Nature, exerting an unwearied power,
Forms, opens, and gives scent to, every flower;
Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads
The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads:
She fills profuse ten thousand little throats
With mufic, modulating all their notes;
And charms the woodland fcenes, and wilds unknown,
With artlefs airs and concerts of her own:
But feldom (as if fearful of expense)
Vouchfafes to man a poet's juft pretence-
Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought,
Harmony, ftrength, words exquifitely fought;
Fancy, that from the bow, that spans the sky,
Brings colours, dipt in heaven, that never die;
A foul exalted above earth, a mind
Skilled in the characters that form mankind;
And, as the fun in rifing beauty dreffed,
Looks to the weftward from the dappled east,
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose,
Ere yet his race begins, its glorious clofe ;
An eye like his to catch the distant goal;
Or, ere the wheels of verfe begin to roll,
Like his to fhed illuminating rays
On every scene and fubject it furveys:
Thus graced, the man afferts a poet's name,
And the world cheerfully admits the claim.
Pity religion has fo seldom found
A skilful guide into poetic ground!
The flowers would fpring wherever she deigned to stray,
And every mufe attend her in her way.
Virtue indeed meets many a rhiming friend,
And many a compliment politely penned;
But, unattired in that becoming veft
Religion weaves for her, and half undressed,
Stands in the defert, fhivering and forlorn,
A wintry figure, like a withered thorn.
The fhelves are full, all other themes are fped;
Hackneyed and worn to the laft flimfy thread,
Satire has long fince done his beft; and curft
And loathfome ribaldry has done his worft;
Fancy has fported all her powers away
In tales, in trifles, and in children's play;
And 'tis the fad complaint, and almost true,
Whatever we write, we bring forth nothing new. '
Twere new indeed to fee a hard all fire,
Touched with a coal from heaven, affume the lyre,
And tell the world, ftill kindling as he fung,
With more than mortal mufic on his tongue,
That He, who died below, and reigns above,
Infpires the fong, and that his name is love.
For, after all, if merely to beguile,
By flowing numbers and a flowery ftyle,
The tædium that the lazy rich endure,
Which now and then sweet poetry may cure;
Or, if to fee the name of idle felf,
Stamped on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf,
To float a bubble on the breath of fame,
Prompt his endeavour and engage his aim,
Debased to fervile purposes of pride,
How are the powers of genius mifapplied!
The gift, whofe office is the Giver's praise,
To trace him in his word, his works, his ways!
Then spread the rich discovery, and invite
Mankind to fhare in the divine delight.
Distorted from its ufe and juft defign,
To make the pitiful poffeffor thine,
To purchase, at the fool-frequented fair
Of vanity, a wreath for felf to wear,
Is profanation of the baseft kind-
Proof of a trifling and a worthlefs mind.
A. Hail Sternhold, then; and Hopkins, hail!-B. Amen. If flatt'ry, folly, luft, employ the pen;
If acrimony, flander, and abuse,
Give it a charge to blacken and traduce;
Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease,
With all that fancy can invent to please,
Adorn the polished periods as they fall,
One madrigal of their's is worth them all.
A. 'Twould thin the ranks of the poetic tribe, To dash the pen through all that you profcribe.
B. No matter-we could shift when they were not; And should, no doubt, if they were all forgot.
Si quid loquar audiendum. HOR. Lib. 4. Od. 2.
SING, mufe (if fuch a theme, fo dark, fo long,
May find a mufe to grace it with a fong)
By what unfeen and unfufpected arts
The ferpent error twines round human hearts;
Tell where the lurks, beneath what flowery shades,
That not a glimpfe of genuine light pervades,
The poisonous, black, infinuating worm
Successfully conceals her loathfome form.
Take, if ye can, ye carelefs and fupine,
Counsel and caution from a voice like mine!
Truths, that the theorift could never reach,
And obfervation taught me, I would teach.
Not all, whofe eloquence the fancy fills,
Mufical as the chime of tinkling rills,
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