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great Master, and able to teach Mr. Dennis. How few have excell'd! none, except in Variety.

But most by Numbers judge a Poet's Song.
And smooth or rough with such is right or wrong;
In the bright Muse tho' thousand Charms conspire,
Her Voice is all these tuneful Fools admire,
Who haunt Parnaffus but to please their Ear,
Not mend their Minds *. As some to Church repair.
Not for the Doctrine, but the Mustek there.
These equal Syllables alone require,
Tho' oft the Ear the open Vowels tire; -.-.

While Expletives their feeble Aid do join ;- . -.
And ten low Words oft creep in one dull Line,
While they ring round the same unvary'd Chimes,
With sure Returns of still-expected Rhymes.
Where-e'er you find the cooling Western Breeze,
In the next Line, it whispers thro' the Trees;
If Chrystal Streams with pleasing Murmurs creep,
The Reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with Sleep:
Then, at the last, and only Couplet fraught,
With some unmeaning Thing they call a Thought,
A needless Alexandrine ends die Song, [along,

That like a wounded Snake draws its flow Length
Leave such to tune their own dull Rhymes, and know
What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow;
And praise the easy Vigor of a Line, [join.

Where Denham's Strength, and Waller's Sweetness
'Tis not enough no Harshness gives Offence,
The Sound must seem an Eccho to the Sense.
Soft is the Strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth Stream in smoother Numbers flows;
But when loud Surges lash the founding Shore,
The hoarse, rough Verse should like the Torrent roar.
When Ajax strives some Rock's vast Weight to throw,
The Line too labours, and the Words move flow;
F 3 Not

Not so, when swift Camilla scours the Plain, [Main. Flies o'er th' unbending Corn, and skims along the

These, we believe, will be a fatisfactory Proof of his great Power as a Poet, if any Body yet doubts of it, or if any Lover and Reader of Englijh Poetry has not before seen those admir'd and very famous Lines.

Before we speak of Homer, the Dunciad, &c. we shall take Notice of some other Writings of our Poet:

To Mr. Jervas, with Mr. Frefnoy's Art of Painting.

On a Fan of the Author's Design, in which was painted the Story of Cephalus and Procris; with the Motto Aura vent.

On Silence, in Imitation of Lord Rochester.

An Epitaph.

Verses occafion'd by some of the Duke of Buck~ ingham's. , , ,

He wrote a most excellent Letter in Verse from Eloisa to Abelard; it is chiefly taken- from the French Letters between those two extraordinary Persons Mr. Bayle, in his Historical Dictionary, makes Mention of them: They flourish-'d in the twelfth Century, and were two of the most distinguished Persons of their Age in Learning and Beauty, but for no*thing more famous than for their unfortunate Passion. After a long Course of Calamities, they retired each to a several Convent, and consecrated the Remainder of their Days to Religion. It was many Years after this Separation that a Letter of Abelard's to a Friend (which contained the History of his Misfortunes) fell into the Hands of Eloisa; this awak?ning all her Tenderness, occasioned those celebrated Letters, which give so .lively a Description of the Struggles of Grace and Nature, Virtue and Passion.

There There is a Spirit of Tenderness and a Delicacy of Sentiments runs all through the Letter; but the prodigious Conflict, the War within, the Difficulty of making Love give up to religious Vows, and Impossibility of forgetting a first real Passion, shine above all the rest.

Ah wretch! believ'd the Spouse os God in vain, Confess'd within the Slave of Love and Man. Assist me Heav'n! but whence arose that Fray'r? Sprung it from Piety, or from Despair? Ev'n here where frozen Chastity retires, Love finds an Altar for forbidden Fires. I ought to grieve, but cannot what I ought; I mourn the Lover, not lament the Fault; I view my Crime, but kindle at the View, Repent old Pleasures, and sollicit now: Now turn'd to Heav'n, I weep my past Offence, Now think of thee, and curse my Innocence, Of all Affliction taught a Lover yet, 'Tis sure the hardest Science to forget! How shall Hose the Sin, yet keep the Sense, And love th' Offender, yet detest th' Offence? How the dear Object from the Crime remove, Or how distinguish Penitence from Love? Unequal Task! a Passion to resign, For Hearts so touch'd, so pierc'd, so lost as mine. E'er such a Soul regains its peaceful State, How often must it love, how often hate! How often, Hope, Despair, Resent, Regret,"! Conceal, Disdain—do all Things but forget. But let Heav'n seize it, all at once 'tis fir'd,. Not touch'd, but rapt, notwaken'd, but inspir'd! Oh come! oh teach me Nature to subdue, Renounce my Love,- my Life, myself—and you.

F 4. Fill

Fill my fond Heart, with God alone, for he
Alone can rival, can succeed to thee.

How happy is the blameless Vestal's Lot?
The World forgetting, by the World forgot.
Eternal Sunshine of the spotless Mind!
Each Pray'r accepted, and each Wise resign'd;
Labour and Rest, that equal Periods keeps;
Obedient Slumbers that can wake and weep;
Desires compos'd, Affections ever even,
Tears that delight, and Sighs that waft to Heav'n.
Grace shines around her with serenest Beams,
And whisp'ring Angels prompt her golden Dreams.
For her the Spouse prepares the bridal Ring,
For her white Virgins Hynunaah sing;
For her the unsading Rose of Eden blooms,
And Wings of Seraphs shed divine Perfumes;
To Sounds of heav'nly Harps she dies away,
And melts in Visions of eternal Day.

Far other Dreams my erring Soul employ,
Far other Raptures, of unholy Joy;
When at the Close of each sad, sorrowing Day,
Fancy restores what Vengeance snatch'd away,
Then Conscience sleeps, and leaving Nature free,
All my loose Soul unbounded springs to thee.

0 curst, dear Horrors of all conscious Night!
How glowing Guilt exalts the keen Delight!
Provoking Dæmons all Restraint remove,
And stir within me every Source of Love.

1 hear thee, view thee, gaze o'er all thy Charms, And round thy Phantom glue my clasping Arms.

I wake—no morel hear, no more I view,
The Phantom flies me, as unkind as you.
I Call aloud, it hears not what I say;
I stretch my empty Arms, it glides away:
To dream once more I close my willing Eyes;
Ye soft Illusions, dear Deceits, arise!

Alas

Alas no more! methinks we wandring go
Thro' deary Wastes, and weep each other's Wee;
Where round some mould'ring Grove palelvy creeps,
And low brow'dRocks hang nodding o'er the Deeps,
Sudden you mount; you beckon from the Skies;
Cloudr interpose, Waves roar, and Winds arise;
I shriek, start up, the same fad Prospect find,
And wake to all the Griefs I left behind.

What Scenes appear where e'er I turn my View,
The dear Ideas, where I fly, pursue,
Rise in the Grove, before the Altar rise,
Stain rill my Soul, and wanton in my Eyes!
I waste the Mattin Lamp in Sighs for thee,
Thy Image steals between my God and me,
Thy Voice I seem in every Hymn to hear,
With ev'ry Bead I drop too soft a Tear.
When from the Censor Clouds of Fragrance roll,
And swelling Organs lift the rising Soul.
One Thought of thee puts all the Pomp to flight,
Priests, Tapers, Temples, swim before my Sight:
In Seas of Flame my plunging Soul is drown'd,
While Altars blaze, and Angels tremble round.

While prostrate here, in humble Grief I lie, Kind, virtuous Drops just gath'ring in my Eye, While praying, trembling, in the Dust I roll, And dawning Grace is opening on my Soul. Come, if thou dar'st, all charming as thou art! Oppose thyself to Heav'n; dispute my Heart; Come, with one Glance of those deluding Eyes, Blot out each bright idea of the Skies. Take back thatGrace,thoseSorrows, and those Tears, Take back my fruitless Penitence and Pray'rs, Snatch me, just mounting, from the Blest above, Aflist the Fiends and tear me from my God!

No, fly me, fly me! sar as Pole from Pole; Rise /flfs between us! and whole Oceans roll!

Ah

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