19 Then screaming all at once they fly,
And all at once the tapers die,
Poor Edwin falls to floor;

Forlorn his state, and dark the place,
Was never wight in sike a case
Through all the land before.

20 But soon as Dan Apollo rose,
Full jolly creature home he goes,
He feels his back the less;
His honest tongue and steady mind
Had rid him of the lump behind
Which made him want success.

21 With lusty livelyhed he talks,
He seems a-dauncing as he walks,
His story soon took wind;
And beauteous Edith sees the youth,
Endow'd with courage, sense, and truth,
Without a bunch behind.

22 The story told, Sir Topaz moved,
The youth of Edith erst approved,
To see the revel scene:

At close of eve he leaves his home,
And wends to find the ruin'd dome
All on the gloomy plain.

23 As there he bides, it so befell,
The wind came rustling down a dell,
A shaking seized the wall:

Up spring the tapers as before,
The Faeries bragly foot the floor,
And music fills the hall.

24 But, certes, sorely sunk with woe
Sir Topaz sees the elfin show,
His spirits in him die :
When Oberon cries, A man is near,
A mortal passion, clèeped fear,
Hang's flagging in the sky.

25 With that Sir Topaz, hapless youth! In accents faltering aye for ruth, Entreats them pity graunt;

For als he been a mister wight
Betray'd by wandering in the night
To tread the circled haunt.

26 Ah, losel vile! (at once they roar)
And little skill'd of Faerie lore,
Thy cause to come we know:
Now has thy kestrel courage fell ;
And Faeries, since a lie you tell,
Are free to work thee woe.

27 Then Will, who bears the wispy fire, To trail the swains among the mire, The caitiff upward flung;

There like a tortoise in a shop.
He dangled from the chamber-top,
Where whilom Edwin hung.

28 The revel now proceeds apace,
Deftly they frisk it o'er the place,
They sit, they drink, and eat;
The time with frolic mirth beguile,
And poor Sir Topaz hangs the while,
Till all the rout retreat.

29 By this the stars began to wink,
They shriek, they fly, the tapers sink,
And down ydrops the knight.

For never spell by Faerie laid

With strong enchantment bound a glade
Beyond the length of night.

30 Chill, dark, alone, adreed he lay, Till up the welkin rose the day,

Then deem'd the dole was o'er:

But wot ye well his harder lot?
His seely back the bunch has got
Which Edwin lost afore.

31 This tale a Sybil-nurse arcad;

She softly stroked my youngling head,
And when the tale was done,

Thus some are born, my son, (she cries,)
With base impediments to rise,

And some are born with none.

32 But virtue can itself advaunce

To what the favourite fools of chaunce
By fortune seem'd design'l;

Virtue can gain the odds of Fate,
And from itself shake off the weight
Upon th' unworthy mind.

TO MR POPE.

To praise, yet still with due respect to praise, A bard triumphant in immortal bays,

The learn'd to show, the sensible commend,
Yet still preserve the province of the friend,
What life, what vigour, must the lines require,
What music tune them, what affection fire!

Oh! might thy genius in my bosom shine,
Thou shouldst not fail of numbers worthy thine;
The brightest ancients might at once agree
To sing within my lays, and sing of thee.

Horace himself would own thou dost excel

In candid arts, to play the critic well.

Ovid himself might wish to sing the dame
Whom Windsor Forest sees a gliding stream;
On silver feet, with annual osier crown'd,
She runs for ever through poetic ground.

How flame the glories of Belinda's hair,
Made by thy Muse the envy of the fair!
Less shone the tresses Egypt's princess' wore,
Which sweet Callimachus so sung before;
Here courtly trifles set the world at odds,

Belles war with beaux, and whims descend for gods,
The new machines in names of ridicule,
Mock the grave frenzy of the chymic fool.
But know, ye fair, a point conceal'd with art,
The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart:
The Graces stand in sight; a Satyr train
Peep o'er their heads, and laugh behind the scene.
In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits
Enshrined on high the sacred Virgil sits,
And sits in measures, such as Virgil's Muse
To place thee near him might be fond to choose.
How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee,
Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he,

1 'Egypt's princess:' Cleopatra. (?)
Call.

3

10

20

80

Berenice

"

While some old Damon, o'er the vulgar wise,

Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'st the prize!
Rapt with the thought, my fancy seeks the plains,
And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains.
Indulgent nurse of every tender gale,
Parent of flowerets, old Arcadia, hail!
Here in the cool my limbs at case I spread,
Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head,
Still slide thy waters soft among the trees,
Thy aspens quiver in a breathing breeze,
Smile all thy valleys in eternal spring,
Be hush'd, ye winds! while Pope and Virgil sing.
In English lays, and all sublimely great,
Thy Homer warns with all his ancient heat;
He shines in council, thunders in the fight,
And flames with every sense of great delight.
Long has that poet reign'd, and long unknown,
Like monarchs sparkling on a distant throne,
In all the majesty of Greek retired,

Himself unknown, his mighty name admired;
His language failing, wrapp'd him round with night,
Thine, raised by thee, recalls the work to light.
So wealthy mines, that ages long before
Fed the large realms around with golden ore,
When choked by sinking banks, no more appear,
And shepherds only say, The mines were here:
Should some rich youth (if Nature warm his heart,
And all his projects stand inform'd with Art)
IIere clear the caves, there ope the leading vein ;
The mines, detected, flame with gold again.

How vast, how copious are thy new designs!
How every music varies in thy lines!
Still as I read, I feel my bosom beat,
And rise in raptures by another's heat.