Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods,
Now drain'd a diftant country of her floods :
Fanes, which admiring Gods with pride furvey,
Statues of Men, scarce less alive than they !
Some felt the filent stroke of mould'ring age,
Some hoftile fury, fome religious rage;
Barbarian blindness, chriftian zeal confpire,
And papal piety, and gothic fire.
Perhaps, by its own ruin fav'd from flame,
Some bury'd marble half preferves a name ;
That name the learn'd with fierce difputes purfue,
And give to Titus old Vefpafian's due.
Ambition figh'd: She found it vain to trust
The faithless column and the crumbling buft:
Huge moles, whofe fhadow ftretch'd from shore to shore,
Their ruins perifh'd, and their place no more!
Convinc'd, he now contracts her vast design,
And all her triumphs shrink into a coin.
A narrow orb each crouded conquest keeps,
Beneath her palm here fad Judea weeps;
Now fcantier limits the proud arch confine,
And scarce are seen the proftrate Nile or Rhine ;
A fmall Euphrates thro' the piece is roll'd,
And little eagles wave their wings in gold.
The medal, faithful to its charge of fame,
Thro' climes and ages bears each form and name:
In one fhort view fubjected to our eye
Gods, emp'rors, heroes, fages, beauties, lie.
With fharpen'd fight pale antiquaries pore,
Th' infcription value, but the ruft adore.
This the blue varnish, that the green endears,
The facred ruft of twice ten hundred years!
To gain Prefcennius one employs his fchemes,
One grafps a Cecrops in eftatic dreams.
Poor Vadius, long, with learned spleen devour'd,
Can tafte no pleasure fince his fhield was scour'd:
And Curio, restless by the fair-one's fide,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.
Their's is the vanity, the learning thine :
Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories fhine;
Her gods, and god-like heroes rife to view,
And all her faded garlands bloom a-new.
Nor blush, these ftudies thy regard engage ;
These pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage;
The verfe and sculpture bore an equal part,
And art reflected images to art.
Oh when shall Britain, confcious of her claim,
Stand emulous of Greek aud Roman fame ?
In living medals fee her wars enroll'd,
And vanquish'd realms fupply recording gold?
Here, rifing bold, the patriot's honeft face;
There warriors frowning in hiftoric brass:
Then future ages with delight fhall fee
How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree,
Or in fair feries laurell'd bards be shown,
A Virgil there, and here an Addison.
Then hall thy CRAGGS (and let me call him mine)
On the caft ore, another Peilio fhine;
With afpect open shall erect his head,
And round the orb in lafting notes be read,
"Statesman, yet friend to truth! of foul fincere,
"In action faithful, and in honour clear;
"Who broke no promife, ferv'd no private end,
"Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend;
"Ennobled by himself, by all approv❜d,
"Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the mufe he lov'd.
The following letter from Mr. Philips to the earl of Dorfet is entirely defcriptive; but is one of those descriptions which will be ever read with delight.
Mr. PHILIPS to the Earl of DORSET.
Copenhagen, March 9, 1709. From frozen climes, and endless tracts of fnow, From ftreams which northern winds forbid to flow, What prefent fhall the mufe to Dorset bring, Or how, fo near the pole, attempt to fing? The hoary winter here conceals from fight All pleafing objects which to verse invite. The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, The flow'ry plains, and filver. ftreaming floods, By fnow difguis'd, in bright confufion lie, And with one dazzling wafte fatigue the eye.
No gentle breathing breeze prepares the fpring,
No birds within the desert region fing:
The fhips, unmov'd, the boift'rous winds defy,
While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.
The vaft Leviathan wants room to play,
And spout his waters in the face of day;
The ftarving wolves along the main fea prowl,
And to the moon in icy valleys howl.
O'er many a shining league the level main
Here fpreads itself into a glaffy plain:
There folid billows of enormous fize,
Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise.
And yet but lately have I feen, ev'n here,
The winter in a lovely drefs appear.
'E're yet the clouds let fall the treafur'd fnow,
Or winds began through hazy skies to blow,
At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arofe,
And the defcending rain unfully'd froze.
Soon as the filent fhades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn difclos'd at once to view
The face of nature in a rich disguise,
And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes:
For ev'ry fhrub, and ev'ry blade of grass,
And ev'ry pointed thorn, feem'd wrought in glafs;
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns fhow,
While through the ice the crimson berries glow.
The thick-fprung reeds, which watry marshes yield,
Seem'd polish'd lances in a hoftile field.
The ftag in limpid currents, with surprise,
Sees chryftal branches on his forehead rise :
The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther shine.
The frighted birds the rattling branches fhan,
Which wave and glitter in the distant fun.
When if a fudden guft of wind arise,
The brittle foreft into atoms flies,
The crackling woods beneath the tempeft bends,
And in a spangled fhower the profpect ends :
Or, if a fouthern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,
The traveller a miry country fees,
And journies fad beneath the dropping trees :
Like fome deluded peasant, Merlin leads
Through fragrant bow'rs, and through delicious meads;
While here inchanted gardens to him rife,
And airy fabricks there attract his eyes,
His wandring feet the magick paths pursue,
And while he thinks the fair illufion true,
The trackless scenes difperfe in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear,
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the tranfient vision mourns.
We have already observed that the effential, and indeed the true characteristic of epiftolary writing is ease; and on this account, as well as others, the following letter from Mr Pope to Mifs Blount is to be admired.
From Mr. POPE to Mifs BLOUNT, on her leaving the Toron after the Coronation.
As fome fond virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the town to wholesome country air;
Juft when the learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling the muft fever,
Yet takes one kifs before the parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew :
Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent,
She figh'd not that they stay'd, but that she went.
She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion'd halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from op'ra, park, affembly, play,
To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a day;
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,
To mufe, and fpill her folitary tea,
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the flow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell ftories to the 'fquire;
Up to her godly garret after seven,
There ftarve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Some 'fquire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whose game is whisk, whofe treat's a toaft in fack;
Who vifits with a gun, presents you birds,
Then gives a fmacking bufs, and cries,-no words!
Or with his hound comes hallowing from the stable,
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table ;,
Whofe laughs are hearty, tho' his jefts are coarse,
And loves you beft of all things—but his horse.
In fome fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of triumphs in the rural shade;
In penfive thought recall the fancy'd fcene,
See coronations rife on every green;
Before you pass th' imaginary fights
Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and garter'd knights,
While the fpread fan, o'er-fhades your clofing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vifion flies.
Thus vanish fcepters, coronets and balls,.
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls!
So when your flave, at fome dear idle time,
(Not plagu'd with head achs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abftracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of yoù;
Juft when his fancy points your fprightly eyes,
Or fees the blush of foft Parthenia rife,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, chairs, and coxcombs rush upon my fight;
Vex'd to be ftill in town, I knit my brow,
Look four, and hum a tune, as you may now
Defcriptive Poetry is of univerfal ufe, fince there is
nothing in nature but what may be described. As poems of this kind, however, are intended more to delight, than instruct, great care fhould be taken to make them agreeable. The error which young people are most likely to run into is that of dwelling too long on minute circumstances; which not only renders the piece tedious, and trifling, but deprives the reader of the pleasure he would have in making little discoveries of his own; for in defcriptions that are intended as ornamental, the poet should never
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