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That rattles loud a small enchanted box,
| Our pride so great, our passion is so strong, Which, loud as thunder, on the board she knocks. Advice to right confirms us in the wrong. And as fierce storms, which Earth's foundation I hear you cry, “This fellow's very odd.” shook,
When you chastise, who would not kiss the rod ? From Æolus's cave impetuous broke,
| But I've a charm your anger shall control, From this small cavern a mix'd tempest flies, And turn your eyes with culdness on the vole. Fear, rage, convulsion, tears, oaths, blasphemies! The charm begins! To yonder food of light, For men, I mean the fair discharges none; That bursts o'er gloomy Britain, turn your sight. She (guiltless creature !) swears to Heaven alone. What guardian power o'erwhelms your souls with See her eyes start! cheeks glow! and muscles Her deeds are precepts, her example law ; [awe ? swell!
'Midst empire's charms, how Carolina's heart Like the mad maid in the Cumean cell.
Glows with the love of virtue, and of art!
When in my page, to balance numerous faults, And on her pillow lays her aching head,
Or godlike deeds were shown, or generous thoughts, With the dear images her dreams are crown'd, She smil'd, industrious to be pleas'd, nor knew The die spins lovely, or the cards go round;
From whom my pen the borrow'd lustre drew, Imaginary ruin charms her still ;
Thus the majestic mother of mankind ?, Her happy lord is cuckold by spadille :
To her own charms most amiably blind, And if she's brought to bed, 't is ten to one,
On the green margin innocently stood, He marks the forehead of her darling son.
And gazd indulgent on the crystal food; O scene of horroar, and of wild despair,
Survey'd the stranger in the painted ware, Why is the rich Atrides' splendid heir
And, smiling, prais'd the beauties which she gave. Constrain'd to quit his antient lordly seat, And hide his glories in a mean retreat ? Why that drawn sword ? and whence that dis
SATIRE VII. mal cry? Why pale distraction through the family?
TO See my lord threaten, and my lady weep, THE RIGHT HON, SIR ROBERT WALPOLE, And trembling servants from the tempest creep. Why that gay son to distant regions sent ? What fiends that daughter's destin'd match prevent?
Carmina tum melius, cum venerit Ipse, canemus. Why the whole bouse in sudden ruin laid ?
VIRG. O nothing, but last night-my lady play'd.
On this last labour, this my closing strain, But wanders not my Satire from her theme? Smile, Walpole, or the Nine inspire in vain: Is this too owing to the love of fame?
To thee, 't is due; that verse how justly thine, Though now your hearts on lucre are bestow'd, Where Brunswick's glory crowns the whole design! 'Twas first a vain-devotion to the mode ;
That glory, which thy counsels make so bright; Nor cease we here, since 't is a vice so strong; That glory, which on thee reflects a light. The torrent sweeps all womankind along.
Illustrious commerce, and but rarely known. This may be said, in honour of our times,
To give, and take, a lustre from the throne. That none pow stand distinguish'd by their crimes. Nor think that thou art foreign to my theme:
If sin you must, take Nature for your guide : The fountain is not foreign to the stream. Love has some soft excuse to sooth your pride: How all mankind will be surpris'd to see Ye fair apostates from lore's antient power ! This flood of British folly charg'd on thee! Can nothing ravish, but a golden shower
Say, Britain ! whence this caprice of thy sons, Can cards alone your glowing fancy seize;
Which through their various ranks with fury runs Must Cupid learn to punt, e'er he can please ? The cause is plain, a cause which we must bless; When you're enamour'd of a lift or cast,
For caprice is the daughter of success, What can the preacher more, to make us chaste I(A bad effect, but from a pleasing cause !) Why must strong youths unmarried pine away? And gives our rulers undesign'd applause; They find no woman disengag'd-from play. Tells how their conduct bids our wealth increase, Why pine the married - severer fate !
And lulls us in the downy lap of peace. They find from play no disengag'd-estate.
While I survey the blessings of our isle, Flavia, at lovers false, uutouch'd, and hard, Her arts triumphant in the royal smile, Turns pale, and trembles at a cruel card.
Her public wounds bound up, her credit high, Nor Arria's Bible can secure her age;
Her commerce spreading sails in every sky, Her threescore years are shuffling with her page. The pleasing scene recalls my theme again, While Death stands by, but till the game is done, | And shows the madness of ambitious men, To sweep that stake, in justice, long his own ; Who, fond of bloodshed, draw the murdering sword, Like old cards ting'd with sulphur, she takes fire; And burn to give mankind a single lord. Or, like snuffs sunk in sockets, blazes higher. The follies past are of a private kind ; Ye gods! with new delights inspire the fair ; Their sphere is small; their mischief is consin'd: Or give us sons, and save us from despair.
But daring men there are (Awake, my Muse, Sons, brothers, fathers, husbands, tradesmen, And raise thy verse!) who bodler prhensy choose; close
Who, stung by glory, rave, and bound away : In my complaint, and brand your sins in prose : The world their field, and humankind their prey. Yet I believe, as firmly as my Creed, In spite of all our wisdom, you'll proceed :
The Grecian chief, th' enthusiast of his pride, How Versus is less qualified to steal With Rage and Terrour stalking by his side, With sword and pistol, than with wax and sent. Raves round the globe; he soars into a god !
How lawyers' fees to such excess are run, Stand fast, Olympus ! and sustain his nod. That clients are redress'd till they're undonę. The pest divine in horrid grandeur reigns,
How one man's anguish is another's sport; And thrives on mankind's miseries and pains. And e'en denials cost us dear at court. What slaughter'd hosts! what cities in a blaze ! How man eternally false judgments makes, What wasted countries ! and what crimson seas ! And all his joys and sorrows are mistakes. With orphans' tears bis impious bowl o'erflows, This swarm of themes that settles on my pen, And cries of kingdoms lull him to repose.
Which I, like summer flies, shake off again, And cannot thrice ten hundred years unpraise Let others sing; to whom my weak essay The boisterous boy, and blast bis guilty bays? But sounds a prelude, and points out their prey : Why want we then encomiums on the storm, That duty done, 1 hasten to complete Or famine, or volcano ? They perform
My own design; for Tonson's at the gate. Their mighty deeds; they, hero-like, can slay,
The Love of fame in its effect survey'd, And spread their ample deserts in a day.
The Muse has sung: be now the cause display'd : O great alliancel o divine renown!
Since so diffusive, and so wide its sway, With dearth, and pestilence, to share the crown. What is this power, whom all mankind obey ? When men extol a wild destroyer's name,
Shot from abuve, by Heaveu's indulgence, came Earth's Builder and Preserver they blaspheme. This generous ardour, this unconquer'd flame, One to destroy, is murder by the law;
To warın, to raise, to deify, mankind, And gibbets keep the lifted hand in awe;
Still burning brightest in the noblest mind. To murder thousands, takes a specious name, By large-soul'd men, for thirst of fame renown'd, War's glorious art, and gives immortal fame. Wise laws were framd, and sacred arts were found;
When, after battle, I the field have seen Desire of praise first broke the putriot's rest; Spread o'er with ghastly shapes, which once were And made a bulwark of the warrior's breast; men ;
It bids Argyll in fields and senate shine :
What more can prove its origin divine?
The flaming minister of virtue meant,
Set up false gods, and wrong'd her high descent, How honest nature swell'd into my eyes !
Ambition, hence, exerts a doubtful force, How was I shock'd to think the hero's trade Of blots, and beauties, an alternate source ; Of such materials, fame and triumph, made! Hence Gildon rails, that raven of the pit,
How guilty these! Yet not less guilty they, Who thrives upon the carcases of wit ; Who reach false glory by a smoother way;
And in art-loving Scarborough is seen Who wrap destruction up in gentle words,
How kind a pattern Pollia might have been. And bows, and smiles, more fatal than their swords; Pursuit of fame with pedants fills our schools, Who stifle nature, and subsist on art;
And into corcombs burnishes our fools;
And Newton lifts above a mortal height;
That key of Nature, by whose wit she clears Who do for gold what Christians do through grace,
Her long, long secrets of five thousand years. “ With open arms their enemies embrace;"
Would you then fully comprehend the whole, Who give a nod when broken hearts repine; Why, and in what degrees, pride sways the soul ! “The thinnest food on which a wretch càn dine:" (Por, though in all, not equally she reigns) Or, if they serve you, serve you disinclin'd, Awake to knowledge, and attend my strains. And, in their height of kindness, are unkind.
Ye doctors ! hear the doctrine I disclose, Such courtiers were, and such again may be,
As true, as if 't were writ in dullest prose;
As if a letter'd dunce had said, “ 'T' is right,
Ambition, in the truly noble mind,
From guilt and shame, by her last conduct, fled May furnish laughter for another year.
Her virtue long rebellid in firm disdain, Then let Crispino, who was ne'er refus'd
And the sword pointed at her heart in vain ; The justice yet of being well abus'd,
But, when the slave was threaten'd to be laid With patience wait; and he content to reign Dead by her side, her Love of Fame obey'd. The pink of puppies in some future strain.
In meaner minds Ambition works alone; Some future strain, in which the Muse shall But with such art puts Virtue's aspect on, tell
That not more like in feature and in mien, How science dwindles, and how volumes swell. The God and mortal in the comic scenel.
How commentators each dark passage shun, False Julius, Ambush'd in this fair disguise, And hold their farthing candle to the Sun.
Soon made the Roman liberties his prize.
But in full light pricks up her ass's ears :
All I have sung are instances of this,
HIS MAJESTY'S ROYAL ENCOURAGEMENT Our purpose good, as our achievement great;
OF THE SEA SERVICE.
TO WHICH IS PREFIXED
A DISCOURSE ON ODE.
I THINK myself obliged to recommend to you a Proud conquests then, then regal pomps delight;
consideration of the greatest importance; and I Then crowns, then triumphs, sparkle in his sight;
should look upon it as a great happiness, if, at the Tumult and noise are dear, which with them bring laid of so great and necessary a work, as the in
beginning of my reign, I could see the foundation His people's blessings to their ardent king : But, when those great heroic motives cease,
crease and encouragement of our seamen in general; His swelling soul subsides to native peace;
that they may be invited, rather than compelled From tedious grandeur's faded charms withdraws, by force and violence, to enter into the service of A sudden foe to splendour and applause ;
their country, as oft as occasion shall require it: Greatly deferring his arrears of fame,
a consideration worthy the representatives of a Till men and angels jointly shout his name.
people great and flourishing in trade and navigation. O pride celestial! which can pride disdain ;
This leads me to mention to you the case of GreenO blest ambition! which can ne'er be vain.
wich Hospital, that care may be taken, by some From one fam'd Alpine hill, which props the sky, effectual that charitable provision for the support
addition to that fund, to render comfortable and In whose deep womb unfathom'd waters lie, Here burst the Rhone and sounding Po; there shine, and maintenance of our seamen, worn out, and beIn infant rills, the Danube and the Rhine;
come decrepit by age and infirmities, in the service From the rich store one fruitful urn supplies,
of their country. (Speech, Jan. 27, 1727-8.) Whole kingdoms smile, a thousand harvests rise.
In Brunswick such a source the Muse adores, Which public blessings through half Europe pours.
TO THE KING. When his heart burns with such a godlike aim,
Old Ocean's praise
Demands my lays ;
A truly-British theme I sing;
A theme so great Nor human rage alone his power perceives,
I dare complete,
And join with Ocean, Ocean's king.
To gods and kings
The poet sings;
With all her fires ;
From awful state,
From high debate, How did Britannia, like Achilles, weep,
From morning-splendours of a crown, And tell her sorrows to the kindred deep!
From homage paid, Hang o'er the floods, and, in devotion warm,
From empires weigh'd,
Great monarch ! bow
Thy beaming brow ;
To thee I strike the sounding lyre, And out-watch every star for Brunswick's sake :
With proud design By thwarting passions tost, by cares opprest,
In verse to shine; He found the tempest pictured in his breast :
To rival Greek and Roman fire. But, now, what joys that gloom of heart dispel,
The Roman ode No powers of language—but his own, can tell; Majestic dow'd ;
which Nature and the Graces form, Its stream divinely clear and strong; At will, to raise, or hush the civil storm.
In sense, and sound,
Thebes roll'd profound; ? The king in danger by sea.
The torrent roar'd, and foam'd along, TOL. XIIL
Let Thebes, nor Rome,
Jove mark'd for man So fam’d, presume
A scanty span, To triumph o'er a Northern Isle ;
But lent him wings to fly his doom : Late Time shall know
Wit scorns the grave; The North can glow,
To wit he gave If dread Augustus deign to smile.
The life of gods! immortal bloom! The work is done!
Since years will ny, The distant Sun
And pleasures die, His smile supplies ! exalts my voice!
Day after day, as years advance; Through Earth's wide bound
Since, while life lasts, Shall George resound,
Joy suffers blasts, My theme, by duty, and by choice.
Frown, frowning Fate, and fickle Chance! The peval crown
Nor life is long; Is all his own!
But soon we throng, Our fcet, if war or commerce call,
Like autumn leaves, Death's pallid shore; His will performs
We make, at least, Through waves and storms,
Of bad the best, And rides in triumph round ihe ball.
If in life's phantoin, fame, we soar. Since then the main
Our strains divide Sublimes my strain,
The laurel's pride ; To whom should I address my song?
With those we lift to life, we live; To whom but thee?
By fame enroll'd The boundless sea,
With heroes bold, And grateful Muse, to George belong.
And share the blessings which we give. Hail, mighty theme!
What hero's praise Rich mine of fame!
Can firc my lays, If gods invok'd extend their aid;
Like bis, with whom my lay begun? Hail, ubject new!
“ Justice sincere, As Britain's due
And courage clear, Reserv'd by the Pierian maid.
Rise the two columns of his throne. Durst Homer's Muse,
“ How forin'd for sway! Or Pindar's, choose
Who look, obey ; To pour the billows on his string?
They read the monarch in his port. No, both defraud
Their love and awe The tuneful god;
Supply the law ; Scarce more sublime, when Jove they sing.
And his own lustre makes the court; No former race,
“ But shines supreme, With strong embrace,
Where heroes flame; This theme to ravish durst aspire ;
In war's high-hearted pomp he prides! W’ith virgin charms
By godlike arts My soul it warms,
Enthron'd in hearts, And melts melodious on my lyre.
Our bosom-lord o'er wills presides.” Now low, now h'gh,
Our factions end! My fingers fly,
The nations bend ! Now pause, and now fresh music spring;
For when Britannia's sons, combin'd Now dance, now creep,
In fair array, Now dive, now sweep,
All march one way; And fetch the sound from every string.
They march the terrour of mankind. Now numbers rise,
If equal all Like virgin's sigbs;
Who tread the ball, The soft Favonians melt away;
Our bonnded prospect, here, would end; As from the porth
But herves prove Now rushes forth
As steps to Jove, A blast, that thunders in my lay.
By which our thoughts, with ease, ascend.
From what we view
We take the clue,
Which leads from great to greater things; Onanvils : eat
Men doubt no more, Your strokes repeat;
But gods adore, At eery stroke the work refines !
When such resemblance shines in kings. How music charms !
On yonder height, How in tre vaims !
What golden light Parent of actions good and brave!
Triumphant shines, and shines alone ? llow vicc it taines !
Unrivall’d blaze! And we'rth intones!
The nations gaze! And holds iroud empire v'er the grave!
'Tis not the Sun, 'tis Britain's throne.
Our monarch, there,
Attigerint, quantas acies stragemque ciebunt ! Reard high in air,
Qui Juvenes! quantas ostentant, aspice, vires. Should tempests rise, disdains to bend;
Ne, pueri! ne tanta animis assuescite bella. Like British oak,
Tuque prior, tu parce, genus qui ducis Olympo, Derides the stroke ;
Sidereo flagrans clypeo, et cælestibus armis, His blooming honours far extend !
Projice tela manu, sanguis meus! Beneath them ljes,
Nec te ullæ facies, non terruit ispe Typhæus With lifted eyes,
Arduus, arma tenens; non te Messapus et Ufens, Fair Albion, like an amorous maid ;
Contemptorque Deûm Mezentius. VIRG. While interest wings
But to return. He that has this idea of perfecBuld foreign kings
tion in the work he undertakes, however successful To fly, like eagles, to his shade.
he is; will yet be modest ; because to rise up to At bis proud foot
that idea, which he proposed for his model, is al
most, if not absolutely, impossible. The sea pour'd out, Immortal nourishment supplies;
These two observations account for what may Thence wealth, and state,
seem as strange, as it is infallibly true; I mean,
they show us why good writers have the lowest, and And power, and-fate,
bad writers the highest, opinion of their own perWhich Europe reads in George's eyes.
formances. They who have only a partial idea of this perfection, as their portion of ignorance or
knowledge of it is greater or less, have proportionON LYRIC POETRY.
able degrees of modesty or conceit. How imperfect soever my own composition may
Nor, though natural good understanding makes be, yet am I willing to speak a word or two, of the will the reader judge the worse, for forming to him
a tolerably just judgment in things of this nature, nature of lyric poetry; to show that I have, at least, some idea of perfection in that kind of poem self a notion of what he ought to expect from the in which I am engaged ; and that I do not think piece he has in hand, before he begins his perusal of it. myself poet enough entirely to rely on inspiration is more spiritous, and more remote from prose
The Ode, as it is the eldest kind of poetry, so it for success in it. To our having, or not having, this idea of perfec- duct. Its thoughts should be uncommon, sublime,
than any other, in sense, sound, expression, and con. tion in the poem we undertake, is chiefly owing the merit or demerit of our performances, as also the and moral ; its numbers full, easy, and most harmodesty or vanity of our opinions concerning them. mo:ious; its expression pure, strong, delicate, yet And in speaking of it I shall show how it unavoida: unaffected; and of a curious felicily beyond other bly comes to pass, that bad poets, that is, poets in poems; its conduct should be rapturous, somewhat general, are esteemed, and really are, the most vain, abrupt, and immethodical to a vulgar eye. That the most irritable, and most ridiculous set of men apparent order, and connexion, which gives form
and life to some compositions, takes away the very upon Earth. But poetry in its own nature is certainly
soul of this. Fire, elevation, and select thought, are
indispensable; an humble, tame, and vulgar ode -Non hos quæsitum munus in usus. VIRG. is the most pitiful errour a pen can commit. He that has an idea of perfection in the work he
Musa dedit Fidibus divos, puerosque deorum. undertakes may fail in it; he that has not, must : and yet he will be vain. For every little degree
And as its subjects are sublime, its writer's genius of beauty, how short or improper soever, will be should be so too ; otherwise it becomes the meanest looked on fondly by him; because it is all pure thing in writing, viz. an involuntary burlesque. gains, and inore than he promised to himself; and It is the genuine character, and true merit of the because he has no test, or standard in his judgment, ode, a little to startle some apprehensions. Men with which to chastise his opinion of it.
of cold complexions are very apt to mistake a want Now this idea of perfection is, in poetry, more
of vigour in their imaginations, for a delicacy of taste refined than in other kinds of writing; and because in their judgments; and, like persons of a terder more refined, therefore more difficult'; and because sight, they look on bright objects, in their natural more difficult, therefore more rarely attained ; and lustre, as too glaring; what is most delightful to a the non-attainment of it is, as I have said, the stronger eye, is painful to them. Thus Pinc'ar, source of our vanity. Hence the poetic clan are
who has as much logic at the bottom as Aristotle more obnoxious to vanity than others. And from va
or Euclid, to some critics has appeared as niad; nity consequently flows that great sensibility of dis
and must appear so to all who enjoy no portion of respect, that quick resentment, that tinder of the his own divine spirit. Dwarf-understandings, meamind that kindles at every spark, and justly marks suring others by their own standard, are apt to them out for the genus irritabile among man
think they see a monster, when they see a man. kind. And from this combustible temper, this se
And indeed it seems to be the amends which Na. rious anger for no very serious things, things looked ture makes to those whom she has not blessed with on by most as foreign to the important points of an elevation of mind, to indulge them in the comlife, as consequentially flows that inheritance of fortable mistake, that all is wrong, which falls not ridicule, which devolves on them, from generation within the narrow limits of their cwn comprehen. to generation. As soon as they become authors, sions and relish. they become like Ben Jonson's angry boy, and
Judgment, indeed, that masculine power of the learn the art of quarrel.
mind, in ode, as in all compositions, should bear Concordes animadam nocte premuntur;
the supreme sway; and a beautiful imagination, Heu ! quantum inter se bellum, si lumina vitæ
as its mistress, should be subdued to its dominion