcrib'd unnumber'd ages past,
From time's first birth, with time itself shall laft;
These ever new, nor fubject to decays,
Spread, and grow brighter, with the length of
days.

So Zembla's rocks (the beauteous work of frost)
Rife white in air, and glitter o'er the coaft;
Pale funs, unfelt, at diitance roll away,
And on th' impaffive ice the lightnings play;
Eternal fnows the growing mafs fupply,
Till the bright mountains prop th' incumbent sky:
As Atlas fix'd, each hoary pile appears
The gather'd winter of a thousand years.
On this foundation Fame's high temple ftands
Stupendous pile! not rear'd by mortal hands.
Whate'er proud Rome or artful Greece beheld,
Or elder Babylon, its frame excell'd.
Four faces had the dome, and ev'ry face
Of various structure, but of equal grace:
Four brazen gates, on columns lifted high,
Salute the diff'rent quarters of the sky.
Here fabled chiefs, in darker ages born,
Or worthies old, whom arms or arts adorn,
Who cities rais'd, or tam'd a monstrous race,
The walls in venerable order grace:
Heroes in animated marble frown,
And legislators feem to think in ftone.

Weftward a fumptuous frontispiece appear'd, On Doric pillars of white marble rear'd, Crown'd with an architrave of antique mold, And fculpture rifing on the roughen'd gold. In fhaggy spoils here Thefeus was beheld, And Perfeus dreadful with Minerva's fhield: There great Alcides ftooping with his toil, Refts on his club, and holds th' Hefperian spoil: Here Orpheus fings; trees moving to the sound, Start from their roots, and form a fhade around: Amphion there the loud creating lyre Strikes, and beholds a fudden Thebes aspire! Cytharon's echoes anfwer to his call, And half the mountain rolls into a wall: There might you fee the length ning fpires afcend, The domes fwell up, the widening arches bend, The growing tow'rs like exhalations rife, And the huge columns heave into the fkies.

The Eastern front was glorious to behold, With diamond flaming, and Barbaric gold. There Ninus fhone, who pread th' Affyrian fame, And the great founder of the Perfian name: There, in long robes, the royal Magi ftand; Grave Zoroafter waves the circling wand: The fage Chaldæans rob'd in white appear'd, And Brachmans, deep in defart woods rever'd. Thefe ftopp'd the moon, and call'd th' unbodied

fhades

Who measur'd earth, defcrib'd the starry spheres,
And trac'd the long records of lunar years.
High on his car Sefoftris ftruck my view,
Whom fcepter'd flaves in golden harness drew:
His hands a bow and pointed javelin hold,
His giant limbs are arm'd in fcales of gold.
Between the ftatues obelisks were plac'd,
And the learn'd walls with hieroglyphics grac'd.
Of Gothic structure was the northern fide,
O'erwrought with ornaments of barb'rous pride.
There huge coloffes rofe, with trophies crown'd;
And Runic characters were grav'd around.
There fat Zamolxis with erected eyes;
And Odin here in mimic trances dies.
There on rude iron columns, fmear'd with blood,
The horrid forms of Scythian heroes stood,
Druids and bards (their once loud harps unftrung),
And youths that died to be by poets fung.
These, and a thousand more of doubtful fame,
To whom old fables gave a lafting name,
In ranks adorn'd the Temple's outward face:
The wall, in luftre and effect like glafs,
Which o'er each object cafting various dyes,
Enlarges fome, and others multiplies:
Nor void of emblem was the myftic wall;
For thus romantic Fame increases all.

The Temple shakes, the founding gates unfold,
Wide vaults appear, and roofs of fretted gold;
Rais'd on a thoufand pillars, wreath'd around
With laurel foliage, and with eagles crown'd.
Of bright tranfparent beryl were the walls,
The friezes gold, and gold the capitals :
As heaven with stars, the roof with jewels glows,
And ever-living lamps depend in rows.
Full in the paffage of each fpacious gate,
The fage Hiftorians in white garments wait;
Grav'do'er their feats the form of Time was found,
His fcythe revers'd, and both his pinions bound.
Within food Heroes, who thro' loud alarms
In bloody fields purfued renown in arms.
High on a throne, with trophies charg'd, I view'd
The Youth that all things but himfelf fubdued;
His feet on fceptres and tiaras trod,

And his horn'd head belyed the Lybian God.
There Cæfar, grac'd with both Minervas, thone;
Cæfar, the world's great mafter, and his own;
Unmov'd, fuperior still, in ev'ry state,
And fcarce detefted in his country's fate.
But chief were those who not for empire fought,
But with their toils their people's fafety bought.
High o'er the reft Epaminondas ftood;
Timoleon, glorious in his brother's blood;
Bold Scipio, faviour of the Roman ftate,
Great in his triumphs, in retirement great;
And wife Aurelius, in whofe well-taught mind
With boundless pow'r unboundedvirtue join'd,
His own strict judge, and patron of mankind.

Much fuff'ring heroes next their honours claim,
Thofe of lefs noify and lefs guilty fame,
Fair Virtue's filent train: fupreme of these
Here ever fhines the godlike Socrates;
He whom ungrateful Athens could expel,
At all times juft but when he fign'd the fhell;
Here his abode the martyr'd Phoc on claims,
With Agis, not the last of Spartan names;

Unconquer'd Cato fhews the wound he tore ;
And Brutus his ill genius meets no more.

But in the centre of the hallow'd choir,
Six pompous columns o'er the reft afpire;
Around the fhrine itself of Faine they stand,
Hold the chief honours, and the fane command.
High on the first the mighty Homer fhone,
Eternal adamant compos'd his throne;
Father of verfe! in holy fillets dreft,
His filver beard wav'd gently o'er his breaft;
Tho' blind, a boldness in his looks appears;
In years he feem'd, but not impair'd by years.
The wars of Troy were round the pillar feen:
Here fierce Tydides wounds the Cyprian queen;
Here Hector glorious from Patroclus' fall,
Here dragg'd in triumph round the Trojan wall:
Motion and life did ev'ry part infpire,
Bold was the work, and prov'd the mafter's fire;
A ftrong expreffion moft he feem'd t'affect,
And here and there difclos'd a brave neglect.

A golden column next in rank appear'd, On which a fhrine of purest gold was rear'd ; Finish'd the whole, and labour'd ev'ry part, With patient touches of unwearied art: The Mantuan there in fober triumph fate, Compos'd his posture, and his look sedaté; On Homer ftill he fix'd a rev'rent eye, Great without pride, in modeft majesty. In living fculpture on the fides were fpread The Latian wars, and haughty Turnus dead; Eliza ftretch'd upon the fun'ral pyre; Eneas bending with his aged fire: Troy flam'd in burning gold; and o'er the throne Arms and the Man in golden cyphers shone.

Four fwans fuftain a car of filver bright, With heads advanc'd, and pinions ftretch'd for flight:

Here, like fome furious prophet, Pindar rode,
And feem'd to labour with th' infpiring God.
Acrofs the harp a careless hand he flings,
And boldly finks into the founding ftrings.
The figur'd games of Greece the column grace;
Neptune and Jove furvey the rapid race.
The youths hang o'er their chariots as they run,
The fiery fteeds feem ftarting from the ftone:
The chainpions, in diftorted pofture, threat;
And all appear'd irregularly great.

Here happy Horace tun'd th' Aufonian lyre
To fweeter founds, and temper'd Pindar's fire:
Pleas'd with Alcaus' manly rage t'infufe
The fofter fpirit of the Sapphic Muse.
The polifh'd pillar diffrent fculptures grace;
A work outlafting monumental brafs.
Here finiling Loves and Bacchanals appear;
The Julian ftar, and great Auguftus here.
The Doves that round the infant poet fpread
Myrtles and bays, hang hov'ring o'er his head.

Here, in a fhrine that caft a dazzling light, Sat fix'd in thought the mighty Stagirite; His facred head a radiant zodiac crown'd, And various animals his fides surround; His piercing eyes, erect, appear to view Superior worlds, and look all nature through. With equal rays immortal Tully shone; The Roman roftra deck'd the conful's throne: Gath'ring

Gath'ring his flowing robe, he feem'd to stand In act to speak, and graceful stretch'd his hand. Behind, Rome's genius waits with civic crowns, And the great Father of his country owns.

Thefe maffy columus in a circle rife, O'er which a pompous dome invades the skies: Scarce to the top I ftretch'd my aching fight, So large it fpread, and fwell'd to fuch a height, Full in the midft proud Fame's imperial feat With jewels blaz'd, magnificently great: The vivid em'ralds there revive the eye, The flaming rubies fhew their fanguine dye, Bright azure rays from lively fapphires ftream, And lucid amber cafts a golden gleam. With various-colour'd light the pavement fhone, And all on fire appear'd the glowing throne; The dome's high arch reflects the mingled blaze, And forms a rainbow of alternate rays. When on the Goddefs firft I caft my fight, Scarce feem'd her ftature of a cubit's height; But swell'd to larger size, the more I gaz'd, Till to the roof her tow'ring front fhe rais'd. With her, the temple ev'ry moment grew; And ampler viftas open'd to my view: Upward the columns fhoot, the roofs afcend, And arches widen, and long aifles extend. Such was her form as ancient bards have told, Wings raise her arms, and wings her feet enfold; A thousand bufy tongues the Goddefs bears, And thoufand open eyes, and thousand lift ningears. Beneath, in order rang'd, the tuneful Nine (Her virgin handmaids) still attend the fhrine: With eyes on Fame for ever fix'd, they fing; For Fame they raife the voice, and tune the ftring: With time's first birth began the heavenly lays, And laft eternal thro' the length of days.

Around thefe wonders as I caft a look, The trumpet founded, and the temple shook; And all the nations, fummon'd at the call, From diff'rent quarters fill the crowded hall : Of various tongues the mingled founds were heard; In various garbs promifcuous throngs appear'd; Thick as the bees that with the spring renew Their flow'ry toils, and fip the fragrant dew, When the wing'd colonies firft tempt the sky, O'er dufky fields and fhaded waters fly, Or fettling feize the fweets the bloffoms yield, And a low murmur runs along the field. Millions of fuppliant crowds the fhrine attend, And all degrees before the Goddess bend; The poor, the rich, the valiant, and the fage, And boafting youth, and narrative old age. Their pleas were diff'rent, their request the fame; For good and bad alike are fond of Fame. Some the difgrac'd,and fome with honours crown'd; Unlike fucceffes equal merits found. Thus her blind fifter, fickle Fortune, reigns; And, undifcerning, fcatters crowns and chains. First at the fhrine the learned world appear, And to the Goddess thus prefer their pray'r: Long have we fought t'inftruct and please mankind, With ftudies pale, with midnight vigils blind; But thank'd by few, rewarded yet by none, We here appeal to thy fuperior throne.

On wit and learning the juft prize bestow; For Fame is all we muft expect below.

The Goddef's heard, and bade the Mufes raise The golden trumpet of eternal praife: From pole to pole the winds diffufe the found, That fills the circuit of the world around; Not all at once, as thunder breaks the cloud: The notes at firft were rather sweet than loud; By juft degrees they ev'ry moment rife, Fill the wide earth, and gain upon the skies. At ev'ry breath were balmy odours shed, Which ftill grew fweeter as they wider spread : Lefs fragrant fcents th' unfolding rofe exhales, Or fpices breathing in Arabian gales.

Next thefe the good and juft, an awful train, Thus on their knees addrefs the facred fane: Since living virtue is with envy curs'd, And the best men are treated like the worst, Do thou, juft Goddefs, call our merits forth, And give each deed th' exact intrinfic worth. Not with bare justice shall your act be crown'd (Said Fame) but high above defert renown'd; Let fuller notes th' applauding world amaze, And the loud clarion labour in your praise.

This band difmifs'd, behold another crowd Preferr'd the fame request, and lowly bow'd; The conftant tenour of whofe well-fpent days No lefs deferv'd a juft return of praife. But ftraight the direful trump of flander founds; Thro' the big dome the doubling thunder bounds; Loud as the burst of cannon rends the skies, The dire report thro' ev'ry region flies; In ev'ry ear inceffant rumours rung, And gath'ring fcandals grew on ev'ry tongue. From the black trumpet's rufty concave broke Sulphurcous flames, and clouds of rolling fmoke; The pois nous vapour blots the purple skics, And withers all before it as it flies.

A troop came next who crowns and armour wore, And proud defiance in their looks they bore: For thee (they cried) amidst alarms and strife We fail'd in tempefts down the stream of life; For thee whole nations fill'd with flames and blood, And fwam to empire thro' the purple flood. Thofe ills we dar'd thy inspiration own; What virtue feem'd, was done for thee alone. Ambitious fools! (the Queen replied, and frown'd) Be all your acts in dark oblivion drown'd: There fleep forgot, with mighty tyrants gone; Your ftatues moulder'd,and your names unknown! A fudden cloud ftraight fnatch'd them from my And each majestic phantom funk in night. [fight,

Then came the fmallcft tribe I yet had feen; Plain was their drefs, and modeft was their mien. Great idol of mankind we neither claim The praife of merit, nor afpire to fame! But fafe in defarts from th'applaufe of men, Would die unheard of, as we liv'd unfeen. 'Tis all we beg thee, to conceal from fight Thofe acts of goodness which themselves requite. O let us ftill the fecret joy partake, To follow virtue even for virtue's fake.

And live there men who flight immortal fame ? Who then with incenfe fhall adore our name?