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Not Neptune's felf from all her ftreams receives
A wealthier tribute than to thine he gives.
No feas lo rich, fo gay no banks appear,
No lake fo gentle, and no fpring fo clear;
Nor Po fo fwells the fabling Poet's lays,
While led along the skies his current ftrays,
As thine, which vifits Windfor's fam'd abodes,
To grace the manfion of our earthly Gods:
Nor all his ftars above a luftre fhew
Like the bright beauties on thy banks below;
Where Jove, fubdued by mortal paffion still,
Might change Olympus for a nobler hill.
Happy the man whom this bright Court ap-
proves,

loves:

His fov reign favours, and his country
Happy, next him, who to thefe fhades retires,
Whom Nature charms, and whom the Mufe
infpires;

Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet pleafe,
Succeffive ftudy, exercife, and cafe.

He gathers health from herbs the foreft yields,
And of their fragrant phyfic spoils the fields;
With chemic arts exalts the min'ral pow'rs,
And draws the aromatic fouls of flow'rs:
Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high;
O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye;.
Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store,
Confults the dead, and lives paft ages o'er:
Or, wand'ring thoughtful in the filent wood,
Attends the duties of the wife and good,
T'obferve a mean, be to himself a friend,
To follow nature, and regard his end ;

'Tis yours, my Lord, to blefs our foft retreats,
And call the Mufes to their ancient feats;
To paint anew the flow'ry fylvan fcenes,
To crown the forefts with immortal greens,
Make Windfor hills in lofty numbers rife,
And lift her turrets nearer to the skies;
To fing thofe honours you deferve to wear,
And add new luftre to her silver star.
Here noble Surrey felt the facred rage,
Surrey, the Granville of a former age:
Matchlefs his pen, victorious was his lance,
Bold in the lifts, and graceful in the dance :
In the fame fhades the Cupids tun'd his lyre,
To the fame notes, of love, and foft defire :
Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow,
Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Mira now.
Oh wouldst thou fing what heroes Windfor

bore,

What kings firft breath'd upon her winding fhore;
Or raife old warriors, whofe ador'd remains
In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains;
With Edward's acts adorn the thining page,
Stretch his long triumphs down thro' ev'ry age;
Draw monarchs chain'd, and Creffi's glorious field,
The lilies blazing on the regal fhield:
Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall,
And leave inanimate the naked wall,
Still in thy fong thould vanquish'd France appear,
And bleed for ever under Britain's fpear.

Let fofter ftrains ill-fated Henry mourn, And palms eternal flourish round his urn. Here o'er the Martyr King the marble weeps,

Or looks on heaven with more than mortal eyes, And, fast beside him, once-fear'd Edward fleeps:

Bids his free foul expatiate in the skies,
Amid her kindred ftars familiar roam,
Survey the region, and confefs her home!
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd;
Thus Atticus, and Trumbal thus, retir'd.

Ye facred Nine! that all my foul possess,
Whofe raptures fie me, and whofe vifions blefs,
Bear me, oh bear me to fequefter'd scenes,
The bow'ry mazes, and furrounding greens;
To Thames's banks which fragrant breezes fill,
Or where y■ Muses sport on Cooper's Hill
(On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths fhall grow,
While laits the mountain, or while Thames fhali
I seem thro' confecrated walks to rove, [How).
I hear foft mufic die along the grove:
Led by the found, I roam from fhade to fhade,
By godlike poets venerable made:

Here his first lays majestic Denham fung;
There the laft numbers flow'd from Cowley's

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Whom not th' extended Albion could contain,
From old Belerium to the northern main,
The grave unites; where e'en the great find reft,
And blended lie th' oppreffor and th' oppreft!

Make facred Charles's tomb for ever known (Obfcure the place, and uninfcrib'd the fione). Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion fhed Heavens! what new wounds! and how her old have bled!

She faw her fous with purple deaths expire,
Her facred domes involv'd in rolling fire,
A dreadful ferics of inteftine wars,
Inglorious triumphs, and difhoneft fears.
At length great Anna faid—'Let difcord cease!'
She faid, the world obey'd, and all was peace!
In that bleft moment from his oozy bed
Old father Thames advanc'd his rev'rend head;
His treffes dropp'd with dews, and o'er the ftream
His thining horns diffus'd a golden gleam:
Grav'd on his urn appear'd the inoon, that guides
His fwelling waters and alternate tides;
The figur'd ftreams in waves of filver roll'd,
And on their banks Augufta rofe in gold;
Around his throne the fea-born brothers ftood,
Who fwell with tributary urns his flood;
First, the fam'd authors of his ancient name,
The winding Ifis, and the fruitful Thame;
The Kennet fwift, for filver eels renown'd;
The Loddon flow, with verdant alders crown'd;
Cole, whofe clear ftreams his flow'ry iflands lave;
And chalky Wey, that rolls a milky wave:

The

The blue, tranfparent Vandalis appears;
The gulphy Lee his fedgy treffes rears;
And fullen Mole, that hides his diving flood;
And filent Darent, ftain'd with Danith blood,
High in the midft, upon his urn reclin'd,
His fea-green mantle waving with the wind,
The God appear'd: he turn'd his azure eyes
Where Windfor domes and pompous turrets rife!
Then bow'd and fpoke; the winds forget to roar,
And the hufh'd waves glide foftly to the fhore.
Hail, facred Peace! hail, long expected days,
That Thames's glory to the stars fhall raife!
Tho' Tyber's ftreams immortal Rome behold,
Tho' foaming Hermus fwells with tides of gold,
From Heaven itself tho' seven-fold Nilus flows,
And harvests on a hundred realms beftows;
Thefe now no more fhall be the Mufes' themes,
Loft in my fame, as in the fea their streams.
Let Volga's banks with iron fquadrons thine,
And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine;
Let barb'rous Ganges arm a fervile train;
Be mine the bleffings of a peaceful reign!
No more my fons fhall dye with British blood
Red Iber's fands, or Ifter's foaming flood:
Safe on my fhore each unmolefted fwain
Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain;
The fhady empire fhall retain no trace
Of war or blood but in the fylvan chace;
The trumpet fleep while cheerful horns are blown,
And arms employed on birds and beafts alone.
Behold! th' afcending villas on my fide
Project long fhadows o'er the cryftal tide.
Behold! Augufta's glitt'ring fpires increase,
And temples rife, the beauteous works of peace.
I fee, I fee, where two fair cities bend
Their ample bow, a new Whitehall afcend!
There mighty nations fhall enquire their doom,
The world's great oracle in times to come;
There kings fhall fue, and fuppliant ftates be feen

Once more to bend before a British queen.

Thy trees, fair Windfor! now shall leave their
woods,

And half thy forefts rush into my floods,
Bear Britain's thunder, and her crofs difplay,
To the bright regions of the rifing day :
Tempt icy feas, where fcarce the waters roll,
Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole;
Or under fouthern fkies exalt their fails,
Led by new fars, and borne by fpicy gales:
For me the balm fhall bleed, the amber flow,
The coral redden, and the ruby glow:
The pearly fhell its lucid globe infold,
And Phoebus warm the rip'ning ore to gold.
The time fhall come when, free as feas or wind,
Unbounded Thames fhall flow for all mankind;
Whole nations enter with each swelling tide,
And feas but join the regions they divide;
Earth's diftant ends our glory fhall behold,
And the new world launch forth to feek the old.
Then fhips of uncouth form fhall ftem the tide,
And feather'd people crowd my wealthy fide;

And naked youths and painted chicfs admire
Our fpeech, our colour, and our strange attire!
Oh ftretch thy reign, fair Peace! from fhore to
fhore,

Till Conqueft ceafe, and Slavery be no more;
Till the freed Indians in their native groves
Reap their own fruits, and woo their fable loves;
Peru once more a race of kings behold,
And other Mexicos be roof'd with gold.
Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell,
In brazen bonds shall barb'rous Discord dwell;
Gigantic Pride, pale Terror, gloomy Care,
And mad Ambition fhall attend her there;
There purple Vengeance bath'd in gore retires,
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires;
There hateful Envy her own snakes shall feel,
And Perfecution mourn her broken wheel;
There Faction roar, Rebellion bite her chain,
And gafping furies thirst for blood in vain.

Here ceafe thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays
Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days:
The thoughts of Gods let Granville's verfe recite,
And bring the fcenes of op'ning fate to light:
My humble Mufe, in unambitious ftrains,
Paints the green forefts and the flow'ry plains,
Where Peace defcending bids her olives fpring,
And fcatters bleffings from her dove-like wing.
Ev'n I more fweetly pafs my careless days,
Pleas'd in the filent fhade with empty praise;
Enough for me, that to the lift'ning fwains
First in these fields I fung the fylvan strains.

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* Altered from Shakespeare by the Duke of Buckingham, at whofe defire these two Chorufes were compofed, to fupply as many wanting in his play. They were fet many years afterwards by the famous Bonencini, and performed at Buckingham-houfe.

See

See Arts her favage fons controul,
And Athens rifing near the pole!
Till fome new Tyrant lifts his purple hand,
And civil madnefs tears them from the land.

ANTISTROPHE 11.

Ye Gods! what juftice rules the ball?
Freedom and Arts together fall;
Fools grant whate'er ambition craves;
And men, once ignorant, are flaves.
Oh curs'd effects of civil hate,
In ev'ry age, in ev'ry state!
Still when the luft of tyrant pow'r fucceeds,
Some Athens perishes, forne Tully bleeds.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.

SEMICHORUS.

OH, Tyrant Love! haft thou poffefs'd

The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast?
Wifdom and Wit in vain reclaim,
And Arts but foften us to feel thy flame.
Love, foft intruder, enters here;
But ent'ring learns to be fincere.
Marcus, with blushes, owns he loves;
And Brutus tenderly reproves.

Why, Virtue, doft thou blame defire,
Which Nature has imprefs'd?
Why, Nature, doft thou fooneft fire
The mild and gen'rous breast ?

CHORUS.

Love's purer flames the Gods approve ;
The Gods and Brutus bend to love;
Brutus for abfent Portia fighs,
And fterner Caffius melts at Junia's eyes.
What is loofe love? a tranfient guft,
Spent in a fudden storm of luft,
A vapour fed from wild defire,
A wand'ring, felf-confuming fire.
But Hymen's kinder flames unite,
And burn for ever one;
Chafte as cold Cynthia's virgin light,
Productive as the Sun.

SEMICHORUS.

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Conftant faith, fair hope, long leifure,
Days of eafe and nights of pleafure;

Sacred Hymen! these are thine.

$7. Ode on Solitude". POPE.
HAPPY the man, whose wish and care
A few paternal acres bound;
Content to breathe his native air,
In his own ground.

Whofe herds with milk, whofe fields with bread,
Whofe flocks fupply him with attire;
Whofe trees in fummer yield him shade,
In winter fire.

Bleft, who can unconcern'dly find
Hours, days, and years flide foft away;
In health of body, peace of mind,
Quiet by day:

Sound fleep by night, ftudy and ease
Together mix'd; fweet recreation!
And innocence which most does please
With meditation.

Thus let me live, unfeen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die;
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.

§ 8. The Dying Chriflian to his Soul. Pore
ODE.

VITAL (park of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame !
Trembling, hoping, ling'ring, flying,
Oh the pain, the blifs of dying!
Ceafe, fond Nature, cease thy ftrife,
And let me languish into life!

Hark! they whisper; angels fay,
Sifter fpirit, come away!
What is this abforbs me quite,
Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,
Drowns my fpirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my Soul, can this be Death?
The world recedes, it disappears!
Heav'n opens on my eyes! my ears
With founds feraphic ring!
Lend, lend your wings! I mount! Ifly!
O Grave! where is thy Victory?
O Death! where is thy Sting'

$9. An Efay on Criticifm. POPE.
TIS hard to fay, if greater want of skill

Appear in writing, or in judging, ill;
But, of the two, lefs dang'rous is th' offence
To tire our patience, than miflead our fenie.
Some few in that, but numbers err in this;
Ten cenfure wrong for one who writes amifs.
A fool might once himself alone expofe;
Now one in verfe makes many more in profe.
'Tis with our judgments as our watches; none
Go just alike, yet each believes his own.

• This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old.

In

In Poets as true Genius is but rare,
True Tafte as feldom is the Critic's fhare;
Both muft alike from Heaven derive their light,
These born to judge, as well as thofe to write.
Let fuch teach others who themselves excel,
And cenfure freely who have written well.
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true;
But are not Critics to their judgment ton?

Yet, if we look more clofely, we fhall find
Moft have the feeds of judgment in their mind:
Nature affords at least a glimm'ring light;
The lines, tho' touch'd but faintly, are drawn
right.

But as the flightest sketch, if justly trac'd,
Is by ill colouring but the more difgrac'd;
So by falfe learning is good fenfe defac'd.
Some are bewilder'd in the maze of schools,
And fome made coxcombs Nature meant but fools.
In fearch of wit thefe lofe their common fenfe,
And then turn Critics in their own defence:
Fach burns alike, who can or cannot write,
Or with a Rival's or an Eunuch's spite.
All fools have ftill an itching to deride,
And fain would be upon the laughing fide.
If Mævius fcribble in Apollo's fpite,
There are who judge ftill worfe than he can write.
Some have at first for Wits, then Poets pafs'd,
Turn'd Critics next, and prov'd plain Fools at laft.
Some neither can for Wits nor Critics pafs;
As heavy mules are neither horse nor afs.
Thofe half-learn'd witlings, num'rous in our ifle,
As half-form'd infects on the banks of Nile;
Unfinish'd things, one knows not what to call,
Their generation's fo equivocal:

To tell 'em would a hundred tongues require;
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire.
But you, who feek to give and merit fame,
And justly bear a Critic's noble name,
Be fure yourself and your own reach to know,
How far your genius, tafte, and learning go;
Launch not beyond your depth, but be difcreet,
And mark that point where fenfe and dulnefs meet.
Nature to all things fix'd the limits fit,
And wifely curb'd proud man's pretending wit:
As on the land while here the ocean gains,
In other parts it leaves wide fandy plains;
Thus in the foul while memory prevails,
The folid pow'r of understanding fails;
Where beams of warm imagination play,
The memory's foft figures melt away.
One fcience only will one genius fit;
So vaft is art, fo nariow human wit:
Not only bounded to peculiar arts,
But oft in those confin'd to fingle parts.
Like Kings, we tofe the conquests gain'd before,
By vain ambition still to make them more :
Each might his fervile province well command,
Would all but ftoup to what they understand.
First follow Nature, and your judgment frame
By her juft ftandard, which is ftill the fame :
Unerring Nature, ftill divinely bright,
One clear, unchang'd, and univerfal light,
Life, force, and beauty, muft to all impart ;
At once the fource, and end, and test of Art.

Art from that fund each just supply provides;
Works without show, and without pomp prefides:
In fome fair body thus th' informing foul
With fpirits feeds, with vigour fills the whole,
Each motion guides, and ev'ry nerve sustains;
Itself unicen, but in th' effects remains.
some, to whom Heaven in wit has been profufe,
Want as much more, to turn it to its ufe;
For wit and judgment often are at strife,
Tho' meant each other's aid, like man and wife.
'Tis more to guide, than fpur the Mufe's fteed;
Reftrain his fury, than provoke his fpeed:
The winged courfer, like a gen'rous horse,
Shews moft true mettle when you check his courfe.
Thofe rules of old difcover'd, not devis'd,
Are Nature ftill, but Nature methodiz'd.
Nature, like monarchy, is but reftrain'd
By the fame laws which firft herself ordain'd.
Hear how learn'd Greece her ufeful rules in-
dites,

When to reprefs, and when indulge our flights:
High on Parnaffus' top her fons the thew'd,
And pointed out thofe arduous paths they trod;
Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize,
And urg'd the rest by equal fteps to rife.
Juft precepts thus from great examples given,
She drew from them what they deriv'd from
heaven.

The gen'rous Critic fann'd the Poet's fire,
And taught the world with reafon to admire.
Then Criticism the Mufe's hand-maid prov'd,
To dref's her charms, and make her more belov'd:
But following wits from that intention ftray'd;
Who could not win the miftrefs, woo'd the maid;
Against the Poets their own arms they turn'd,
Sure to hate moft the men from whom they
So modern 'Pothecaries, taught the art [learn'd.
By Doctors' bills to play the Doctor's part,
Bold in the practice of iniftaken rules,
Preferibe, apply, and call their mafters fools.
Some on the leaves of ancient authors prey;
Nor time nor moths c'er fpoil'd fo much as they
Some drily plain, without invention's aid,
Write dull receipts how pocts may be made.
Thefe leave the fenfe, their learning to display ;
And thofe explain the meaning quite away.

You then whofe judgment the right courfe
would fteer,

Know well each Ancient's proper character:
His fable, fubject, scope in ev'ry page;
Religion, country, genius of his age:
Without all thefe at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticize.

Be Homer's works your study and delight;
Read them by day, and meditate by night:
Thence form your judgment, thence your max-

ims bring,

And trace the Mufes upward to their spring.
Still with itself compar'd his text perufe;
Or let your coinment be the Mantuan Mufe.

When first young Maro in his boundless mind
A work t' outlaft immortal Rome defign'd,
Perhaps he feem'd above the Critic's law,
And but from Nature's fountains fcorn'd to draw:

Bug

But when t'examine ev'ry part he came,
Nature and Homer were, he found, the same.
Convinc'd, amaz'd, he checks the bold defign;
And rules as ftrict his labour'd work confine,
As if the Stagyrite o'erlock'd each line.
Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem;
To copy nature is to copy them.

}

Some beauties yet no precepts can declare ; For there's a happinefs as well as care: Mufic refembles Poetry; in each Are nameless graces which no methods teach, And which a mafter-hand alone can reach. If, where the rules not far enough extend (Since rules were made but to promote their end), Some lucky Licence anfwer to the full Th' intent propos'd, that Licence is a rule. Thus Pegafus, a nearer way to take, May boldly deviate from the common track. Great Wits fometimes may gloriously offend, And rife to faults true Critics dare not mend; From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, And fnatch a grace beyond the reach of art; Which, without paffing through the judgment, The heart, and all its end at once attains. [gains In profpects thus, fome objects please our eyes Which out of nature's common order rife, The fhapelefs rock, or hanging precipice. But tho' the Ancients thus their rules invade, As Kings difpenfe with laws themselves have made, Moderns, beware! or, if you must offend Against the precept, ne'er tranfgrefs its end; Let it be feldom, and compell'd by need; And have, at least, their precedent to plead. The Critic elfe proceeds without remorse, Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. I know there are, to whofe prefumptuous thoughts

}

Those freer beauties, ev'n in them, feem faults. Some figures monstrous and mif- fhap'd appear, Confider'd fingly, or beheld too near; Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place, Due diftance reconciles to form and grace. A prudent chief not always muft difplay His pow'rs in equal ranks, and fair array; But with th' occafion and the place comply, Conceal his force, nay feem fometimes to fly. Thefe oft are stratagems which errors feem; Nor is it Homer nods, but we that dream. Still green with bays each ancient altar ftands, Above the reach of facrilegious hands; Secure from Flames, from Envy's fiercer rage, Destructive War, and all-involving Age. See from each clime the learn'd their incenfe bring! Hear, in all tongues confenting Peans ring! In praife fo just let ev'ry voice be join'd, And fill the gen'ral chorus of mankind. - Hail, Bards triumphant! born in happier days; Immortal heirs of univerfal praife!

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Whofe honours with increase of ages grow, As ftreams roll down, enlarging as they flow; Nations unborn your mighty names shall found, : And worlds applaud that must not yet be found O may fome fpark of your celeftial fire The laft, the meaneft, of your fons infpire

(That on weak wings, from far, purfues your

flights;

Glows while he reads, but trembles as he writes),
To teach vain Wits a feience little known;
T'admire fuperior fenfe, and doubt their own!
Of all the caufes which confpire to blind
Man's erring judgment, and mifguide the mind,
What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
Is Pride, the never-failing vice of fools.
Whatever Nature has in worth denied,
She gives in large recruits of needful Pride;
For as in bodies, thus in fouls we find [wind:
What wants in blood and fpirits, fwell'd with
Pride, where Wit fails, fteps in to our defence,
And fills up all the mighty void of sense.
If once right reafon drives that cloud away,
Truth breaks upon us with refiftlefs day.
Truft not yourself; but, your defects to know,
Make ufe of ev'ry friend-and ev'ry foe.
A little learning is a dang'rous thing;
Drink deep, or tafte not the Pierian fpring:
There fhallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely fobers us again.
Fir'd at first fight with what the Mufe imparts,
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of Arts,
While from the bounded level of our mind
Short views we take, nor fee the lengths behind;
But, more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise
New diftant fcenes of endless science rife!
So pleas'd at firft the tow'ring Alps we try,
Mount o'er the vales, and feem to tread the sky;
Th' eternal fnows appear already paft,
And the first clouds and mountains feem the last:
But, thofe attain'd, we tremble to furvey
The growing labours of the lengthen'd way;
Th' increafing profpect tires our wand'ring eyes,
Hills рсер o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arife!

A perfect judge will read each work of Wit
With the fame fpirit that its author writ;
Survey the whole, nor feck flight faults to find,
Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind;
Nor lofe, for that malignant dull delight,
The gen'rous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
But in fuch lays as neither ebb nor flow,
Correctly cold, and regularly low;

That, fhunning faults, one quiet tenor keep;
We cannot blame indeed-but we may fleep.
In Wit, as Nature, what affects our hearts
Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts;
'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call,
But the joint force and full refult of all.
Thus when we view fome well-proportion'd dome,
The world's just wonder, and ev'n thine, O Rome!
No fingle parts unequally surprise ;

All comes united to th' admiring cyes:
No monftrous height, or breadth, or length ap-

pear;

The whole at once is hold and regular.

Whoever thinks a faultless piece to fee, Thinks what ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er fhall be. In ev'ry work regard the writer's end, Since none can compafs more than they intend; And if the means be juft, the conduct true, Applaufe, in fpite of trivial faults, is due.

As

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