THE

POETS AND ARTISTS

OF

GREAT BRITAIN.

"An Essay on the Divine Attributes." There is not, as we have intimated, one of them at all to be compared with "The Choice;" they barely merit the compliment they have extorted from Dr. Johnson," the pleasure of smooth metre is afforded to the ear, and the mind is not oppressed with ponderous or entangled with intricate sentiments."

Such is the sum of our knowledge of the personal and poetical career of John Pomfret. Even the few facts we have recorded are known only in consequence of "a slight and confused account prefixed to his poems by a nameless friend." We may believe, however, that his life was not such as he has pictured in his poem,-easy, tranquil, and happy; that the income he derived from the discharge of his pastoral duties was insufficient to obtain for him the objects of his desires,--friends, , books, "a clear and competent estate;" and that his longing to obtain these acquirements of "a better fortune," led to His removal from life at an age when much is seldom done to obtain immortality. His poem of "Reason," written in 1700, affords us proof of this t

POMFRET.

INSCRIPTION FOR A MONUMENT.

WHO from a race of noble heroes came,
And added lustre to its ancient fame:
Round her the virtues of the Cecils shone,
But with inferior brightness to her own:
Which she refin'd to that sublime degree,
The greatest mortal could not greater be.
Each stage of life peculiar splendour had;
Her tender years with innocence were clad :
Maturer grown, whate'er was brave and good,

And at the final period of her breath,
She crown'd her life with a propitious death;
That no occasion might be wanting here
To make her virtues fam'd, or joys sincere.

She did her numerous family command
With such a tender care, so wise a hand,
She seem'd no otherwise a mistress there,
Than godlike souls in human bodies are.
But when to all she had example shew'd,
How to be great and humble, chaste and good,
Her soul, for earth too excellent, too high,
Flew to its peers, the princes of the sky.

THE CHOICE.

IF Heaven the grateful liberty would give,
That I might choose my method how to live;
And all those hours propitious Fate should lend,
In blissful ease and satisfaction spend ;

Near some fair town I'd have a private seat,
Built uniform, not little nor too great;
Better, if on a rising ground it stood;

On this side fields, on that a neighbouring wood.
It should within no other things contain,
But what are useful, necessary, plain:
Methinks 'tis nauseous, and I'd ne'er endure
The needless pomp of gaudy furniture.
A little garden, grateful to the eye;
And a cool rivulet run murmuring by:
On whose delicious banks a stately row
Of shady limes, or sycamores should grow.
At th' end of which a silent study plac'd,
Should be with all the noblest authors grac'd:
Horace and Virgil, in whose mighty lines
Immortal wit, and solid learning, shines;
Sharp Juvenal, and amorous Ovid too,
Who all the turns of love's soft passion knew:
He that with judgment reads his charming lines,
In which strong art with stronger nature joins,
Must grant his fancy does the best excel;

With all those moderns, men of steady sense,
Esteem'd for learning and for eloquence.
In some of these, as fancy should advise,
I'd always take my morning exercise:
For sure no minutes bring us more content,
Than those in pleasing, useful studies spent.
I'd have a clear and competent estate,
That I might live genteelly, but not great:
As much as I could moderately spend;
A little more, sometimes t'oblige a friend.
Nor should the sons of poverty repine

Too much at fortune, they should taste of mine;
And all that objects of true pity were,

Should be reliev'd with what my wants could spare;
For that our Maker has too largely given,
Should be return'd in gratitude to Heaven.
A frugal plenty should my table spread;
With healthy, not luxurious, dishes spread;
Enough to satisfy, and something more,

To feed the stranger, and the neighbouring poor.
Strong meat indulges vice, and pampering food
Creates diseases, and inflames the blood.
But what's sufficient to make nature strong,
And the bright lamp of life continue long,
I'd freely take; and, as I did possess,
The bounteous Author of my plenty bless.

*

Would bounteous Heaven once more indulge, I'd choose
(For who would so much satisfaction lose,
As witty nymphs, in conversation, give)
Near some obliging modest fair to live:
For there's that sweetness in a female mind,
Which in a man's we cannot hope to find;
That, by a secret, but a powerful art,
Winds up the spring of life, and does impart
Fresh vital heat to the transported heart.

I'd have her reason all her passion sway:
Easy in company, in private gay:
Coy to a fop, to the deserving free;
Still constant to herself, and just to me.
A soul she should have for great actions fit;
Prudence and wisdom to direct her wit:
Courage to look bold danger in the face;