« НазадПродовжити »
Or raise old warriors, whose ador'd remains
In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains !
With Edward's acts adorn the shining page, tray'da And of their fragrant physic spoils the fields ;
Stretch his long triumphs down through every age;
Draw monarchschain'd, and Cressy's glorious field, * CLOGS
. Now marks the course of rolling orbs on high ; The lilies blazing on the regal shield: iquid sit O'er figur'd worlds now travels with his eye; Then, from her roofs when Verrio's colours fall, Of ancient writ unlocks the learned store,
And leave inanimate the naked wall,
Still in thy song should vanquish'd France appear,
Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn,
And palms eternal flourish round his urn.
Here o'er the martyr-king the marble weeps,
Whom not th' extended Albion could contain, uitru. Amid her kindred stars familiar roam,
From old Belerium to the northern main, ting te Survey the region, and confess her home!
The grave unites; where ev'n the great find rest, furado Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd; And blended lie th' oppressor and th' opprest! Thus Atticus and Trumbull thus retir'd.
Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known Ye sacred Nine! that all my soul possess,
(Obscure the place, and uninscrib’d the stone); Whose raptures fire me, and whose visions bless, Oh fact accurs'd! what tears has Albion shed ! Bear me, Oh bear me to sequester'd scenes,
Heavens, what new wounds! and how her old have The bowery mazes, and surrounding greens;
She saw her sons with purple deaths expire, [bled!
Her sacred domes involv'd in rolling fire,
A dreadful series of intestine wars,
Inglorious triumphs, and dishonest scars. While lasts the mountain, or while Thames shall At length great Anna said, “ Let discord cease!" dow).
She said, the world obey'd, and all was peace!
In that blest moment from the oozy bed
Old father Thames advanc'd his reverend head.
His shining horns diffus'd a golden gleam:
Grav'd on his urn appear’d the moon, that guides
His swelling waters, and alternate tides;
The figur’d streams in waves of silver rollid,
Around his throne the sea-born brothers stood
The Loddon slow, with verdant alders crown'd;
The gulfy Lee his sedgy tresses rears;
And sullen Mole, that hides his diving flood;
And silent Darent, stain'd with Danish blood.
High in the midst, upon his urn reclin'd,
(His sea-green mantle waving with the wind) To sing those honours you deserve to wear,
The god appear'd: he turn’d his azure eyes
Where Windsor-domes and pompous turrets rise ;
Then bow'd, and spoke; the winds forget to roar, Surrey, the Granville of a former age :
And the hush'd waves glide softly to the shore. Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance,
Hail, sacred peace! hail, long-expected days,
That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise !
From Heaven itself the seven-fold Nilus flows,
Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons shine,
The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite,
And bring the scenes of opening fate to light: Be mine the blessings of a peaceful reign.
My humble Muse, in unambitious strains,
Paints the green forests and the flowery plains,
Where peace descending bids her olive spring,
And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing, Safe on my shore each unmolested swain
Ev’n I more sweetly pass my careless days, Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain; Pleas'd in the silent shade with empty praise ; The shady empire shall retain no trace
Enough for me, that to the listening swains
per bb Of war or blood, but in the sylvau chace;
First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.
ODE ON SOLITUDE.
Written when the Author was about Twelve years old. Behold! Augusta's glittering spires increase, Happy the man, whose wish and care And temples rise, the beauteous works of peace. A few paternal acres bound, I see, I see, where two fair cities bend
Content to breathe his native air Their ample bow, a new Whitehall ascend!
In his own ground. There mighty nations shall inquire their doom, Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, The world's great oracle in times to come;
Whose fucks supply him with attire ; There kings shall sue, and suppliant states be seen
Whose trees in summer yield him shade, Once more to bend before a British queen.
In winter fire.
Blest who can unconcern’dly find
Quiet by day,
Together mix'd; sweet recreation, Or under southern skies exalt their sails,
And innocence, which most does please,
Thus unlamented let me die,
Steal from the world, and not a stone
Tell where I lie.
ESSAY ON CRITICISM.
'Tis hard to say if greater want of skill Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold,
Appear in writing or in judging ill; And the new world launch forth to seek the old.
But of the two, less dangerous is th' offence
Ten censure wrong for one who writes amiss ;
'Tis with our judgments as our watches; none Till the freed Indians in their native groves
Go just alike, yet each believes his own. Reap their own fruits, and woo their sable loves;
In poets as true genius is but rare, Peru once more a race of kings behold,
True taste as seldom is the critic's share ; And other Mexicos be roofd with gold.
Both must alike from Heaven derive their light, Exil'd by thee from earth to deepest hell,
These born to judge, as well as those to write. In brazen bonds shall barbarous discord dwell:
Let such teach others who themselves excel,
Authors are partial to their wit, 'tis true ;
But are not critics to their judgment too?
Yet, if we look more closely, we shall find
Gigantic pride, pale terror, gloomy care,
Her weapons blunted, and extinct her fires: There bateful envy her own snakes shall feel, And persecution mourn her broken wheel: There faction roar, rebellion bite her chain, And gasping furies thirst for blood in vain.
Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays Touch the fair fame of Albion’s golden days.
Those rules of old discover'd, not devis’d,
Are nature still, but nature methodis'd:
By the same laws which first herself ordain'd.
Hear how learn'd Greece her useful rules endites,
When to repress, and when indulge our flights:
High on Parnassus' top her sons she shew'd,
And pointed out those arduous paths they trod:
Held from afar, aloft, th' immortal prize,
Some have at first for wits, then poets past ; Just precepts thus from great examples given,
Turn'd critics next, and prov'd plain fools at last. She drew from them what they deriv'd from leaven. TDE Some neither can for wits nor critics pass,
The generous critic fanu'd the poet's fire,
And taught the world with reason to admire.
To dress her charms, and make her more belov'd:
Who could not win the mistress, woo'd the maid; To tell them would a hundred tongues require, Against the poets their own arms they turn'd, elder
Or one vain wit's, that might a hundred tire. Sure to hate most the men from whom they learn'd.
you, who seek to give and merit fame, So modern 'pothecaries taught the art
By doctors' bills to play the doctor's part,
Some drily plain, without invention's aid,
These leave the sense, their learning to display,
And those explain the meaning quite away. (steer, Thus in the soul while memory prevails,
You then whose judgment the right course would
Know well each ancient's proper character:
His fable, subject, scope in every page;
Religion, country, genius of his age:
Without all these at once before your eyes,
Cavil you may, but never criticise.
Be Homer's works your study and delight,
Read them by day, and meditate by night;
Thence form your judgment, thence your maxims
And trace the Muses upward to their spring;<bring, Each might his several province well command,
Still with itself compar'd, his text peruse:
First follow nature; and your judgment frame When first young Maro, in his boundless mind
A work t' outlast immortal Rome design'd,
Perhaps he seem'd above the critic's law,
And but from nature's fountains scorn'd to draw:
But when t' examine every part he came,
Nature and Homer were, he found, the same,
Convinc'd, amaz’d, he checks the bold design; Works without show, and without pomp presides :
And rules as strict his labour'd work confine,
As if the Stagyrite o'erlook'd each line.
Learn hence for ancient rules a just esteem;
To copy nature, is to copy them.
Some beauties yet no precepts can declare,
For there's a happiness as well as care.
Music resembles poetry; in each
Are nameless graces which no methods teach,
And which a master-hand alone can reach,
If, where the rules not far enough extend,
(Since rules were made but to promote their end),
Th’intent propos'd, that license is a rule.
Thus Pegasus, a nearer way to take,
Truth breaks upon us with resistless day. May boldly deviate from the common track ; Trust not yourself; but, your defects to know, From vulgar bounds with brave disorder part, Make use of every friend--and every foe. And snatch a grace beyond the reach of art,
A little learning is a dangerous thing!
There shallow draughts intoxicate the brain,
And drinking largely sobers us again.
Fir'd at first sight with what the Muse imparts, The shapeless rock, or hanging precipice.
In fearless youth we tempt the heights of arts, Great wits sometimes may gloriously offend, While, from the bounded level of our mind, And rise to faults true critics dare not mend.
Short views we take, nor see the lengths behind; But though the ancients thus their rules invade But more advanc'd, behold with strange surprise (As kings dispense with laws themselves have New distant scenes of endless science rise! Moderns, beware! or, if you must offend (made); So pleas'd at first the towering Alps we try, Against the precept, ne'er transgress its end: Mount o'er the vales, and seem to tread the sky; Let it be seldom, and compell’d by need;
Th' eternal snows appear already past, And have, at least, their precedent to plead. And the first clouds and mountains seem the last: The critic else proceeds without remorse,
But those attain'd, we tremble to survey Seizes your fame, and puts his laws in force. The growing labours of the lengthev'd way;
I know there are, to whose presumptuous thoughts Th' increasing prospect tires our wandering eyes, Those freer beauties, ev'n in them, seem faults. Hills peep o'er hills, and Alps on Alps arise ! Some figures monstrous and mis-shap'd appear, A perfect judge will read each work of wit Consider'd singly, or beheld too near,
With the same spirit that its author writ, Which, but proportion'd to their light, or place, Survey the whole, nor seek slight faults to find Due distance reconciles to form and grace.
Where nature moves, and rapture warms the mind; A prudent chief not always must display
Nor lose, for that malignant dull delight,
The generous pleasure to be charm'd with wit.
We cannot blame indeed—but we may sleep.
Is not th' exactness of peculiar parts ; Secure from flames, from envy's fiercer rage, 'Tis not a lip, or eye, we beauty call, Destructive war, and all-involving age.
But the joint force and full result of all. See from each clime the learn'd their incense bring! Thus when we view some well-proportion'd dome, Hear in all tongues consenting Pæans ring!
(The world's just wonder, and ev'a thine, O Rome!) In praise so just let every voice be join'd,
No single parts unequally surprise, And fill the general chorus of mankind.
All comes united to the admiring eyes; Hail, bards triumphant! born in happier days; No monstrous height, or breadth, or length appear; Immortal heirs of universal praise !
The whole at once is bold and regular.
Whoever thinks a faultless piece to see,
Since none can compass more than they intend;
And if the means be just, the conduct true,
Applause, in spite of trivial faults, is due.
Neglect the rules each verbal critic lays,
For not to know some trifies, is a praise. Of all the causes which conspire to blind
Most critics, fond of some subservient art, Man's erring judgment, and misguide the mind,
Still make the whole depend upon a part: What the weak head with strongest bias rules,
They talk of principles, but notions prize,
And all to one lov'd folly sacrifice. Whatever nature has in worth deny'd,
Once on a time, La Mancha's knight, they say,
A certain bard encount'ring on the way, She gives in large recruits of needful pride!
Discours'd in terms as just, with looks as sage,
As e'er could Dennis, of the Grecian stage ;
Concluding all were desperate sots and fools,
Who durst depart from Aristotle's rules. If once right reason drives that cloud away,
Our author, happy in a judge so nice,
Is pride, the never-failing voice of fools.
For as in bodies, thus in souls, we find
And fills up all the mighty void of sense.
Be not the first by whom the new are try'd,
Nor yet the last to lay the old aside.
But most by numbers judge a poet's song;
And smooth or rough, with them, is right or wrong:
In the bright Muse though thousand charms conWhere but a combat in the lists left out.
Her voice is all these tuneful fools admire; [spire,
Not for the doctrine, but the music there.
These, equal syllables alone require,
While expletives their feeble aid do join,
While they ring round the same unvary'd chimes,
With sure returns of still expected rhymes. (As most in manners) by a love to parts.
Where'er you find the cooling western breeze," Some to conceit alone their taste confine,
In the next line it“ whispers through the trees.” And glittering thoughts struck out at every line ;
In crystal streams “ with pleasing murmurs creep,” Pleas'd with a work where nothing's just or fit;
The reader's threaten’d (not in vain) with " sleep:”
Then, at the last and only couplet fraught
With some unmeaning thing they call a thought,
A needless Alexandrine ends the song,
That, like a wounded snake, drags its slow length
[know True wit is nature to advantage dressid,
Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes, and
What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow;
Where Denham's strength and Waller's sweetness
join. So modest plainness sets off sprightly wit:
True ease in writing comes from art, not chance, For works may have more wit than does them good,
As those move easiest who have learn'd to dance. As bodies perish through excess of blood.
'Tis not enough no harshness gives offence,
The sound must seem an echo to the sense:
Soft is the strain when zephyr gently blows,
And the smooth stream in smoother numbers flows;
But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, Words are like leaves; and where they most abound,
The hoarse, rough verse should like the torrent roar. Much fruit of sense beneath is rarely found.
When Ajax strives, some rock’s vast weight to throw, False eloquence, like the prismatic glass,
The line too labours, and the words move slow;
Not so, when swift Camilla scours the plain,
Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the
Hear how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprise, [main.
And bid alternate passions fall and rise !
While, at each change, the son of Lybian Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love; Expression is the dress of thought, and still
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow :
Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood subdued by sound!
The pow'r of music all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.
Avoid extremes; and shun the fault of such,
Who still are pleas'd too little or too much.
At every trifle scorn to take offence,
That always shows great pride, or little sense;
Those heads, or stomachs, are not sure the best,
Which nauseate all, and nothing can digest.
Yet let not each gay turn thy rapture move;
For fools admire, but men of sense approve:
As things seem large which we through mists descry, apes our grandsires in their doublets drest.
Dulness is ever apt to magnify.
Some foreign writers, some our own