« ZurückWeiter »
The Beauties which adorn’d that age,
The shining subjects of his rage,
Hoping they should immortal prove,
Rewarded with success his love.
This was the generous Poet's scope;
And all an ENGLISH pen can hope;
To make the Fair approve his flame,
That can so far extend their fame.
Verse, thus design'd, has no ill fate,
If it arrive. but at the date
Of fading beauty; if it prove
But as long-liv'd as present love.
Upon the Earl of Roscommon's Transla
tion of HORACE, De Arte Poeticâ : And of the Use of Poetry.
OME was not better by her HORACB taught,
Than we are here to comprehend his thought:
The Poet writ' to noble Piso there ;
A noble Piso does instruct us here:
Gives us a pattern in his flowing style ;
And with rich precepts does oblige our Isle :
BRITAIN! whose genius is in verse express?d;
Bold, and sublime; but negligently dress'd.
HORACE will our superfluous branches prune,
Give us new rules, and set our harp in tune:
Direct us how to back the winged horse,
Favor his flight, and moderate his force.
Tho' Poets may of inspiration boast,
Their rage, ill-govern'd, in the clouds is loft.
He that proportion'd wonders can disclose,
At once his fancy, and his judgment, shows.
Chaste moral writing we may learn from hence;
Neglect of which no wit can recompence.
The fountain which from Helicon proceeds,
That sacred stream! should never water weeds;
Nor make the crop of thorns, and thistles, grow,
Which envy, or perverted nature, fow,
Well-founding verses are the charm we use,
Heroic thoughts, and virtue, to infuse :
Things of deep sense we may in prose unfold;
But they move more, in lofty Numbers told:
By the loud trumpet, which our courage aids,
We learn that sound, as well as sense, persuades.
The MU se s' friend, unto himself severe,
With filent pity looks on all that err:
But where a brave, a publick action shines,
That he rewards with his immortal lines.
Whether it be in council, or in fight,
His country's honour is his chief delight:
Praise of great Acts he scatters as a seed,
Which may the like in coming ages breed.
Here taught the fate of verses, (always priz'd
With admiration, or as much despis'd)
Men will be less indulgent to their faults ;
And patience have to cultivate their thoughts.
Poets lose half the praise they should have got,
Could it be known what they discreetly blot:
Finding new words, that to the ravish'd ear
May like the language of the Gods appear:
Such as, of old, wise Bards employ'd, to make
Unpolish'd men their wild retreats forsake :
Law-giving Heroes, fam’d for taming brutes,
And raising cities with their charming lutes.
For rudest minds with harmony were caught,
And civil life was by the Muses taught.
So, wand'ring bees would perish in the air,
Did not a sound, proportion’d to their ear,
Appease their rage, invite them to the hive,
Unite their force, and teach them how to thrive:
To rob the flow'rs, and to forbear the spoil ;
Preserv'd in winter by their summer's toil:
They give us food, which may with Nectar vie,
And wax, that does the absent fun fupply.
Ad COMITEM MONUMETENSEM
de BENTIVOGLIO fuo.
LORIBUS AN GLIGENIS non hanc tibi necto
corollam, Cùm fatìs indigenis te probet ipse Liber: Per me Roma sciet tibi se debere, quòd ANGLO
ROMAN U S didicit cultiùs ore loqui. Ultima
tellus Aquilas duce CÆSARE vidit, Candida ROMULI DUM te duce scripta videt. Confilio ut quondam Patriam nil juveris, esto!
Sed studio cives ingenioque juvas.
Namque dolis Liber hic instructus, et arte BATAVA,
A BELGA nobis ut caveamus, ait.
Horremus per te civilis dira furoris
Vulnera; discordes FLANDRIA qualla monet.
Hic discat miles pugnare, orare senator ;
Qui regnant, leni fceptra tenere manu. Macte, Comes ! virtue novâ ; veftri ordinis ingens
Ornamentum, ævi deliciæque tui ! Dum ftertunt alii fomno vinoque fepulti,
Nobilis antiquo ftemmate digna facis,
To Mr. KILLEGREW, upon his altering
bis Play PANDORA, from a Tragedy into a Comedy, because not approv'd on the Stage.
way Of judging well, than thus have chang'd your Play: You had oblig'd us by imploying wit, Not to reform PANDORA, but the Pit. For, as the nightingale, without the throng Of other birds, alone attends her song; While the loud daw, his throat displaying, draws The whole assembly of his fellow-daws: So, muft the writer, whose productions should Take with the vulgar, be of vulgar mould: Whilft nobler fancies make a flight too high For common view, and lessen as they fly.
On the Duke of MONMOUTH's Expedi
tion into SCOTLAND, in the Summer Solstice.
WIFT as Jove's messenger, (*the winged god)
He flew to execute the King's command :
And, in a moment, reach'd that northern land;
Where day, contending with approaching night,
Affists the Hero with continu'd light.
On foes surpriz’d, and by no night conceald,
He might have rulh’d; but noble pity held
His hand a while, and to their choice gave space,
Which they would prove, his valor, or his grace.
This not well heard, his cannon louder spoke;
And then, like lightning, thro' that cloud he broke.
His fame, his conduct, and that martial look,
The guilty Scots with such a terror strook ;
That to his courage they resign the field,
Who to his bounty had refus'd to yield.
Glad that so little loyal blood it cost,
He grieves so many Britons should be loft:
Taking more pains, when he beheld them yield,
To save the flyers, than to win the field:
And at the Court his Int’reft does imploy,
That none, who scap'd his fatal Sword, should die.
And now, these rash bold men their error, find,
Not trusting one beyond his promise kind :
One! whose great mind, so bountiful, and brave,
Had learn'd the art to conquer, and to save.