Изображения страниц
PDF
EPUB

Not danger, toil, the tedious weary way,.

Nor all the Gallic powers his promis'd aid delay.
Like truth itself unknowing how to fail,

He fcorn'd to doubt, and knew he must prevail.
Thus ever certain does the fun appear,

Bound by the law of Jove's eternal year;

Thus conftant to his courfe fets out at morn,

455

Round the wide world in twice twelve hours is born,
And to a moment keeps his fix'd return.

Straight to the town the heroes turn their care,
Their friendly fuccour for thebrave prepare,
And on the foe united bend the war.

O'er the steep trench and ramparts guarded height,
At once they rush, and drive the rapid flight;
With idle arms the Gallic legions feem

To ftem the rage of the resistless stream;
At once it bears them down, at once they yield,
Headlong are pufh'd and fwept along the field;
Refiftance ceafes, and 'tis war no more,
At once the vanquish'd own the victor's power;

465

470

Throughout the field, where-e'er they turn their fight, 'Tis all or conqueft or inglorious flight;

Swift to their refcued friends their joys they bear,
With life and liberty at once they chear,
And fave them in the moment of defpair.
So timely to the aid of finking Rome,
With active hafte did great Camillus come:1
So to the Capitol he forc'd his way,

So from the proud Barbarians fnatch'd his prey,
And fav'd his country in one fignal day.

[blocks in formation]

From impious arms at length, O Louis cease!
And leave at length the labouring world in peace,
Left heaven disclose fome yet more fatal scene,
Fatal beyond Ramillia or Turin ;
Left from thy hand thou fee thy fceptre torn,
And humbled in the dust thy loffes mourn:
Left urg'd at length thy own repining flave,
Though fond of burdens, and in bondage brave,
Pursue thy hoary head with curfes to the grave.

485,

}

AN EPISTLE TO FLAVIA.

ON THE SIGHT OF TWO PINDARIC ODES
THE SPLEEN AND VANITY.

WRITTEN, BY A LADY * HER FRIEND..

FLA

LAVIA, to you with fafety I commend
This verfe, the fecret failing of your

To your good-nature I fecurely truft,

Who know, that to conceal, is to be just.

friend.

ON..

The Muse, like wretched maids by love undone,
From friends, acquaintance and the light would run ;.
Confcious of folly, fears attending flame,

Fears the cenforious world, and lofs of fame.
Some confident by chance the finds (though few
Pity the fools, whom love or verse undo)
Whofe fond compaffion fooths her in the fin,.
And fets her on to venture once again..

* Anne Countefs of Winchelfea.

Sure,

Sure, in the better ages of old time, Nor poetry nor love was thought a crime;

From heaven they both the gods best gifts were fent, Divinely perfect both, and innocent.

Then were bad poets and loofe loves not known;
None felt a warmth which they might blush to own,
Beneath cool, fhades our happy fathers lay,

And spent in pure untainted joys the day :
Artlefs their loves, artlefs their numbers were,
While Nature fimply did in both appear,

Now could the cenfor or the critic fear.

Pleas'd to be pleas'd, they took what heaven bestow'd>>
Nor were too curious of the given good.

At length, like Indians fond of fancy'd toys,
We loft being happy, to be thought more wife.
In one curs'd age, to punish verfe and fin,
Critics and hangmen, both at once, came in.
Wit and the laws had both the fame ill fate,
And partial tyrants sway'd in either state.
Ill-natur'd cenfure would be fure to damn
An alien-wit of independent fame,

While Bays grown old, and harden'd in offence,
Was fuffer'd to write on in fpite of sense;
Back'd by his friends, th' invader brought along
A crew of foreign words into our tongue,
To ruin and enslave the free-born English fong;
Still the prevailing faction propt his throne,
And to four volumes let his Plays run on;
Then a lewd tide of verfe, with vicious rage,.
Broke in upon the morals of the age.

}

The

The Stage (whofe art was once the mind to move
To noble daring, and to virtuous love)
Precept, with pleasure mix'd, no more profest,
But dealt in double-meaning bawdy jeft:
The fhocking founds offend the blushing fair,
And drive them from the guilty Theatre.

Ye wretched bards! from whom thefe ills have sprung,
Whom the avenging powers have spar'd too long,
Well may you fear the blow will furely come,
Your Sodom has no Ten to avert its doom;
Unless the fair Ardelia will alone

To heaven for all the guilty tribe atone;.
Nor can Ten Saints do more than fuch a One.
Since the alone of the poetic crowd

To the falfe gods of wit has never bow'd,
The empire, which the faves, fhall own her fway,
And all Parnaffus her blefs'd laws obey.

Say, from what facred fountain, nymph divine!
The treasures flow, which in thy verfe do fhine?
With what ftrange infpiration art thou bleft,
What more than Delphic ardour warms thy breast?
Our fordid earth ne'er bred fo bright a flame,
But from the fkies, thy kindred fkies, it came.
To numbers great like thine, th' angelic: quire
In joyous concert tune the golden lyre;
Viewing, with pitying eyes, our cares with thee,
They wifely own, that "All is Vanity;"
Ev'n all the joys which mortal minds can know,
And find Ardelia's verfe the leaft vain thing below.
If Pindar's name to thofe blefs'd manfions reach,
And mortal Mufes may immortal teach,

In verfe like his, the heavenly nation raise
Their tuneful voices to their Maker's praise.
Nor fhall celeftial harmony disdain,

For once, to imitate an earthly ftrain,
Whose fame fecure, no rival e'er can fear,
But those above, and fair Ardelia here.
She who undaunted could his raptures view,
And with bold wings his facred heights purfue;
Safe through the Dithyrambic stream fhe fteer'd,.
Nor the rough deep in all its dangers fear'd;
Not fo the reft, who with fuccefslefs pain
Th' unnavigable torrent try'd in vain.

So Clelia leap'd into the rapid flood,
While the Etrufcans ftruck with wonder ftood:
Amidft the waves her rafh purfuers dy'd,
The matchlefs dame could only ftem the tide,
And gain the glory of the farther fide.

}

See with what pomp the antic masque comes in! The various forms of the fantaftic spleen. Vain empty laughter, howling grief and tears, Falfe joy, bred by false hope, and falser fears; Each vice, each paffion which pale nature wears, In this odd monftrous medley mix'd appears. Like Bays 's dance, confusedly round they run, Statefman, Coquet, gay Fop, and pensive Nun, Spectres and Heroes, Hufbands and their Wives, With Monkish Drones that dream away their lives.. Long have I labour'd with the dire disease, Nor found, but from Ardelia's numbers, ease: The dancing verfe runs through my fluggish veins, Where dull and cold the frozen blood remains.

Pale

« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »