CA A P. XVII.

ON VERSIFICATION.

ANY by Numbers judge a Poet's fong;

And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong; In the bright Muse tho' thoufand charms confpire, Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire ; Who haunt Parnaffus but to please their ear, Not mend their minds; as fome to Church repair Not for the doctrine, but the music there. Thefe equal fyllables alone require,

Tho' oft the ear the open vowels tire ;

While expletives their feeble aid do join ;
And ten low words oft creep in one dull line :
While they ring round the fame unvary'd chimes,
With fure returns of ftill expected rhimes;
Where'er you find the cooling western brecze,”
In the next line, it "whispers thro' the trees :"
If crystal streams" with pleafing murmurs creep,"
The reader's threaten'd (not in vain) with "fleep :"
Then, at the laft and only couplet fraught

With fome unmeaning thing they call a thought,
A needlefs Alexandrine end the song,

That, like a wounded fnake, drags it flow length along.
Leave fuch to tune their own dull rhimes, and know
What's roundly fmooth, or languifbingly flow;
And praise the easy vigour of a line,

Where Denham's strength, and Waller's fweetnefs join.
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance,
As thofe move easiest who have learn'd to dance.

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'Tis not enough no harfhnefs gives offence,

The found must seem an echo to the fense:
Soft is the strain when Zephyr gently blows,
And the fmooth ftream in fmoother numbers flows ;
But when loud furges lash the founding shore,
The hoarfe, rough verse should like the torrent roar :
When Ajax ftrives fome rock's vaft weight to throw,
The line too labours, and the words move flow;
Not fo, when fwift Camilla fcours the plain,
Flies o'er the' unbending corn, and fkims along the main.
Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays furprise,

And bid alternate paffions fall and rife!

While, at each change, the fon of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love;
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now fighs fteal out, and tears begin to flow:
Perfians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the World's victor ftood fubdued by Sound!

POPE.

Ho

CHA P. XVIII.

LESSONS OF WISDOM.

WOW to live happpiest; how avoid the pains,
The difappointments, and disgufts of those
Who would in pleasure all their hours employ ;
The precepts here of a divine old man

I could recite. Tho' old, he still retain'd
His manly fenfe, and energy of mind.
Virtuous and wife he was, but not severe ;
He still remember'd that he once was young;

His eafy prefence check'd no decent joy.

Him even the diffolute admir'd; for he

A graceful loofenefs when he pleas'd put on,
And laughing could inftru&t. Much had he read,
Much more had feen; he studied from the life,
And in th' original perus'd mankind.

Vers'd in the woes and vanities, of life,

He pitied man and much he pitied those
Whom falfely-fmiling fate has curs❜d with means
To diffipate their days in queft of joy.
Our aim is Happiness; 'tis yours, 'tis mine,
He faid, 'tis the pursuit of all that live;
Yet few attain it, if 'twas e'er attain'd.
But they the widest wander from the mark,
Who thro' the flow'ry paths of faunt'ring Joy
Seek the coy Goddess; that from stage to stage
Invites us ftill, but shifts as we pursue,
For, not to name the pains that pleasure brings
To counterpoife itself, relentless Fate

Forbids that we thro' gay voluptuous wilds
Should ever roam: And were the Fates more kind,
Our narrow luxuries would foon be ftale.
Were these exhauftlefs, Nature would grow fick,
And cloy'd with pleasure, fqueamishly complain
That all was vanity, and life a dream.
Let nature reft: Be bufy for yourself,
And for your friend; be busy even in vain,
Rather than teaze her fated appetites.
Who never fafts, no banquet e'er enjoys;
Who never toils or watches, never fleeps.
Let nature reft: And when the taste of joy
Grows keen, indulge; but fhun fatiety.
'Tis not for mortals always to be blek.

But

But him the leaft the dull or painful hours
Of life opprefs, whom fober Senfe conducts,
And Virtue, thro' this labyrinth we tread,
Virtue and Sense I mean not to disjoin;
Virtue and Senfe are one: and, trust me, he
Who has not virtue is not truly wife
Virtue (for mere Good-nature is a fool)
Is fenfe and fpirit, with humanity:

'Tis fometimes angry, and its frown confounds
'Tis even vindictive, but in vengeance juft.
Knaves fain would laugh at it; fome great ones dare

But at his heart the most undaunted fon

Of fortune dreads its name and awful charms.

To noblest uses this determines wealth:
This is the folid pomp of profperous days;
The peace and shelter of adversity.

And if you pant for glory build your fame -
On this foundation, which the secret shock
Defies of Envy and all-fapping Time.
The gaudy glofs of Fortune only ftrikes
The vulgar eye: The fuffrage of the wife,
The praise that's worth ambition, is attain'd
By fenfe alone, and dignity of mind.

Virtue, the strength and beauty of the foul,
Is the beft gift of Heaven: a happiness
That even above the smiles and frowns of fate
Exalts
great Nature's favourites: a wealth
That ne'er encumbers, nor to bafer hands
Can be transferr'd: it is the only good
Man juftly boafts of, or can call his own
Riches are oft by guilt and baseness earn'd;
Or dealt by chance to fhield a lucky knave,

Or

Or throw a cruel funshine on a fool.

But for one end, one much-neglected use,

Are riches worth your care (for Nature's wants
Are few, and without opulence supplied)
This noble end is, to produce the Soul:
To fhew the virtues in their fairest light;
To make Humanity the Minister

Of bounteous Providence ; and teach the breast
That generous luxury the Gods enjoy.-

Thus, in his graver vein, the friendly Sage

Sometimes declaim'd. Of right and Wrong he taught
Truths as refin'd as ever Athens heard ;

And (ftrange to tell!) he practis'd what he preach'd.

IN

N frolick's hour, ere serious thought had birth,
There was a time, my dear CORNWALLIS, when
The Mufe would take me on her airy wing
And waft to views romantic; there prefent
Some motley vision, shade and fun: the cliff
Oe'r hanging, sparkling brooks, and ruins grey :
Bade me meanders trace, and catch the form
Of various clouds, and rainbows learn to paint.
Sometimes Ambition, brufhing by, would twitch
My mantle, and, with winning look fublime,
Allure to follow. What tho' fteep the track,
Her mountain's top would overpay, when climb'd,
The scaler's toil her temple there was fine,

And