« ForrigeFortsett »
Why, Virtue, doft thou blame desire,
Which Nature has imprest?
fames the Gods approve ;
Brutus for abfent Porcia sighs,
What is loose love ? a transient guft,
And burn for ever one ;
Productive as the Sun.
Oh source of every social tye,
What various joys on one attend,
Whether his hoary fire he spies,
What home-felt raptures move !
With reverence; hope, and love.
Hence guilty joys, diftaftes, furmizes,
Hence false tears, deceits, disguises,
Fires that scorch, yet dare not line :
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.
ODE ON SOLITUDE.
Written when the Author was about Twelve Years old.
APPY the man, whose with and care H
A few paternal acres bound,
In his own.ground.
Whose flocks fupply him with attire,
In winter fire. Bleft, who can unconcern’dly find
Hours, days, and years side soft away,
Quiet by day.
Together mix'd ; sweet recreation ;
Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
Thus unlamented let me die,
Tell where I lie.
ITAL spark of heavenly flame!
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying !
Steals my fenfes, fhuts my fight,
With founds seraphic ring :
O Death! where is thy Sting?
« Si quid novisti rectius iftis, “ Candidus imperti; fi non, his utere mecum.”
* Mr. Pope told me himself, that the “ Essay on « Criticism” was indeed written in 1707, though said 1709 by mistake.
The Poem is in one book, but divided into three prin
cipal parts or members. The first (to ver. 201.] gives rules for the Study of the Art of Criticism; the fecond [from tience to ver. 560.] exposes the Causes of wrong judgment; and the third [froin thence to the end) anarks out the Morals of the Critic. When the Reader hath well considered the whole, and hath observed the regularity of the plan, the masterly conduet of the several parts, the penetration into Nature, and the compass of learning so conspicuous throughout, he shculd then be told that it was the work of an Author who had not attained the twentieth year of his age.--A very learned Critic has shewn, that Horace had the same attention to inethod in his Art of Poetry