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TROM
| ADDISON'S ACCOUNT

OF THE

ENGLISH POET S.

Deck'd in thy verse, as clad with rays they shine,
All glorified, iminortal, and divine.
As Britain in rich soil al ounding wide,
Furnish'd for use, for luxury, and pride,
Yet spreads her wanton fails on every shore
For foreign wealt'ı, insatiate fill of more;
To her own wool tlie Gills of Ana joins,
And to her plenttous hai velts India's mines;
So Dryden, not contented with the fame
Of his own works, though an immortal rame,
To lands remote sends torta his learned muse,
The noblest reeds of foreign wit to choose:
Fealting our sense so many various ways,
Say, is't thy lounty, or thy thirst of praise ?
That, by comparing others, all might see
Who most excel, are yet excell'd by thee.

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U'T see where artful Dryden next appears,

Grown old in rhyme, hut charming ev'n years
Great Dryden next! whose tuneful muse affords
The sweetest numbers and the fittest vords.
Whether in comic sourds, or tragic airs,
She forms her voice, the mores our smiles and tears

U satire or hero.c strains the writes,
Her hero pleares, and her fatire rites.

From her no ha: 1h unartful numbers fall,
She wears all dretles, and mne charms in all :
How might we fear our English poetry,
That long has fourish'd, thould decay in thee:
Did not the Muses' ollier hore apptar,
Harmonious Congreve, and to:bid our fear!
Congreve ! whole fancy's unexhausted store
Has given aheady much, and promis'd more.
Congreve Mall 17:11 preserve thy fame alive,
And Dryden's Muse full in his friend survive.

TO MR. DRYD EN,

BY

JOSEPH ADDISON, Esq.

ON

Cow long, great poet, Mall thy sacied lays

ALEXANDER'S FEAST:

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Can neither injuries of time, or age,
Damp thy poetic heat and quench thy rage ?

THE POWER OF MUSIC.
Not so thy Ovid in his exile wote;

AN ( D E.
Griefchill’d his breast, and check’dhis rising thought;
Pensive and sad, his drooping, muse tetrays FROM ME POPE'S ESSAY ON CRITICISM, I. 376.
The Roman genius in its last decays.

Prevailing warmth has itill thy mind pofTeft, EAR how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprize,
And second youth is kindled in thy breast.
Thou mak't the beautie, of the Romans krown,

While, at each change, the son of Lybian Jove
And England roasts of riches rot her own:

Now burns with gioiy, and then melts with love;
Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's majesty, Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
And Horace wonders at himself in thec.

Now figlis steai o. and tears begin to flow.
Thou teachest Persius to ir form our ille

Persians and Grecks like turns of nature found In smçother numbers, and a clearer style : And the world's vicor flood subdued by sound, And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,

The power of Music all our hearts allow,
Erlgcs bis satire, and improves his rage.

And what Timotheus was is Dryden now.
Thy copy casts a fairer light on all,
And Nill outshines the bright original.

Now Ovid boasts th' advantage of thy song,
And tells bis Nory in the British tongile ;
Tlny charming verfc and fair trar Nations then
How thy own laurel first began o grow ;

CHARACTER OF DRYDEN,
How wild Lycaon, chang'd by angry Gods,
And frighted at himself, ran howling thro' the woods. FROM AN ODE OF GRAY.

O may'st thou still the roble tale prolony,
Nor age, nor fickness interrupt thy song:
Then may we wondering reall, how human limbs Wide o'er the fields of glory bear
Have water'd kingdoms, and diffolv'd in streams, Two coursers of ethereal race,
Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mould With necks in thunder cloath'd, and long-refounding
Turn'd yellow by deg ees, and ripen'd into gold:

pace. How some in feathers, or a ragged hide

Hark, his hands the lyre explore !
Have liv'd a second life, and different natures try'd. Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering o'er,
Then will thy Ovid, thus transform'd, reveal Scatters from her pictur'd um,
A nobler change than he himself can tell,

Thoughts that breathe, and words that bum.

But, ah! 'tis heard ro more Mag. Coll. Oxon.

Oh! lyre divine, what daring fpirit
June 2, 1693

Wakes thee now? though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,

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ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.

wrote

That the Theban cagle bear,

Th’infpiring sun to Albion, draws more nigh, Sailing with supreme dominion

The north ai length teems with a work, to vie Through the azure deep of air :

With Homer's fame and Virgil's majesty. Yet oft before his infant eyes would run

While Pindus' loity heighth our poer sought, Such forms, as glitter in the Muse's ray

(His ravish'd mind with vast ideas fraught) With orient hues, unborro v'd of the fun: Our language fail'd beneath his rising thought. Yet ihall be mount, and keep his distant way This checks not his attempt; for Maro's mines Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate

He drains of all their gold, t'adorn his lines : Ecceath the good how far-but far above the great. Through each of which the Mantuan genius shines.

The rock obey'd the powerful Hebrew guide,
Her finty breast diffolv'd into a tide:
Thus on our Itubborn language he prevails,
And makes the Helicon in which he sails ;
The dialect, as well as sense, invents,

And, with his poem, a new speech presents.
THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR Hail, then, thou matchlets Bard, thou great un-

known,
That give your country fame, yet fun your own!
In vain ; for every where your praise you find,
And, rot to meet it, you must thun mankind.
Your loyal theme each loyal reader draws,

And ev'n the factious give your verse applause,
it as of a

Whose lightning strikes to ground : Where, though the Nine their beauteous Itrokes

Of civi! gore, ror spar'd the royal blood ; repeat, And the turn'd lines on golden anvils beat,

The cause, whose growth to cruin, our prelates It looks as if they strook them at a heat.

In vain, almost in vain our heroes fought;
So all serenely great, so just reñin'd
Like angels love to human feed inclin'd,

Yet by one ftab of your keen satire dies ;

Refore your sacred lines their shatter'd Dagon lies. It starts a giant, and exalts the kind.

Oh! if unworthy we appear to know Tis ípirit seen, whose fiery atoms roil,

The fire, to whom this lovely birth we owe: So brightly fierce, each fyllabie 's a soul.

Deny'd our ready homage to express, Ta miniature of man, but he's all beart;

And can at best but thankful be by guess; *Dis what the world would be, but wants the art; To wlon even the fanaticks altars raise,

This hope remains: May David's godlike mind Eow in their own despite, and grin your praise ;

(For him 'twas u sote) the unknown author find; As if a Milton from the dead arose,

And, having found, shower equal favours down FI'd off the rust, and the right party chose.

On wit so vaft, as could oblige à crown

N. TATE,
Nor, Sir, be shock'd at what the gloomy fay;
Turn rot your feet too inward, ror too (play.
'Tis gracious all, and great: push on your theme;
Lean your griev'd head on David's diadem.
David, that rebel Ifrael's envy mov’d;
David, by Cod and all good men belov'd.

The beauties of your Abfalom excel:
Put more the charms of charminz Annahel :

THE AUTHOR OF THE MEDAL. 0. Annabci, than May's first morn more bright, Cuartul as summer's noon, and chatte a winter's night,

NCE more our awful poet arms, t'engage
Of Annabel, the Muse's deareft theme ;
Of Annabel, the angel of my dream.

Once more prepares his dreadful pen to wield,
Thus let a broken eloquence atted,

And every Musc attends him to the field. And to your master-piece these shadows send. By art and nature for this task design'd,

Nat. LEL. Yet modestly the fight he long declind;

Fortore the torrent of his verse to pour,
Nor loos'd his fatire till the needful hour.
His sovereign's right, by patience half betray'd,
Wak'd his avenging genius to his aid.
Bleft Muse, whose wit with such a cause was crown'd,

And blest che cause that such a champion found!
THE CONCEALED AUTHOR With chofen verse upon the foe he falls,

And black sedition in each quarter galls; ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. Secure of conqueft he rebates his rage;

Yet, like a prince with subjects forc'd t'engage,

His fury not without distinction theds,
PAIL, heaven-born Muse! hail, every Sacred Hurls mortal bolts, but on devoted heads;
page!

To less-infected members gentle sound,
The glory of our ide and of our age.

Or spares, or else pours balm into the wound,

UPON

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Such gererous grace, th' ungrateful tribe abuse, | Firm, as fair Albion, midn the ragine main,
And trespar: on the mercy of his Muse:

Surveys incircling danger with disdain.
Their wretched doggrel rhymers forth they bring, In vain the waves affault the unmov'd Thore,
To snarl and bark against the poets' king;

In vain the winds with mingled fury roar,
A crew, that fcandalize the nation more,

Fair Albion's beautious chifts thine whiter than
Than all their treason-canting priests before.

bcíore.
On these he scarce vouchsafes a scornful sinile, Nor shalt tou move, though he'l thy fall conspire,
But on their powerful patrons turns his style:

Though the worse rare of zeal's tamatic fire ;
A style so keen, as ev'n from faction draws Thou beit, thou greatest of the British race,
The vital poison, Nabs to th' heart their cause. Thou only fit to fill great Charles's place.
Take then, great Bard, wiat tribute we can raise ; Ah, wretched Britons ! ali, too stubborn ine!
Accept our thanks, for you transcend our praise. Ah, stift-neck'd Israel on bleft Canaan's foil !

N. TATE. Are those dear proofs of heaven's indulgence vain,

Restoring David and his genèle reign ?
Is it in vain thou all the goods dont know,
Auspic.ous stars on mortals thed below,
While all thy streams with milk, thy lands with

honcy flow?

No more, fond ille! ro more thyself engage
UNKNOWN AUTHOR THE MEDAL; In civil fury, and inteftine rage :

No rebel zeal thy d teous land molest,
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL,

But a smooth calm foothe every peaceful breast,

While in such charming notes divirely fings

The best of poets, of the best of kings.
THUS pious ignorance, with dubious praise,

J. ADAMI,
They knew not the lov'd deity; they knew
Divine effects a cause divine did thew;
Nor can we doubt when such these numbers are,
Such is their cause, though the worst Musc thall
dare

To Mr. DR Y D E N,
Their sacred worth in humble verse declare.
As gentle Thames, charm'd with thy tuneful song,

REL I GIO L AICI.
Glides in a peaceful majefty along;
No rebel stone, no lofty bank, does brave
The easy passage of his fiient wave:

'HOSE Cols the pious ancients did adore,
So, sacred poet, so thy numbers fow,
Sinewy, yet mild as happy lovers wooe ;

Thivking it rude to use the common way
Strong, yet harmonious too as planets inove, of talk, where they did to such beings pray.
Yet foft as down upon the wings ot love.

Nay, they that taught religion firít, thought fit
How sweet does virtue in your dress appear; In verse its sacred precepts to transmit:
How much more charming, when much less severe ! :o Solon too did his firit statutes'draw,
Whilft you our senses harmlessly beguile,

And every little stanza was a law.
With all th' allurements of your happy Ityle ; By these few precedents we plainly fee
Y'insinuate loyalty with kind deceit,

The priinitive design of poetry;
And into sense th’unthinking many cheat. Which, by refio ing to its native use,
So the sweet Thracian with his charming ivre You generously have rescued from abure.
Into rude nature virtue did inspire;

Whilft your lov'd Muse does in sweet numbers fing,
So he the savage herd to reason drew,

She vindicates her Cod, and godlike king.
Yet scarce so I veet, so charmingly as you

Atheist, and rehel too, she does oppose
that you would, with some such powerful charm, (God and the king liave always the fame foes).
Enervate Albion to just valour warm!

Legions of verfe you raise in their defence,
Whether much-suffering Charles Mall theme añord, And write the fac vus to obedierce;
Or the great deeds of godlike James's sword, You the bold Arian to Arms defy,
Again fair Gallia might be ours, again

A conquering champion for the Deity
Another fleçt might pass the subject main, Againit the Whigs first parents, who did dare
Another Edward lead the Britons on,

To disinherit God-Almighty's heir.
Or such an Oflory as you did moan;

And what the hot-brain d Arian ärft began,
"Vhile in such numbers you, in such a strain, Is carried on by the Socinian,
Inflame their courage and reward their pain, Who still associates to keep God a man.
Let falfe Achitophel the rout engage,

But 'tis the prince of poets' talk alone
Talk eafy Absalom to rebel rage;

T'allert the rights of God's and Charles's throne.
Let frugal Shimei curse in holy zeal,

Whilft vulgar poets purchafe vulgar fame
Or modest Corah more new plots reveal;

By chaunting Chloris' or fair Phyllis' name;
Whilft constant to himself, fecure of fate,

Whose reputation shall last as long,
Cood David ftill maintains the royal state. As faps and ladies sing the amorous song.
Though each in vain such various ills employs, A nobler subject wisely they refuse,
Eirinly he stands, and ev’n those ills enjoys; The mighty weight would crush their feeble Mura

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1

So, nory tells, a painter once would try |But first takes time with majesty to rife,
With his told hand to limn a deity :

Then, without pride, divinely great,
And he, by frequent practising that part,

She mounts her native skies; Could draw a miror-god with wondrous art :

And, Goddess like, retains her state Bue when great Jove did to the workman sit,

When down again the fliesa The thunderer such horror did beget,

Commands, which judgment gives, she fill obeys, That put the frighted artist to a 1tand,

Both co deprets her flight, and raise.
And made his pencil drop from 's bafiled hand.

Thus Mercury froin heaven descends,
And to this under world his journey bends,

When Jove his dread commands has given :

But still, descending, dignity maintains,
TO MR. DRYDEN, UPON HIS TRANSLATION OF As much a God upon our humble plains,
TAL THIRD BOOK OF VIRGIL'S GEORGICS.

As wien he, towering, realcends to heaven.

III.
A PINDARICK ODE.

But when thy Goddess takes her flight,
By MR. JOHN DENNIS.

With so much majesty to such a height,

As can alone suffice to prove, CHILE mounting wings

Inat the descends from mighty Jove :

Chine!
plores,
While with seraphic sounds he towering fings,

Immortal spirit animates each line ;
Till to divinity he foars :

Each with bright Aanne that fires our souls is crown's, Mankind stands wondering at his fight,

Each has magnificence of sound,
Charm'd with his music, and his height:

And harmony divine.
Which both transcend our praile,

Thus the first orbs, in their high rounds,
Nay Gods incline their ravish'd cars,

With shining poinp advance;
And tune their own harmonious spheres,

And to their own cæleftial sounds
To his melodious lays.

Majestically dance,
Thou, Dryden, canit his notes recite

On, with eternal sympliony, they roll, lo modern numbers, which express

Each turn'd in its harmonious course Their music, and their utmost might:

And each inform’d by the prodigious force
Thou, wondrous poet, with success

Of an empyreal soul.
Canít emulate his fight.

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II.

See a Poem by Dorz, in this work

Sometimes of humble rural things,
Thy Muse, which keeps great Maro still in light,
in middle air with varied numbers fings;

And sometimes her sonorous fight
To heaven sublimely wings.

DRYDEN'S ORIGINAL POEMS

UPON

THE DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS,

CUST noble Hastings immaturely die,

Beauty and learning thus together meet,
To bring a winding for a wedding sheet?
Muft virtue prove death's harbinger? muft the,
With him expiring, feel mortality?
Is death, fin's wages, grace's now? Thall art
Make us more learned, only to depart ?
If merit be disease; if virtue death;
To be good, not to be; who'd then bequeath
Himself to discipline who'd not esteem
Labour a crime? Study felf-murther deem?

Our noble youth nov lave pretence to be
Dunces securely, ignorant healthfully.
Rare linguist, whose worth speaks itself, whose prak

Though not his own, all tongues befides do raise :
Than whom great Alexander may seem less ;
Who conquer'd men, but not their languages.
In his mouth nations spake ; his tongue might be
Interpreter to Greece, France, Italy.
His native soil was the four parts o' tho earth ;
All Europe was too narrow for his birth.

A young apostle; and with reverence may
I speak it, inspir'd with gift of tongues, as they."
Nature gave him a child, what men in vain
Oft strive, by art, though further'd, to obtain.
His body was an orb, his sublime soul
Did move on virtue's, and on learning's pole:

1.

Whose regular motions better to our view,

But thou, O virgin-widow, left alone, Than Archimedes' sphere, the heavens did hew. Now thy beloved, heaven-ravilhed fpoufe is gone Graces and virtues, languages, and arts,

Whore ikiliul fire in vain Itrove to apply Beauty and learning, tillid up all the parts. Medicines, when thy balm was no remedy, Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear With greater than Platonic love, O wed Scatter'd in others; all as in their Gphere,

His soul, though not hus body, to thy bed: Were fix'd .conglobate in his foul; and thence Let that make thee a mother; bring thou forth Shone through his body, with sweet influence; Th’ideas of lus virtue, krowledge, worth; Letting their glories lo on each limb fall,

Transcribe th' original in new copies; give The whole frame render'd was cclettial.

Haftungs o'th' better part; lo fuall be live Come, learn'd Ptolemy, and trial make,

In's nobler half; and the great grandtire be If thou thuis hero's altitude canit take:

of an heroic divine progeny :
But that transcends thy skill; thrice happy all, An issue, which t'eternity Mall last,
Could we but prove thus astronomica!.

Yer but th' irradiations which he cait.
Livid Tycho now, ftruck with this ray which thone ireet no mausoleums: for his best
More bright i'th' morn, than others beam at noon, Monument is his spouse's marble breast.
He'd take his astrolabe, and seek out here
What new star 'twas did gild our hemisphere.
Replenish'd then with such rare gitts as the le,
Where was room left for such a foul difeafe?
The nation's sin hath drawn that veil wbich throuds
Our day-spring in so fad benighting clouds,
Heaven would no longer trust its pledge; but thus

HEROIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF
Recall'd it; rapt its Ganymede from us.
Was there ro milder way but the finall-pox,
The very filthiness of Pandora's box?

OLIVER CROMWELL. So many spots, like neves on Venus' foil, One jewel fet off with so many a foil;

WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL. Blifters with pride swell d, which through's feth

did sprout
Like rose-buds, suck i' th’ lily skin about.
Each little pimple had a tear in it,
To wail the fault its rising did commit:

Who would helore have borne him to the sky,
Which rebel-like, with its own lord at strise; Like eager Romans, ere all rites were part,
Thus made an infurrection 'gainst his life..

Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly.
Or were these gems sent to adorn his skin,
The cabinet of a richer soul within ?

Though our best noies are treason to his fame,
No comet need foretel his change drew on,

Join'd with the loud applause of public voice; Whose corps might seem a constellation.

Since heaven, what praise we offer to his name, O! had he dy'd of old, how great a strife

Hath render'd too authentic by its choice. Vad been, who from his death should draw their

life? Who Mould, by one rich draught, become whate'er Though in his praise no arts can liberal te, Seneca, Cato, Numa, Cæsar, were?

Since they whore Muses have the highest flow,

Add not o his immortal memory,
Learn'd, virtuous, pious, great, and have by this
An universal metempsycholis.

But do an act of friendship to their own:
Must all these aged fires in one funeral
Expire? all die in one so young, so small ?

Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too,
Who, had he liv'd his life out, his great fame Such monuments as we can build to raise;
Had (woln 'tove any Greek or Roman name. Left all the world prevent what we should do,
But hafty winter, with one blaít, hath brought And claim a title in him by their praise,
The hopes of autumn, summer, spring, to nought.

v.
Thus fades the oak i'th' sprig, i'tl' blade the corn; How shall I then k in, or where conclude,
Thus without young, this Phænix dies, new-born. To draw a fame so truly circular ;
Must then old three-leged grey-beards with their For in a round what order can be thew'd,
gout,

Where all the parts so equal perfect are ?
Catarrhs, rheums, aches, live three long ages out ?
Time's offals, only fit for th' hospital!
Or to hang antiquaries rooms withal !

His grandeur he deriv'd from heaven alone ;

For he was great ere fortune made him fo:
Must drunkards, lechers spent with finning, live
With such helps as broths, pofsets, phyfic give ?

And wars, like mists that rise against the fun

Made him but greater seem, not greater grow. None live, but fuch as should die? Thall we meet With none but ghostly fathers in the street ? Grief makes me rail ; forrow will force its way ; No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn, And showers of tears tempestuous fighs best lay, But to our crown he did freth jewels bring ; The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes Nor was his virtue poison'd soon as born, Will weep out lasting Atreams of elegies.

With the too early thoughts of being king.

11.

III.

IV.

VI.

VII.

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