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Despair alone her pow'r denies;

Where now the joys that once were mine?
And, when the sun withdraws his rays,, Where all my hopes of future bliss ?
To the wild beach distracted flies, .

Must I those joys, those hopes, resign?
Or cheerless through the desart strays ; Is all her friendship come to this?
Or, to the church-yard’s horrors led,

Must then each woman faithless prove,
While fearful echoes burst around,

And each fond lover be undone? On some cold stone he leans his head,

Are vows no more? Almighty love, Or threws his body on the ground:

The sad remembrance let me shun!. To some such drear and solemn scene,

It will not be : my honest heart
Some friendly pow'r

my way,

The dear sad image still retains;
Where pale misfortune's haggard train, And, spite of reason, spite of art,
Sad luxury! delight to stray.

The dreadful memory remains. Wrapp'd in the solitary glooin,

Ye Pow'rs divine! whose wond'rous skill Retird from life's fantastic crew,

Deep in the womb of time can sce, Resign'd I'll wait my final doom,

Behold, I bend me to your will, And bid the busy world adieu.

Nor dare arraign your high decree. The world has now no joy for me,

Let her be blest with health, with ease, Vor can life now one pleasure boast;

With all your bounty has in store; Since all my eyes desir’d to see,

Let sorrow cloud my future days; My wish, my hope, my all, is lost ;

Be Stella blest ; I ask no more. Since she, so form'd to please and Lless, But, lo! where high in yonder east So wise, so innocent, so fair,

The star of morning mounts apace! W'bose conrerse sweet made sorrow less, Hence! let me fly the unwelcome guest, And brightend all the gloom of care

And bid the Muse's labor cease. Since she is lost. Ye pow'rs divine,

What have I done, or thought or said ? O say, what horrid act of mine

Has drawn this vengeance on my head ! WHEN, young, life's journey I began, Why should Ileaven favor Lycon's claim?

The glittering prospect charm'd ny eyes, Why are my heart's best wishes cross'd ?

I saw along the extended plan What fairer deeds adorn his name?

Joy after joy successive rise ; What nobler merit can he boast?

And Fame her golden trumpet blew; What higher worth in him was found

And Pow'r display'd her gorgeous charnis; My true heart's service to outweigh?

And Wealth engag’d my wand'ring view ;, A senseless fup, a dull compound

And Pleasure woo'd me to her arms; Of scarcely animated clay:

To each by turns my vows I paid, He dress'd indeed, he danc'd with ease,

As Folly led me to admire; And charm’d hier by repeating o’er

While Fancy magnified each shade, l'nmeaning raptures in her praise,

And Hope increas'd each fond desire. That twenty fools had told before :

But soon I found 't was all a dream ; But I, alas! who thought all art

And learn’d the fond pursuit to shun, My passion's force would meanly prove, Where few can reach their purpos d aiin, Could only boast an honest heart,

And thousands daily are undone: And claim'd no merit but my love,

And Fame, I found, was empty air ; Hare I not sat - conscious hours,

Anil Wealth and Terror för her guest;
Be witness -- while my Stella sung And Pleasure's path was sirewn with Care; :
Froin morn to eve, with all my pow'rs

And Pow'r was vanity at best.
Rapt in th' enchantment of her tongue !
Ye conscious hours that saw me stand

Tir'd of the chace, I gave it o'er;
Entranc'd in wonder and surprise,

And, in a far sequester'd shacle, In silent rapture press her hand,

To Contemplation's sober pow'r With passion bursting from my eyes

My youth's next 'services I paid. Have I not lov'd ? O earth and heaven!

There Health and Peace adorn'd the scene; Where now is all my yonthful boast ;,

And oft, indulgent 10 my prav'r, I'he dear exchange I hop'd was given

With mirihful eye, and frilie iniun, For slighted faine and fortune lost?

The Muse would dcin to visit there.


There would she oft delighter rove

Oh! who that heard het vows crewhile, The flow'r-enamellid vale along ;

Could dream those vows were insincere ! Or wander with me through the grore, Or who could think, that saw her smile, And listen to the woodlark's song:

That fraud could find admittance there ! Or 'inid the forest's awful gloom,

Yet she was false - my heart will break! Whilst wild amazement fillid my eyes, Her fraud, her perjuries were such Recal past ages from the tomb,

Some other tongue than mine must speak — And bid ileal worlds arise.

I have not power to say how much!
Thus in the Muse's favor blest,

Ye swaius, hence warnd, aroid the bait,
One wish alone my soul could frame,' O shun her paths, the trait'ress shun!
And Heaven bestow'd, to crown the rest, Her voice is death, her smile is fate;
A friend, and Thyrsis was his name :

Who hears or sees her is undone.
For manly constancy, and truth,

And when Death's hand shall close my eye, And worth, unconscious of a stain,

(For soon, I know, the day will come) He bloom'd the flow'r of Britain's youth; O cheer my spirit with a sigh, The boost and wonder of the plain.

And grave these lines upon my tomb: -
Still with our years our friendship grew;
No cares did ihen my peace destroy ;

Time brought new blessings as he Hew, Consign'd_jn dust, beneath this stone,
And ev'ry hour was wing'd with joy.

In manhood's priine, is Damon laid;
But soon the blissful scene was lost,

Joyless he liv'd, and died unknown, Soou did the sad reverse appear:

In bleak misfortune's barren shade. Love caine, like an untimely frust,

Lord by the Muse, but lov'd in vain, To blast the promise of my year.

"Twas beauty drew his ruin on ; I saw young Dapline's angel form

He saw young Daphne on the plain; (Fool that I was! I blest the smart)

“He lor'd, believ'd, and was undone! And while I gaz'd, nor thought of harm, His heart then sunk beneath the storm The dear infeciion seis'd my heart.

(Sad meed of unexampled truth!) She was, at least in Damon's eyes,

And Sorrow, like an envious worm, Made

Devour'd the blossom of his youth. of loveliness and grace;

up Her heart a stranger to disguise,

Beneath this stone the youth is laid Her mind as perfect as ber face.

Ogreet his ashes with a tear!

May heaven with blessings crown his shade, To hear her speak, to see her move


that (Unhappy 1, alas! the while),

peace he wanted here! Hvoice was joy, her look was love,

And Heaven was open'd in lier smile! $ 48, An Essay on Poetry *. Buckinghamn. She heard me breathe my amorous prayers,

Or all those arts in which the wise excel, She listen'd to the tender strain,

Nature's chief master-piece is writing well : She heard my sighs, she saw my tears,

No writing lifts exalted man so high And seem'd at length to share my pain.

As sacred and soul-moving Poesy : She said she lov'd -- and I, poor youth!

No kind of work requires so nice a touch ;

And, if well finish'd, nothing shines so much. (How suon, alas! can Hope persuade)

But Heaven forbid we should be so profane, Thought-all she said no more than truth;

To And all my love was well repaid.


the vulgar with that noble name!

'Tis not a Aash of fancy, which sometimes, In joys unknown to courts or kings,

Dazzling our minds, sets off the slightest rhymes; With her I sat the livelong day,

Bright as a blaze, but in a moment done; And said and look'd such tender things True wit is everlasting, like the sun ; (tir'd, As none beside can look or say !

Which, though sometimes behind a cloud reHow soon can Fortune shift the scene,

Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd. And all our earedy bliss destroy!

Number and rhyme, and that harmonious sound Care hovers round, and Grief's fell train

Which nouche nicest ear with harshness wound, Still trcads

the heels of Joy.

Are necessary, yet but vulgar arts ;

And all in rain these superficial parts My age's hope, my youth's best boast, Contribute to the structure of the whole,

My soul's chicf blessing and my pride, Without a genius ton, for that's the soul : In one sad moment all were lost,

A spirit which inspires the work throughout, And Daphne chang'd, and Thyrsis died ! As that of nature moves the world aboat;

A fame • The Essay on Satire, which was written by this noble author and Mr. Dryden, is printed among the Poems of the latter,

A Aame that glows amidst conception fit; Here as in all things else, is most unfit,
Even something of divine, and more than wit; Bare ribaldry, that poor pretence to wit ;
Itself unseen, yet all things by it shown, Such nauseous songs by a late author * made,
Describing all men, but describ'd by none. Call an unwilling censure on his shade.
Where dost thoudwell? what cavernsof the brain Not that warın thoughts of the transporting joy
Can such a vast and mighty thing contain? Can shock the chastest, or the nicest cloy;
Whenl,atvacanthours,invainthyabsencenourn, But words obscene too gross to move desire,
Oh! where dost thou retire? and why dost thou Like heaps of fuel only choke the fire.

On other' themes he well deserves our praise ; Sometiines with powerful charns to hurry me But palls that appetite he meant to raise. away,

Next, Elegy, of sweet but solemn voice, From pleasures of the night and business of the And of a subject grave exacts the choice; day?

The praise of beauty, valor, wit, contains; Even now, too far transported, I am fain And ihere too oft despairing love complains : To check thy course, and use the needful rein. In vain, alas ! for who by wit is movid? As all is dulness when the fancy's bad ; That Phænix-she deserves to be belor'd; So, without judgement, fancy is but mad: But noisy nonsense and such fops as vex And judgement has a boundless influence Mankind, take inost with that fantastic sex. Not only in the choice of words, or sense, This to the praise of those who better knew ; But on the world, on inanners, and on mnen; The many raise the value of the few. Faucy is but the feather of the pen :

But here (as all our sex too oft have tried) Reason is that substantial useful part

Woinen have drawn mywand'ring thoughisaside Which gains •he head, while l’other wins the Their greatest fault, who in this kind have writ, hicart.

Is not defect in words, or want of wit: Here I shall all the various sorts of verse, But should this Muse harmonious numbers And the whole art of poetry, rehearse ; And ev'ry complet be with fancy fill'd; [yield, But who that task would after Horace do? If yet a just coherence be not made The best of inasters and examples too!

Between each thought; and thewhole model laid Echoes at best, all we can say is vain ; So right, that ev'ry line may higher rise, Duil the design, and fruitless were the pain. Like goodly mountains, till they reach the skies 'Tis true, the antients we may rob with ease ; Such trifles may perhaps of late have pass'd, But who with that mean shift himselfcan please, And may be lik'd awhile, but never last; Without an actor's pride? A player's art "Tis epigram, 'tis point, 'tis what you will, Is above his who writes a borrow'd part. But not an Elegy, nor writ with skill, Yet modern laws are made for latter faults, No + Panegyric, nor a Cooper's Hill. And new absurdities inspire new thoughts ; A higher fight, and of a happier force, What need has Satire then to live on theft, Are Odes: the Muses' most unruly horse, When so much fresh occasion still is left? That bounds so fierce, the rider has no rest, Fertile our soil, and full of rankest weeds, lle foams at mouth, and moves like one posAnd monsters worse than ever Nilus breeds. The poet here must be indeed inspir'd [sess d. But hold—the fool shall have no cause to fear; With fury too as well as fancy fir'd. 'Tis wit and sense that are the subject here : Cowley might boast to have perform'd this part, Defects of witty men deserve a cure;

Had he with nature join'd the rules of art;
And those who are so will ev’n this endure. But sometimes diction mean,orverseill-wrought,

First then of Songs which nowso much abound; Deackens, or clouds, his noble fraine of thought.
Without his song no fop is to be found; Though all appear in heat and fury done,
A most offensive weapon, which he draws The language still must soft and casy run.
On all he meets, against Apollo's laws : These laws may sound a little too severe:
Though nothing seems more easy, yet no part But judgement yields, and fancy governs here ;
Of poetry requires a nicer art:

Which, though extravagant, this Muse allows, For as in rows of richest pearl there lies And inakes the work much easier than it shows, Many a blemish that escapes our eyes,

Of all the ways that wisest men could find The least of which defects is plainly shown To mend the age, and mortify mankind, In one sinall ring, and brings the value down- Satire well writ has most successful prov'd, So songs should be to just perfection wrought; And cures, because the remedy is lov'd, Yet where caii one be seen without a fault? 'Tis hard to write on such a subject inore, Exact propriety of words and thought; Without repeating things said oft before : Expression easy, and the fancy high ; Some vulgar errors only we 'll remove Yet that not seem to creep, nor this to fly; That stain a beauty which we so much love. No words transpos’d, but in such order all, Of chosen words some take not care enough, As wrought with care, yet seem by chance to fall. And think they should be as the subject rough;





The Farl of Rochester - It may be observed, however, that many of the worst songs as etibed to this nobleaian were spurious.

+ Waller's. .



pocm must be more exactly made, What things are these who would be poets And sharpest thoughts in smoothest words con- thought, vey'd.

By nature nou inspir’d, nor learning taught? Some think, if sharp enough, they cannot fail, Some wit they have, and therefore may deserve As if their only business was to rail :

A better course than this, by which they stare: But human frailty nicely to unfold,

But to write plays! wliv, 'tis a bold pretence Distinguishes a satyr from a scold.

To judgemeni, breeding, wit, and eloquence: Rage you must hide, and prejudice lay down ; Nay more: for they must look within, to find A satyr's smile is sharper than his frown : Those sceret turns of nature in the mind, So while you seem to slight some rival youth, Without this part in vain tvould be the whole, Malice itself may pass sometimes for truth. And but a body all, without a soul, The Laureat * here may justly clain our praise, All this united yet but makes a part Crown'd by Mac Fleck noct with immortal bays; Of Dialogue, tiat great and pow'rful art, Yet once his Pegasus I has bome dead weight, Now almost lost, which the old Grecians knew, Rid by some lumpish minister of state. From whom the Romans tainter copies dress,

Heře rest my Muse, suspend thy cares awhile; Scarce comprehended since but by a few. A more important task attends thy toil. Plato and Lucian are the best reinains As some young eagle, that designs to fly Of all the wonders which this art contains ; A long unwonted journey through the sky, Yet to ourselves we justicc muist allow, Weighs all the dangerous enterprise before, Shakspeare and Fletcher are the wonders now: O'er what wide lands and seas she is to soar; Consider their, and read them o'er and o'er; Doubts her utru sirenzth so far, and justly fears Go see then play'il, then read them as before ; The lofty road of airy travellers,

For though in many things they grossly fail, But yet incited by some bold design,

Over our passions s!ill they so prevail, That does her hopes beyond her fears incline, That our own grief by theirs is rock'u asleep; Prunes ev'ry feather, views herself with carc, The dull are forc'd to feel, theswise to weep. At last, resolvd, she cleaves the yielding air ; Their beauties initate, avoid their faulis; Away she flies, so strong, so high, so fast, First, ou a plot employ thy careful thoughts ; She lessens to us, and is lost at last :

Turn it, with time, a thousand sev'ral ways; So (though too weak for such a weighty thing) This oft, alone, bas given success to plays. The Muse inspires a sharper note to sing. Reject that vulgar error (which appears And why should truth offend, when only told So fair) of making perfect characters ; To guide thé ignorant, and waru the bold? There's no such thing in nature, and you'll draw On, then, my huse; adrent'rously engage A faultless monster--which the world ne'er saw. To give instrictions that concern the Stage. Some faults must be, that his misfortunes drei,

The unities of action, time, and place, but such as may deserie compassion too. Which, if observd, give plays so great a grace, Besides the main design compos'il with art, Are, tho' but little practis'd, too well known Each moving scene must be a plot apart ; To be taught here, where we pretend alone Contrive each liule turn, mark ev'ry place, From nicer faults to



present age, As painters first chalk out the future face : Less obvious errors of the English stage. Yet be not fondly your own slave for this,

First, then, Soliloquies had need be few, But change hereafter what appears amiss. Extremely short, and spoke in passion too. Think vot so inuch were shining thoughts Our lovers talking to themselves, for want

to place, Of others, make the pit their confidant; As what a man would say in such a case: Nor is the matter mended yet, if thus Neither in comedy will this suffice, They trust a friend only to tell it us ;

The player too must be before your eyes; Th' occasion should as naturally fall,

And, though 'tis drudgery to stoop so low, As when Bellario confesses all $.

To him you must your secret ineaning show. Figures of speech, which poets think so fine Expose no single fop, but lay the lond (Art's needless varnish to make nature shine) More equally, and spread the folly broad; All are but paint upon a beauteous face, Mere coxcombs are 100 obvious : oft we see And in descriptions only claim a place; A fool derided by as bad as he: But, to make rage declaim, and grief discourse, Hawks fly at nobler game ; in tlus low way, From lovers in despair fine things to force, A very owl inay prove a bird of prey. Must needs succeed; for who can choose but pity Small poets thus will one poor fop derour: A dying hero miserably witty?

But to collect, like becs, from ev'ry flow', But oh! the Dialogues were just and mock Ingredients to compose that precious juice Are hell up like a rest at shuttle-cock ; Which serves the world for pleasure and for use, Or else like bells eternally they chime; In spite of faction this would favor get; They sigh in simile and die in rhyme. But Falstaff || stands inimitable yet.


• Mr. Dryden. + A famous satirical Poem of his. $ la Philaster, a play of Beaumont and Fletcher.

A Paem called the Hind and Panther. The matchless character of Shakspeare. Another fault which ofien


Nature's whole strength united! endless fame,
Is, when the wit of some great poet shall And universal shouts, attend their name !
So overflow, that is, be none at all,

Read Homer once, and you can read no more, Thiit een his fvols speak sense, as if possest,

For all books eise appear so mean, so poor, And each by inspiration breaks his jest. Verse will seem prose; but still persist to read, If ouce the justness of each part be lost, Ind Honner will be all the books you need. Well may we laugh, but at the poet's cost. Tlad Bossi never writ, the world had still That silly thing men call sheer-wit avoid, Like Indians view'd this wond'rous piece of With which our age so nauseously is cloy'd :

skill; Humor is all; wit should be only brought As something of divine the work adınir'd, To turn agreeably some proper thought. Not hop'd to be instructed, but inspir'd:

But since the poets we of late have known But he, disclosing sacred mysteries, Shine in no dress so much as in their own, Has shown where all the mighty magic liess Tlie better, by example, to convince,

Describ'd the seeds, and in what order sown, Cast but a view on this wrong side of sense.

That have to such a vast proportion grown. First, a soliloquy is calmly made,

Sure from some angel be the secret knew, Where ev'ry reason is exactly weighd; Who through this labyrinth has lent the clew. Which onec perforin'd, most opportunely coines But what, alas ! avails it poor

mankind Some hero frightel at the noise of drums; To see this promis'd land, yet stay behind ? For her swwet sake, whom at first sight he loves, The way is shown, but wlio has strength to go? And all in metaphor his passion prores;

Who can all sciences profoundly know? But some ad accident, though yet unknown, Whose fancy Mies beyond weak Reason's sight, Parting this pair, w leave the swain alone; And yet bas judgement to direct it right? He straight grows jealous, tho' we know not Whose just discernment, Virgil-like, is such, why :

Never to say too little or too much? Then, to oblige his rival, needs will die : Let such a man begin without delay; But first he makes a speech, wherein he tells But he must do beyond what I can say ; The absent nymph how much his flame excels; Must above Tasso's lofty flight prevail, And yet bequeaths her generously now Succeedi where Spenser and ev'n Milton fail. To that lov'd rival whom he does not know! Who straight appears; but who can fute with- §. 49.' The Chace. Somerville. Too late, alas! io hold his hasty hand, [stand?

BOOKS. That just has given himself the cruel struke ! At which his very rival's heart is broke: The sulject proposod. Address to his Royal He, more to lais new friend than mistress kind, Highness the Prince. The origin of hunting, Most sadly mourus at being left behind ;

The rude and unpolished manners of the first Of such a death prefers the pleasing charms

hunters. Beasts at first hunted for feod and To love, and living in a lady's arms.

sacrifice. The grant made ly God to man of What shameful and what monstrous things

the l'easts, &c. The regular manner of huntare these!

ing first l'rought into this island by the Nore And then they rail at those they cannot please :

The liest munds and best horses bred Conclude us only partial 19 the dead,

here. The advantage of this exercise to us, as And grudge the sign of old Ben Jonson's head; islanders. Suldress to gentlemen of estates. When the intrinsic value of the stage

Situation of the kennel, and its several courts. Can scarce be judy'd but by a following age :

The diversion and employment of hounds in For dances, flutes, Italian songs, and rhyine the kennel. The different sorts of hounds for Many keep up sinking nonsense for a time; each different chace. Description of a perfect. But that must fail, which now so much o'er-rules, hound. Of sizing and sorting of hounds; the And sense no longer will submit to fools. middle-sized hound recommended. Of the large By painful steps at last we labor up

deep-mouthed hound for hunting the stag and Parnassus' hill, on whose bright airy top

otler. Of the lime-hound ; their use on the lorThe epic poets so divinely show,

ders of England and Scotland. A physical acAnd with just pride behold the rest below. count of scents. Of good and bad scenting Heroic poems have a just pretence

days. A short admonition to my brethren of To be the utmost stetch of human sense ;

the couples. A work of such inestimable worth,

The Chace I sing, hounds, and their various There are bu two the world has yet brought breed, forth!

And no less various use. O thou, great Prince! Homer and Virgil! with what sacred awe Whom Cambria's tow'ring hills proclain their Do those mere seunds the world's attention draw! lord, Just as a changeling seems below the rest Deign thou to hear my bold instructive song. Of men, or raiher is a two-legg'd beast, While grateful citizens with pompous show, So these gigantic souls, ainaz'd, we find Rear the triumphal arch, rich with th' exploits As much above the rest of human kind ! Of thy illustrious house; while virgins pave




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