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diverfions or business as will fill the mind, or remove it from the object of its concern.

Go, soft enthusiast ! quit the cypress groves, Nor to the rivulet's lonely moanings tune Your sad complaint. Go, seek the chearful haunts Of men, and mingle with the bustling croud; Lay schemes for wealth, or power, or fame, the wish Of nobler minds, and push them night and day. Or join the caravan in quest of scenes New to your eyes, and shifting every hour.

He then inveighs against drinking, the common refource in disorders of this kind, and observes, that, tho' the intoxicating draught may relieve for a time; the pains will return with ten-fold rage. And this he illuftrates with a beautiful fimile.

But soon your heav'n is gone, a heavier gloom Shuts o'er your head : and, as the thund'ring stream, Swoln o'er its banks with sudden mountain rain, Sinks from its tumult to a filent brook ; So, when the frantic raptures in your breast Subside, you languish into mortal man ; You sleep, and waking find yourself undone. For prodigal of life in one rash night You lavith'd more than might support three days.

He then points out the mischiefs that attend drunkenness ; such as losing friends by unguarded words, or doing rash deeds that are never to be forgotten (but which may haunt a man with horror to his grave) the loss of money, health and decay of parts ; and then pays a grateful filial tribute to the memory of his father, whose advice on the conduct of life he thus recommends.

How to live happiest; how avoid the pains,
The disappointments, and disgusts of those
Who would in pleasure all their hours employ ;
The precepts here of a divine old man
I could recite. Tho' old, he still retained
His manly sense, and energy of mind.

Virtuous and wise he was, but not severe;
He still remember'd that he once was young ;
His easy presence check'd no decent joy.
Him e'en the diffolute admir'd; for he
A graceful looseness, when he pleas'd, put on,
And laughing could instruct. Much had he read,
Much more had seen ; he studied from the life,
And in th'original perus’d mankind.

In the parts that follow are contain’d some lessons for the conduct of life, from which we shall insert a few maxims.

Vers'd in the woes and vanities of life,
He pity'd man: and much he pity'd those
Whom fallly-smiling fate has curs’d with means
To dislipate their days in quest of joy.

With respect to indolence and luxury we have this liffon, which concludes with a definition of virtue and sense, and their good effects.

Let nature rest: be busy for yourself, And for


friend; be busy even in vain,
Rather than teize her sated appetites.
Who never fafts, no banquet e'er enjoys ;
Who never toils nor watches, never sleeps.
Let nature reft: and when the taste of joy
Grows keen, indulge ; but fhun satiety.
'Tis not for mortals always to be blest.
But him the least the dull or painful hours
Of life oppress, whom sober sense conducts,
And virtue, thro' this labyrinth we tread.
Virtue and sense I mean not to disjoin ;
Virtve and sense are one : and, trust me, he
Who has not virtue, is not truly wise.
Virtue (for mere good nature is a fool)
Is sense and spirit, with humanity ;
'Tis sometimes angry, and its frown confounds ;
"Tis even vindi&tive, but in vengeance just.
This is the solid pomp of prosperous days;,
The peace and shelter of adversity.

The gawdy glofs of fortune only strikes
The vulgar eye: the suffrage of the wise,
The praise that's worth ambition, is attain'd
By sense alone, and dignity of mind.

But from this disgression (or episode) the poet naturally returns to his subject.

Thus, in his graver vein, the friendly fage
Sometimes declaim'd. Of right and wrong he taught
Truths as refin'd as ever Athens heard ;
And (strange to tell !) he practis'd what he preach'd.
Skill'd in the passions, how to check their sway
He knew, as far as reason can controul
The lawless

powers. But other cares are mine :
Form'd in the fchool of Pæon, I relate
What passions hurt the body, what improve :
Avoid them, or invite them, as you may.

Know then, whatever chearful and serene
Supports the mind, fupports the body too.
Hence the most vital movement mortals feel.
Is hope ; the balm and life-blood of the soul.
It pleases, and it lafts. Indulgent heaven
Sent down the kind delusion, thro' the paths
Of rugged life to lead us patient on ;
And make our happiest state no tedious thing.

He then speaks of the good and bad effects of love, and with regard to consummation, he says;

Is health your care, or luxury your aim,
Be temperate still; when nature bids, obey ;
Her wild impatient sallies bear no curb :
But when the prurient habit of delight,
Or loose imagination, spurs you on
To deeds above your strength, impute it not
To nature : nature all compulsion hates.

The poet then proceeds to other passions, and the defcription he has given us of anger and its dreadful effects, is very beautiful and very juft.

But there's a paffion, whose tempestuous sway Tears up each virtue planted in the brealt, And shakes to ruins proud philosophy. For pale and trembling anger ruhes in, With fault'ring speech, and eyes that wildly stare ; Fierce as the tyger, madder than the seas, Desperate, and arm’d with more than human strength. How soon the calm, humane, and polish'd man Forgets compunction, and starts up a fiend! Who pines in love, or wastes with filent cares, Envy, or ignominy, or tender grief, Slowly descends, and ling'ring, to the shades; But he whom anger flings, drops, if he dies, At once, and rushes apoplectic down; Or a fierce fever hurries him away. Such fates attend the rash alarm of fear, And sudden grief, and rage, and fudden joy.

But there are constitutions to which these boisterous fits, these violent fallies of passion, may be sometimes serviceable,

For where the mind a torpid winter leads,
Wrapt in a body corpulent and cold,
And each clogg'd function lazíly moves on ;
A generous fally spurns th' incumbent load,
Unlocks the breast, and gives a cordial glow.

Those however whose blood is apt to boil, and who are easily moved to wrath he wou'd have,

Keep lent for ever ; and forfwear the bowl.

And then offers something to the confideration of those whose turbulent tempers move them to seek revenge.

While choler works, good friend, you may be wrong; Diftrust yourself, and sleep before you fight. 'Tis not too late to-morrow to be brave; If honour bids, to-morrow kill or die.

The poet then seeks a remedy for these evils, fets the contrary passions in opposition, so that they may counter

act each other; and at last recommends mufick as the most effeciual.

He then concludes the whole with an encomium on the power of poetry and of music united, which is enrich'd with allufions to ancient fables and historical facts; materials that we have often recommended as proper ornaments for these fort of poems.


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But he the muse's laurel juftly shares,
A poet he, and touch'd with heaven's own fire;
Who, with bold rage or solemn pomp of sounds,
Inflames, exalts, and ravishes the soul ;
Now tender, plaintive, sweet almost to pain,
In love diffolves you ; now in sprightly strains
Breathes a gay rapture tlfro' your thrilling breast ;
Or melts the heart with airs divinely sad;
Or wakes to horror the tremendous strings.
Such was the bard, whose heavenly strains of old
Appeas'd the fiend of melancholy Saul.
Such was, if old and heathen fame say true,
The man wlio bade the Theban domes ascend,
And tam'd the favage nations with his fong;
And such the Thracian, whose harmonious lyre,
Tun'd to soft woe, made all the mountains weep;.
Sooth'd even th'inexorable powers of hell,
And half-redeem'd his loft Eurydice.
Music exalts each joy, allays each grief,
Expels diseases, softens every pain,
Subdues the rage of poison, and the plague;
And hence the wise of ancient days ador'd
One power of physic, melody, and song.

We have dwelt long enough, perhaps too long, on this subject ; but as these poems are of such use, that what is taught in this agreeable manner will remain for ever fix'd on the memory, it seem'd the more necessary to be very particular and explicit in the rules, and to give variety of examples. We have only to add to what has been already said, that the great art in the conduct of these poems is fo to adorn and enliven the precepts that they may agreeably strike the imagination, and to de. liver them in such an indirect manner, that, the form of

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