TO ERINNA.1

THOUGH sprightly Sappho force our love and praise,
A softer wonder my pleas'd soul surveys,
The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays.

So, while the sun's broad beam yet strikes the sight,
All mild appears the moon's more sober light;
Serene, in virgin majesty she shines,

And, unobserv'd, the glaring sun declines.

ADRIANI MORIENTIS AD ANIMAM,

TRANSLATED.

Aн, fleeting spirit! wandering fire,

That long hast warm'd my tender breast, Must thou no more this frame inspire; No more a pleasing cheerful guest? Whither, ah whither art thou flying, To what dark undiscover'd shore? Thou seem'st all trembling, shivering, dying, And wit and humour are no more!

1 See Memoir prefixed to these volumes, p. Ixx.

A DIALOGUE.

POPE.

SINCE my old friend is grown so great,
As to be Minister of State,

I'm told, but 'tis not true I hope,
That Craggs will be asham'd of Pope.

CRAGGS.

Alas! if I am such a creature,

To grow the worse for growing greater;
Why, faith, in spite of all my brags,
'Tis Pope must be asham'd of Craggs.

ODE TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN,

THE MAN MOUNTAIN,' BY TITTY TIT, POET LAUREATE TO

HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT.

INTO ENGLISH.

TRANSLATED

IN amaze
Lost I gaze!

Can our eyes
Reach thy size!

May my lays

Swell with praise,

1 This Ode, and the three following pieces, were produced

by Pope on reading Gulliver's Travels.

Worthy thee!
Worthy me!
Muse, inspire
All thy fire!
Bards of old

Of him told,

When they said

Atlas' head

Propp'd the skies:

See! and believe your eyes! See him stride

Valleys wide,

Over woods,

Over floods!

When he treads,

Mountains' heads

Groan and shake:

Armies quake;

Lest his spurn
Overturn

Man and steed:

Troops, take heed!

Left and right,

Speed your flight!

Lest an host

Beneath his foot be lost!

Turn'd aside

From his hide

Safe from wound,
Darts rebound.

From his nose

Clouds he blows:

When he speaks,
Thunder breaks !

When he eats,

Famine threats!

When he drinks,

Neptune shrinks!

Nigh thy ear

In mid air,

On thy hand

Let me stand;

So shall I,

Lofty poet! touch the sky.

THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH

FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG.

A PASTORAL.

Soon as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care,
She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair;
No British miss sincerer grief has known,
Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown.
She furl'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread,
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then spread her hands, and with a bounce lat fall
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.

In peals of thunder now she roars, and now
She gently whimpers like a lowing cow :
Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears:
Her locks dishevell'd, and her flood of tears,
Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain,
When from the thatch drips fast a shower of rain.
In vain she search'd each cranny of the house,
Each gaping chink, impervious to a mouse.
"Was it for this (she cried) with daily care
Within thy reach I set the vinegar,

And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide,

While pepper-water worms thy bait supplied;
Where twin'd the silver eel around thy hook,
And all the little monsters of the brook!
Sure in that lake he dropt; my Grilly's drown'd!"
She dragg'd the cruet, but no Grildrig found.

"Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast! But little creatures enterprise the most. Trembling I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw, Nay, mix with children, as they play'd at taw, Nor fear the marbles as they bounding flew ; Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you!

"Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth? Who from a page can ever learn the truth? Vers'd in court tricks, that money-loving boy To some lord's daughter sold the living toy; Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, As children tear the wings of flies away. From place to place o'er Brobdingnag I'll roam, And never will return, or bring thee home.

VOL. II.