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Pleased Vaga echoes through her winding bounds,

What is this absorbs me quite ? And rapid Severn hoarse applause resounds.

Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Who hung with woods yon mountain's sultry brow? Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? From the dry rock who bade the waters flow!

Tell me, my soul, can this be death? Not to the skies in useless columns tost,

The world recedes ; it disappears ! Or in proud falls magnificently lost;

Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears But clear and artless, pouring through the plain,

With sounds seraphic ring : Health to the sick, and solace to the swain.

Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly! Whose causeway parts the vale with shady rows ?

O Grave! where is thy victory? Whose seats the weary traveller repose ?

O Death! where is thy sting! Who taught the heaven-directed spire to rise ? • The Man of Ross,' each lisping babe replies.

We may quote, as a specimen of the melodious Behold the market-place with poor o'erspread !

versification of Pope's Homer, the well-known moon. The Man of Ross divides the weekly bread :

light scene, which has been both extravagantly He feeds yon almshouse, neat, but void of state, praised and censured. Wordsworth and Southey Where age and want sit smiling at the gate :

unite in considering the lines and imagery as false Him portioned maids, apprenticed orphans blessed, and contradictory. It will be found in this case, as The young who labour, and the old who rest. in many passages of Dryden, that, though natural Is any sick ? the Man of Ross relieves,

objects be incorrectly described, the beauty of the Prescribes, attends, and med’cine makes and gives. language and versification elevates the whole into Is there a variance ? enter but his door,

poetry of a high imaginative order. Pope followed Baulked are the courts, and contest is no more : the old version of Chapman, which we also subDespairing quacks with curses fled the place,

join : And vile attorneys, now a useless race.

The troops exulting sat in order round, B. Thrice happy man, enabled to pursue

And beaming fires illumined all the ground, What all so wish, but want the power to do!

As when the moon, refulgent lamp of night! O say, what sums that generous hand supply? O'er heaven's clear azure spreads her sacred light; What mines to swell that boundless charity ?

When not a breath disturbs the deep sereue, P. Of debts and taxes, wife and children clear, And not a cloud o'ercasts the solemn scene; This man possessed five hundred pounds a-year. Around her throne the vivid planets roll, Blush, grandeur, blush ! proud courts, withdraw your And stars unnumbered gild the glowing pole ; blaze;

O'er the dark trees a yellower verdure shed, Ye little stars! hide your diminished

rays.

And tip with silver every mountain's head; B. And what! no monument, inscription, stone ? Then shine the vales, the rocks in prospect rise, His race, his form, his name almost unknown?

A flood of glory bursts from all the skies : P. Who builds a church to God, and not to fame, The conscious swains, rejoicing in the sight, Will never mark the marble with his name:

Eye the blue vault, and bliss the useful light. Go, search it there, where to be born and die,

So many flames before proud Ilion blaze, Of rich and poor makes all the history;

And lighten glimmering Xanthus with their rays; Enough, that virtue filled the space between;

The long reflections of the distant fires
Prored by the ends of being to have been.

Gleam on the walls and tremble on the spires.
When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend A thousand piles the dusky horrors gild,
The wretch, who living saved a candle's end ;

And shoot a shady lustre o'er the field.
Shouldering God’s altar a vile image stands, Full fifty guards each flaming pile attend,
Belies his features, nay, extends his hands ;

Whose unibered arms, by fits, thick flashes send; That live-long wig, which Gorgon's self might own, Loud neigh the coursers o'er their heaps of corn, Eternal buckle takes in Parian stone.

And ardent warriors wait the rising morn.
Behold what blessings wealth to life can lend !
And see what comfort it affords our end!

Chapman's version is as follows:-
In the worst inn's worst room, with mat half-hung, This speech all Trojans did applaud, who from their
The floors of plaster, and the walls of dung,

traces loosed On once a flock-bed, but repaired with straw, Their sweating horse, which severally with headstalls With tape-tied curtains, never meant to draw,

they reposed, The George and Garter dangling from that bed And fastened by their chariots; when others brought Where tawdry yellow strove with dirty red,

from town Great Villiers liesmalas! how changed from him, Fat sheep and oxen instantly; bread, wine, and hewed That life of pleasure, and that soul of whim!

down Gallant and gay, in Cliefden's proud alcove,

Huge store of wood; the winds transferred into the The bower of wanton Shrewsbury and love;

friendly sky Or just as gay, at council, in a ring

Their supper's savour; to the which they sat delightOf inimic statesmen, and their merry king.

fully, No wit to flatter, left of all his store !

And spent all night in open field; fires round about No fool to laugh at, which he valued more.

them shined, There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, As when about the silver moon, when air is free from And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.

wind,

And stars shine clear, to whose sweet beams, high The Dying Christian to his Soul.

prospects, and the brows Vital spark of heavenly flame,

Of all steep hills and pinnacles, thrust up themselves

for shows;
Quit, oh quit this mortal frame:
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying-

And even the lowly valleys gay to glitter in their sight,

When the unmeasured firmament bursts to disclose Ob the pain, the bliss of dying !

her light, Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,

And all the signs in heaven are seen, that glad the And let me languish into life!

shepherd's heart; Hark! they whisper ; angels say,

Lo, many tiros disclosed their beams, made by the Sister spirit, come away!

Trojan part

Before the face of Ilion, and her bright turrets showed. When rage misguides me, or when fear alarms, A thousand courts of guard kept fires, and every guard When pain distresses, or when pleasure charins, allowed

In silent whisp'rings purer thoughts impart, Fifty stout men, by whom their horse eat oats, and And turn from ill a frail and feeble heart; hard-white corn,

Lead through the paths thy virtue trod before, And all did wilfully expect the silver-thronëd morn. Till bliss shall join, nor death can part no more.

That awful form which, so the Heavens decree, Cowper's translation is brief, but vivid and distinct :

Must still be loved, and still deplored by me, As when around the clear bright moon, the stars

In nightly visions seldom fails to rise, Shine in full splendour, and the winds are hushed,

Or roused by Fancy, meets my waking eyes.

If business calls, or crowded courts invite,
The groves, the mountain-tops, the headland heights
Stand all apparent, not a vapour streaks

The unblemished statesman seems to strike my sight; The boundless blue, but ether opened wide

If in the stage I seek to soothe my care,
All glitters, and the shepherd's heart is cheered.

I meet his soul, which breathes in Cato there;
If pensive to the rural shades I rore,
His step o'ertakes me in the lonely grove;

'Twas there of just and good he reasoned strong,
THOMAS TICKELL.

Cleared some great truth, or raised some serious song; The friendship of Addison has shed a reflected There patient showed us the wise course to steer,

A candid censor, and a friend severe; light on some of his contemporaries, and it elevated There taught us how to live, and (oh! too high them, in their own day, to considerable importance. The price for knowledge) taught us how to die. Amongst these was Thomas TICKELL (1686–1740),

Thou hill! whose brow the antique structures grace, born at Bridekirk, near Carlisle, and educated at Reared by bold chiefs of Warwick's noble race; Oxford. He was a writer in the Spectator and Guar- Why, once so lored, whene'er thy bower appears, dian, and when Addison went to Ireland as secre- O'er my dim eyeballs glance the sudden tears! tary to Lord Sunderland, Tickell accompanied him, How sweet were once thy prospects fresh and fair, and was employed in public business. He published Thy sloping walks, and unpolluted air ! a translation of the first book of the Iliad at the same How sweet the glooms beneath thy aged trees, time with Pope. Addison and the Whigs pronounced Thy noontide shadow, and thy evening breeze! it to be the best, while the Tories ranged under the His image thy forsaken bowers restore, banner of Pope. The circumstance led to a breach Thy walks and airy prospects charm no more; of the friendship betwixt Addison and Pope, which No more the summer in thy glooms allayed, was never healed. Addison continued his patronage Thy evening breezes, and thy noonday shade. of Tickell, made him his under secretary of state, and left him the charge of publishing his works. Tickell had elegance and tenderness as a poet, but

Colin and Lucy.-A Ballado was deficient in variety and force. His ballad of "Colin and Lucy' is worth all his other works. It

Of Leinster, famed for maidens fair, has the simplicity and pathos of the elder lyrics, Bright Lucy was the grace, without their too frequent coarseness and abrupt Nor e'er did Liffy's limpid stream transitions. His Elegy on the Death of Addison' Reflect so sweet a face; is considered by Johnson one of the most elegant and sublime funeral poems in the language. The Till luckless love and pining care author's own friend, Steele, considered it only 'prose Impaired her rosy hue, in rhyme!' The following extract contains the best Her coral lips and damask cheeks, verses in the elegy:

And eyes of glossy blue. Oft let me range the gloomy aisles alone,

Oh! have you seen a lily pale Sad luxury! to vulgar minds unknown,

When beating rains descend ? Along the walls where speaking marbles show

So drooped the slow-consuming maid,
What worthies form the hallowed mould below;

Her life now near its end.
Proud names ! who once the reins of empire held,
In arms who triumphed, or in arts excelled ;

By Lucy warned, of flattering swains
Chiefs graced with scars, and prodigal of blood,

Take heed, ye easy fair! Stern patriots, who for sacred freedom stood;

Of vengeance due to broken vows,
Just men by whom impartial laws were given,

Ye perjured swains ! beware.
And saints who taught and led the way to heaven.
Ne'er to these chambers where the mighty rest,

Three times all in the dead of night
Since their foundation came a nobler guest;

A bell was heard to ring, Nor e'er was to the bowers of bliss conveyed

And shrieking, at her window thrice A fairer spirit, or more welcome shade.

The raven flapped his wing. In what new region to the just assigned,

Too well the love-lorn maiden knew What new employments please the unbodied mind?

The solemn boding sound, A wingëd virtue through the ethereal sky,

And thus in dying words bespoke
From world to world unwearied does he fly;

The virgins weeping round:
Or curious trace the long laborious maze
Of Heaven's decrees, where wondering angels gaze? 'I hear a voice you cannot hear,
Does he delight to hear bold seraphs tell

Which says I must not stay ;
How Michael battled, and the dragon fell;

I see a hand you cannot see,
Or, mixed with milder cherubim, to glow

Which beckons me away.
In hymns of love not ill essayed below!
Or dost thou warn poor mortals left behind ?

By a false heart and broken Vows
A task well suited to thy gentle mind.

In early youth I die. Oh! if sometimes thy spotless form descend,

Was I to blame because his bride To me thy aid, thou guardian genius! lond.

Was thrice as rich as I?

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Ah, Colin! give not her thy vows,

Speak, goddess ! since 'tis thou that best canst tell, Vows due to me alone;

Ilow ancient leagues to modern discord fell; Nor thou, fond maid! receive his kiss,

And why physicians were so cautious grown Nor think him all thy own.

Of others' lives, and lavish of their own ;

How by a journey to the Elysian plain, To-morrow in the church to wed,

Peace triumphed, and old time returned again. Impatient both prepare ;

Not far from that most celebrated place, But know, fond maid! and know, false man !

Where angry justice shows her awful face; That Lucy will be there.

Where little villains must submit to fate,

That great ones may enjoy the world in state ; Then bear my corse, my comrades ! bear,

There stands a dome, majestic to the sight, This bridegroom blithe to meet;

And sumptuous arches bear its oval height; He in his wedding trim so gay,

A golden globe, placed high with artful skill, I in my winding sheet.'

Seems, to the distant sight, a gilded pill;

This pile was, by the pious patron's aim, She spoke; she died. Her corpse was borne

Raised for a use as noble as its frame; The bridegroom blithe to meet;

Nor did the learned society decline He in his wedding trim so gay,

The propagation of that great design ;. She in her winding sheet.

In all her mazes, Nature's face they viewed,
Then what were perjured Colin's thoughts?

And, as she disappeared, their search pursued.
How were these nuptials kept!

Wrapt in the shade of night the goddess lies,

Yet to the learned unveils her dark disguise,
The bridesmen flocked round Lucy dead,
And all the village wept.

But shuns the gross access of vulgar eyes.

Now she unfolds the faint and dawning strife
Confusion, shame, remorse, despair,

Of infant atoms kindling into life;
At once his bosom swell;

How ductile matter new meanders takes,
The damps of death bedewed his brow;

And slender trains of twisting fibres makes ;
He shook, he groaned, he fell.

And how the viscous seeks a closer tone,

By just degrees to harden into bone;
From the vain bride, ah ! bride no more ! While the more loose flow from the vital urn,
The varying crimson fled,

And in full tides of purple streams return;
When stretched before her rival's corpse

How lambent flames from life's bright lamps She saw her husband dead.

arise,

And dart in emanations through the eyes;
Then to his Lucy's new made grave

How from each sluice a gentle torrent pours,
Conveyed by trembling swains,

To slake a fererish heat with ambient showers;
One mould with her, beneath one sod,

Whence their mechanic powers the spirits claim; For ever he remains.

How great their force, how delicate their frame;

How the same nerves are fashioned to sustain
Oft at this grave the constant hind

The greatest pleasure and the greatest pain ;
And plighted maid are seen;

Why bilious juice a golden light puts on,
With garlands gay and true-love knots

And floods of chyle in silver currents run ;
They deck the sacred green.

How the dim speck of entity began

To extend its recent form, and stretch to man ;
But, swain forsworn! whoe'er thou art,

Why envy oft transforms with wan disguise,
This hallowed spot forbear;

And why gay Mirth sits smiling in the eyes ;
Remember Colin's dreadful fate,

Whence Milo's vigour at the Olympic's shown,
And fear to meet him there.

Whence tropes to Finch, or impudence to Sloane ;
How matter, by the varied shape of pores
Or idiots frames, or solemn senators.

Hence 'tis we wait the wondrous cause to find, SIR SAMUEL GARTH, an eminent physician, pub, | How body acts upon impassive mind; lished in 1696 his poem of The Dispensary, to aid How fumes of wine the thinking part can fire, the college of physicians in a war they were then Past hopes revive, and present joys inspire ; waging with the apothecaries. The latter had ven- Why our complexions oft our soul declare, tured to prescribe, as well as compound medicines ; And how the passions in the features are ; and the physicians, to outbid them in popularity, How touch and harmony arise between advertised that they would give advice gratis to the Corporeal figure, and a form unseen ; poor, and establish a dispensary of their own for the How quick their faculties the limbs fulfil, sale of cheap medicines. The college triumphed; And act at every summons of the will; but in 1703 the clouse of Lords decided that apothe- With mighty truths, mysterious to descry, caries were entitled to exercise the privilege which which in the womb of distant causes lie. Garth and his brother physicians resisted. Garth But now no grand inquiries are descried ; was a popular and benevolent man, a firm Whig, Mean faction reigns where knowledge should preside; yet the early encourager of Pope; and when Dryden Feuds are increased, and learning laid aside; died, he pronounced a Latin oration over the poet's Thus synods oft concern for faith conceal, remains.' With Addison, he was, politically and And for important nothings show a zeal: personally, on terms of the closest intimacy. Garth | The drooping sciences neglected pine, died in 1718. The Dispensary' is a mock heroic And Pæan'n beams with fading lustre shine. poem in six cantos.

Some of the leading apothe- No readers here with hectic looks are found, caries of the day are happily ridiculed ; but the in- Nor eyes in rheum, through midnight-watching terest of the satire has passed away, and it did not drowned: contain enough of the life of poetry to preserve it. The lonely edifice in sweats complains A few lines will give a specimen of the manner and That nothing there but sullen silence reigns. the versification of the poem. It opens in the following strain :

1 Old Bailey.

8 The College of Physicians

SIR SAMUEL GARTH.

This place, so fit for undisturbed repose,

All have sunk into oblivion; but Pope has preserved The god of sloth for his asylum chose;

his memory in various satirical allusions. * Addison Upon a couch of down in these abodes,

extended his friendship to the Whig poet, whose Supine with folded arms, he thoughtless nods; private character was exemplary and irreproachable. Indulging dreams his godhead lull to ease,

Dr Johnson included Blackmore in his edition of With inurmurs of soft rills, and whispering trees : the poets, but restricted his publication of his works The poppy and each numbing plant dispense to the poem of Creation, which, he said, "wants Their drowsy virtue and dull indolence;

neither harmony of numbers, accuracy of thought, No passions interrupt his easy reign,

nor elegance of diction.' Blackmore died in 1729. No problems puzzle his lethargic brain :

The design of Creation' was to demonstrate the But dark oblivion guards his peaceful bed,

existence of a Divine Eternal Mind. He recites the And lazy fogs hang lingering o'er his head.

proofs of a Deity from natural and physical phenoThe following is from a grandiloquent address by mena, and afterwards reviews the systems of the Colocynthus, a keen apothecary :

Epicureans and the Fatalists, concluding with a

hymn to the Creator of the world. The piety of Could'st thou propose that we, the friends of fates, Blackmore is everywhere apparent in his writings; Who fill

churchyards, and who unpeople states, but the genius of poetry too often evaporates amidst Who baffle nature, and dispose of lives,

his commonplace illustrations and prosing declaWhilst Russel, as we please, or starves or thrives,

mation. One passage of Creation (addressed to Should e'er submit to their despotic will,

the disciples of Lucretius) will suffice to show the Who out of consultation scarce can skill?

style of Blackmore, in its more select and improved The towering Alps shall sooner sink to vales, manner :And leeches, in our glasses, swell to whales; Or Norwich trade in instruments of steel,

You ask us why the soil the thistle breeds; And Birmingham in stuffs and druggets deal! Why its spontaneous birth are thorns and weeds; Alleys at Wapping furnish us new modes,

Why for the harvest it the harrow needs ! And Monmouth Street, Versailles, with riding-boods; The Author might a nobler world have made, The sick to the Hundreds in pale throngs repair, In brighter dress the hills and rales arrayed, And change the Gravel-pits for Kentish air.

And all its face in flowery scenes displayed : Our properties must on our arms depend;

The glebe untilled might plenteous crops have borne, 'Tis next to conquer, bravely to defend.

And brought forth spicy groves instead of thom : 'Tis to the vulgar death too harsh appears ;

Rich fruit and flowers, without the gardener's pains, The ill we feel is only in our fears.

Might every hill have crowned, have honoured all the To die, is landing on some silent shore,

plains : Where billows never break, nor tempests roar :

This Nature might have boasted, had the Mind Ere well we feel the friendly stroke, 'tis o'er.

Who formed the spacious universe designed The wise through thought the insults of death defy; That man, from labour free, as well as grief, The fools through blessed insensibility.

Should pass in lazy luxury his life. 'Tis what the guilty fear, the pious crave;

But he his creature gave a fertile soil, Sought by the wretch, and vanquished by the brave. Fertile, but not without the owner's toil, It eases lovers, sets the captive free;

That some reward his industry should crown, And, though a tyrant, offers liberty.

And that his food in part might be his own.

But while insulting you arraign the land, Garth wrote the epilogue to Addison's tragedy of Ask why it wants the plough, or labourer's hand; Cato, which ends with the following pleasing lines : Kind to the marble rocks, you ne'er complain Oh, may once more the happy age appear,

That they, without the sculptor's skill and pain, When words were artless, and the thoughts sincere ; No perfect statue yield, no basse relieve, When gold and grandeur were unenvied things,

Or finished column for the palace give. And courts less coveted than groves and springs.

Yet if from hills unlaboured figures came, Love then shall only mourn when truth complains,

Man might have ease enjoyed, though never fame. And constancy feel transport in his chains ;

You may the world of more defect upbraid, Sighs with success their own soft language tell,

That other works by Nature are unmade : And eyes shall utter what the lips conceal :

That she did nerer, at her own expense, Virtue again to its bright station climb,

A palace rear, and in magnificence And beauty fear no enemy but time;

Out-rival art, to grace the stately rooms; The fair shall listen to desert alone,

That she no castle builds, po lofty domes.
And every Lucia find a Cato's son.

Had Nature's hand these various works prepared,
What thoughtful care, what labour had been spared I

But then no realm would one great master show,
SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE.

No Phidias Greece, and Rome no Angelo.
SIR RICHARD BLACKMORE was one of the most Why boats and ships require the artist's hand;

With equal reason, too, you might demand fortunate physicians, and the most persecuted poets, Why generous Nature did not these provide, of this period. He was born of a good family in To pass the standing lake, or flowing tide! Wiltshire, and took the degree of M.A. at Oxford

You say the hills, which high in air arise, in 1676. He was in extensive medical practice, was Harbour in clouds, and mingle with the skies, knighted by King William III., and afterwards That earth's dishonour and encumbering load, made censor of the college of physicians. In 1695, Of many spacious regions man defraud; he published Prince Arthur, an epic poem, which he For beasts and birds of prey a desolate abode. says he wrote amidst the duties of his profession, in But can the objector no convenience find coffeehouses, or in passing up and down the streets! In mountains, hills, and rocks, which gird and bind Dryden, whom he had attacked for licentiousness, The mighty frame, that else would be disjoined ? satirised him for writing 'to the rumbling of his Do not those heaps the raging tide restrain, chariot-wheels.' Blackmore continued writing, and And for the dome afford the marble vein! published a series of epic poems on King. Alfred, Does not the rivers from the mountains flow, Queen Elizabeth, the Redeemer, the Creation, &c. | And bring down riches to the vale below!

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AMBROSE PHILIPS.

See how the torrent rolls the golden sand

The vast leviathan wants room to play, From the high ridges to the flatter land.

And spout his waters in the face of day. The lofty lines abound with endless store

The starving wolves along the main sea prowl,
Of mineral treasure and metallic ore.

And to the moon in icy valleys howl.
O'er many a shining league the level main
Here spreads itself into a glassy plain:

There solid billows of enormous size,
Among the Whig poets of the day, whom Pope's Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise.
enmity raised to temporary importance, was AMBROSE And yet but lately have I seen, even here,
Philips (1671-1749). He was a native of Leices. The winter in a lovely dress appear,
tershire, educated at Cambridge, and patronised by Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasured snow,
the Whig government of George I. He was a com-

Or winds begun through hazy skies to blow : missioner of the collieries, held some appointments At evening a keen eastern breeze arose, in Ireland, and sat for the county of Armagh in the And the descending rain unsullied froze. Irish House of Commons. The works of Philips Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, consist of three plays, some miscellaneous poems. The face of nature in a rich disguise,

The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view translations, and pastorals. The latter were published in the same miscellany with those of Pope, for every shrub, and every blade of grass,

And brightened every object to my eyes : and were injudiciously praised by Tickell as the finest in the English language. Pope resented this And every pointed thorn, seemed wrought in glass ; unjust depreciation of his own poetry by an ironical In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, paper in the Guardian, calculated to make Philips While through the ice the crimson berries glow. appear ridiculous. Ambrose felt the satire keenly, The thick-sprung reeds, which watery marshes yield, and even vowed to take personal vengeance on his Seemed polished lances in a hostile field. adversary, by whipping him with a rod in Button's Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise:

The stag, in limpid currents, with surprise coffeehouse. A paper war ensued, and Pope im- The spreading oak, the beech, and towering pine mortalised Philips as

Glazed over, in the freezing ether shine. The bard whom pilfered pastorals renown,

The frighted birds the rattling branches shun, Who turns a Persian tale for half-a-crown;

Which wave and glitter in the distant sun. Just writes to make his barrenness appear,

When, if a sudden gust of wind arise, And strains from hard-bound brains eight lines a-year. The brittle forest into atoms flies;

The pastorals are certainly poor enough; but The crackling wood beneath the tempest bends, Philips was an elegant versifier, and Goldsmith has And in a spangled shower the prospect ends: eulogised part of his epistle to Lord Dorset, as in- Or, if a southern gale the region warm, comparably fine.'

And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,

The traveller a miry country sees, A fragment of Sappho, translated by Philips, is a poetical gem so brilliant, that Warton thought Addi- | And journeys sad beneath the dropping trees : son must have assisted in its composition

Like some deluded peasant, Merlin leads

Through fragrant bowers, and through delicious meads; Blessed as the immortal gods is he,

While here enchanted gardens to him rise, The youth who fondly sits by thee,

And airy fabrics there attract his eyes, And hears and sees thee all the while,

His wandering feet the magic paths pursue, Softly speak and sweetly smile.

And, while he thinks the fair illusion true,

The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air, 'Twas this deprived my soul of rest,

And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear : And raised such tumults in my breast;

A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
For while I gazed in transport tossed,

And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.
My breath was gone, my voice was lost.
My bosom glowed ; the subtle flame

The First Pastoral.
Ran quickly through my vital frame;
O'er my dim eyes a darkness hung ;
My ears with hollow murmurs rung.

If we, O Dorset ! quit the city-throng,

To meditate in shades the rural song,
In dewy damps my limbs were chilled,
My blood with gentle horrors thrilled;

By your command, be present; and, o bring
My feeble pulse forgot to play ;

The Muse along! The Muse to you shall sing
I fainted, sunk, and died away.

Her influence, Buckhurst, let me there obtain,
And I forgive the famed Sicilian swain.

Begin.--In unluxurious times of yore,
Epistle to the Earl of Dorset.

When flocks and herds were no inglorious store,
COPENHAGEN, March 9, 1709.

Lobbin, a shepherd boy, one evening fair,

As western winds had cooled the sultry air, From frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow, His numbered sheep within the fold now pent, From streams which northern winds forbid to flow, Thus plained him of his dreary discontent; What present shall the Muse to Dorset bring, Beneath a hoary poplar's whispering boughs, Or how, so near the pole, attempt to sing ?

He, solitary, sat, to breathe his vows. The hoary winter here conceals from sight

Venting the tender anguish of his heart,
All pleasing objects which to verse invite.

As passion taught, in accents free of art;
The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, And little did he hope, while, night by night,
The flowery plains, and silver-streaming floods, His sighs were lavished thus on Lucy bright.
By snow disguised, in bright confusion lie,

“Ah! well-a-day, how long must í endure And with one dazzling waste fatigue the eye.

This pining pain? Or who shall speed my cure 1 No gentle-breathing breeze prepares the spring,

Fond love no cure will have, seek no repose, No birds within the desert region sing.

Delights in grief, nor any measure knows : The ships, unmoved, the boisterous winds defy, And now the moon begins in clouds to rise ; While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly.

The brightening stars increase within the skies ;

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