And what fair visions oft we fancy nigh
By fond delusions of the swimming eye,
Or further pierce through Nature's maze to find
How passions drawn give passions to the mind.
Oh, what a sweet confusion! what surprize!
How quick the shifting views of pleasure rise!
While, lightly skimming, with a transient wing,
I touch the beauties which I wish to sing.
Is Verse a sovereign Regent of the soul,
And fitted all its motions to control?
Or are they sisters, tun'd at once above,
And shake like unisons if either move?
For, when the numbers sing an eager fight,
I've heard a soldier's voice express delight;
I've seen his eyes with crowding spirits shine,
And round his hilt his hand unthinking twine.
When from the shore the fickle Trojan flies,
And in sweet measures poor Eliza dies,
I've seen the book forsake the virgin's hand,
And in her eyes the tears but hardly stand.
I've known her blush at soft Corinna's name,
And in red characters confess a flame :
Or wish success had more adorn'd his arms,
Who gave the world for Cleopatra's charms.
Ye Sons of Glory, be my first appeal, If here the power of lines these lines reveal. When some great youth has with impetuous thought Read o'er achievements which another wrought,
And seen his courage and his honor go
Through crowding nations in triumphant show,
His soul, enchanted by the words he reads,
Shines all impregnated with sparkling seeds,
And courage here, and honor there, appears
In brave design that soars beyond his years,
And this a spear, and that a chariot lends,
And war and triumph he by turns attends;
Thus gallant pleasures are his waking dream,
Till some fair cause have call'd him forth to fame.
Then, form'd to life on what the Poet made,
And breathing slaughter, and in arms array'd,
He marches forward on the daring foe,
And emulation acts in every blow.
Great Hector's shade in fancy stalks along,
From rank to rank amongst the martial throng;
While from his acts he learns a noble rage,
And shines like Hector in the present age.
Thus verse will raise him to the victor's bays;
And verse, that rais'd him, shall resound his praise.
Ye tender Beauties, be my witness too,
If Song can charm, and if my Song be true.
With sweet experience oft a Fair may find
Her passions mov'd by passions well design'd;
And then she longs to meet a gentle swain,
And longs to love, and to be lov'd again.
And if by chance an amorous youth appears,
With pants and blushes she the courtship hears;
And finds a tale that must with theirs agree,
And he's Septimius, and his Acme she:
Thus lost in thought, her melted heart she gives,
And the rais'd Lover by the Poet lives.
BY JAMES DALACOURT, B. A.
WHAT various styles to different strains belong,
What time to rise, and when to sink in song;
To thee, best judge of this refin'd delight,
O! born to genius, lo the Muses write;
'Tis yours, my Lord, to bid each art excell,
And smile on merit which you grace so well;
To make mankind a nobler Broghill see,
And find their long-lost Halifax in thee;
Few now remain to say who sung before,
Parnell is dead-and Addison no more!
The few remaining, Time will sweep away,
And Pope and Swift must shortly follow Gay;
These only left of all the tuneful choir,
Garth, Steele, Rowe, Congreve, Wycherley, and
These only left, the world's great loss declare,
And serve to shew us what those wonders were,
On you, my Lord, the Muses turn their eyes ;
On Orrery the letter'd world relies;
Their ancient honors let a Boyle restore,
And be whate'er was Orrery before :
O! chief in Courts to lay the Peer aside,
Weed Vice from dignity, from titles Pride,
Great without grandeur, generous without views,
For ever bounteous, and yet ne'er profuse ;
No less by nature noble than by name,
The bloom of breeding, and the flower of fame :
Approv'd a patron at thy natal hour;
Think'st thou to 'scape the praises in their power ? ·
Though from Britannia's strains, and Albion's shore,
You fly to deserts but to blaze the more;
They'll search you out, discover where you shine, Proclaim your worth, and frustrate your design.
So in the bloom the diamond darts its light, Though thick encircled with surrounding night; The kindling darkness breaks before the ray, And on the eye-ball bursts the brilliant day.
Sage Temple writes, a spark of native fire, Excells whatever learning can acquire ; In poetry this observation 's true, Without some genius fame will ne'er ensue : Such for a while may climb against the hill, But then, like Sisyphus, are falling still; I own, by reading we may feed the flame, But first must have that heat from whence it came;
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