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Thus the Cyprian Goddess weeping,
Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth:
Him the Boar, in Silence creeping,
Gor'd with unrelenting tooth.


Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers;
Fair Discretion, string the Lyre;
Soothe my ever-waking slumbers;
Bright Apollo, lend thy choir.


Gloomy Pluto, King of Terrors,
Arm'd in adamantine chains,
Lead me to the crystal mirrors,
Wat'ring soft Elysian plains.


Mournful Cypress, verdant Willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's brows,
Morpheus, hov'ring o'er my pillow,
Hear me pay my dying vows.


Melancholy, smooth Meander,
Swiftly purling in a round,
On thy margin Lovers wander,

With thy flow'ry chaplets crown'd.


Thus when Philomela, drooping,
Softly seeks her silent mate,
See the Bird of Juno stooping;
Melody resigns to Fate.

It is remarkable, that this song imposed upon one of Pope's professed Commentators, the late learned Gilbert Wakefield, who took it for a serious composition: "It appears," he says, "disjointed and obscure," and asks, in reference to the fourth verse, "what is the propriety of this observation? and what its application to the present subject ?" On this occasion Mr. Toulmin, a friend of Mr. Wakefield's, addressed to him a

copy of verses, which Mr. Wakefield, with a good-humoured confession of his mistake, has printed in the subsequent volume of his Observations on Pope, 8vo. 1769, conceiving that "they will form an agreeable termination of his Preface."

"Watchful Wakefield, late and early
Slumbering o'er the page of Pope,
Wit has caught her critic fairly,

Twisting sand into a rope," &c.

But perhaps the most solemn and successful imposition that ever was practised on an inconsiderate reader, is the Ode on Science; printed (as is also the Love Song by a person of quality) in Pope and Swift's Miscellanies; and which, like that, to judge from the style, is not unlikely to have been the work of Pope.


O, Heavenly born! in deepest dells
If fairest Science ever dwells

Beneath the mossy cave;
Indulge the verdure of the woods,
With azure beauty gild the floods,
And flow'ry carpets lave.

For melancholy ever reigns
Delighted in the sylvan scenes
With scientific light;

While Dian, huntress of the vales,
Seeks lulling sounds and fanning gales,
Though wrapt from mortal sight.

Yet, Goddess, yet the way explore
With magic rites and heathen lore
Obstructed and depress'd;
Till Wisdom give the sacred Nine,
Untaught, not uninspir'd, to shine
By reason's power redress'd.

When Solon and Lycurgus taught
To moralize the human thought
Of mad opinion's maze,

To erring zeal they gave new laws,
Thy charms, O Liberty, the cause
That blends congenial rays.

Bid bright Astræa gild the morn,
Or bid a hundred suns be born,
To hecatomb the year;
Without thy aid, in vain the poles,
In vain the zodiac system rolls,
In vain the lunar sphere.

Come, fairest princess of the throng,
Bring sweet philosophy along

In metaphysic dreams;

While raptur❜d bards no more behold
A vernal age of purer gold,

In Heliconian streams.

Drive Thraldom with malignant hand,
To curse some other destin'd land,
By Folly led astray;
Iërne bear on azure wing,
Energic let her soar, and sing
Thy universal sway.

So when Amphion bade the lyre
To more majestic sound aspire,
Behold the madding throng,
In wonder and oblivion drown'd,
To sculpture turn'd by magic sound
And petrifying song!


I KNOW the thing that's most uncommon: (Envy be silent, and attend!)

I know a reasonable Woman,

Handsome and witty, yet a Friend.

Not warp'd by Passion, aw'd by Rumour,

Not grave through Pride, or gay through Folly, An equal Mixture of good Humour,

And sensible soft Melancholy.

"Has she no faults then, (Envy says,) Sir?"
Yes, she has one, I must aver;

When all the World conspires to praise her,
The Woman's deaf, and does not hear.


Ver. 1. I know the thing] Equal in elegance to any compliment that Waller has paid to Saccharissa, especially the last stanza, and the answer to Envy. The lady addressed was Mrs. Howard, of Marble-hill, bedchamber woman to Queen Caroline, and afterwards Countess of Suffolk. -Warton.




THOU who shalt stop, where Thames' translucent wave
Shines a broad Mirror through the shadowy Cave;
Where ling'ring drops from min'ral Roofs distil,
And pointed Crystals break the sparkling Rill,
Unpolish'd Gems no ray on Pride bestow,
And latent Metals innocently glow:


Approach. Great NATURE studiously behold!
And eye the Mine without a wish for Gold.
Approach: But awful! Lo! the Aegerian Grot,
Where, nobly pensive, ST. JOHN sate and thought; 10


On his Grotto] The improving and finishing his Grot was the favourite amusement of his declining years; and the beauty of his poetic genius, in the disposition and ornaments of this romantic recess, appears to as much advantage as in his best contrived Poems.-Warburton.

Ver. 8. eye the Mine]

"Aurum irrepertum, et sic melius situm

Cum terra celet."-Horat. 1. 3. od. 3.

Ver. 9. Aegerian Grot,] These are two charming lines; but are blemished by two bad rhymes, Grot to Thought; scarce excusable in so short a poem, in which every syllable ought to be correct.

It is remarkable that Juvenal, having mentioned this celebrated cave, takes occasion to inveigh against artificial grotto-work, and adulterating the simple beauties of nature, in lines uncommonly poetical :

"In vallem Ægeriæ descendimus, et speluncas
Dissimiles veris ; quanto præstantius esset
Numen aquæ, viridi si margine clauderet undas
Herba, nec ingenuum violarent marmora tophum!"

Sat. iii. v. 17.


Milton, in an exquisite Latin poem, addressed to Salsillus, vol. ii. 532, has beautifully feigned that Numa is still living in this dark grove and grotto, in the perpetual enjoyment of his Ægeria.-Warton. Ver 10. Where, nobly pensive, St. Joнn] Lord Bolingbroke's account of

After Ver. 6. in the MS.


You see that Island's wealth, where, only free,

Earth to her entrails feels not Tyranny.

i. e. Britain is the only place in the globe which feels not tyranny even to its very entrails.-Warburton.

Where British sighs from dying WYNDHAM stole,
And the bright flame was shot through MARCHMONT'S


Let such, such only, tread this sacred Floor,

Who dare to love their Country, and be poor.


the conversations, and manner of Pope's friends passing their time in his Garden, is not uninteresting:

"All I dare promise you is, that my thoughts, in what order soever they flow, shall be communicated to you, just as they pass through my mind, just as they used to be when we conversed together on these or any other subject, when we sauntered alone, or, as we have often done, with good Arbuthnot, and the jocose Dean of St. Patrick, among the multiplied scenes of your little Garden." Letter to Sir William Wyndham.-Bowles.

Ver. 11. Dying Wyndham] Sir William Wyndham was a most upright and amiable man, and conscientiously attached to the exiled House of James. Born of a Tory family; "imbued," says Mr. Coxe, "from his earlier years with notions of Divine right, he uniformly opposed the succession of the House of Brunswick."

By marriage, in the reign of Edward the Sixth, with the daughter of Sir John Sydenham, of Orchard, the elder line of the ancient family of this name, from Wymondham in Norfolk, was settled at Orchard, since called Orchard Wyndham, in Somersetshire. Sir William was lineally descended from this branch. He was born in the year 1686, and upon the death of his father, succeeded to the title of Baronet. married in 1708, Lady Catherine Seymour, daughter of Charles, Duke of Somerset.


Pope's connexion with him was probably owing to Lord Bolingbroke, through life his intimate friend, and with whom he kept up a constant correspondence, which was continued with his son, afterwards Earl of Egremont, till the death of Lord Bolingbroke. Under Lord Oxford's administration he was made Master of the Buck-Hounds, and was afterwards Secretary at War, and Chancellor of the Exchequer. For obvious reasons, he experienced a great reverse of fortune on the accession of George I. and was committed to the Tower in 1716. He was released under bail, and continued to be highly respected for his probity and abilities. He died in 1740.-Bowles.


Ver. 11. Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole,] In his MS. it was thus:

To Wyndham's breast the patriot passions stole, which made the whole allude to a certain anecdote of not much consequence to any but the parties concerned.-Warburton.

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