The bird of Jove hall toil no more

To reach the humble wren to foar.

Your tragic heroes shall not rant,
Nor Shepherds ufe poetic cant,
Simplicity alone can grace

The manners of the rural race.
Theocritus and Philips be

Your guides to truedimplicity.

When Damon's foul Jhall take its flight,
Though Poets have the fecond-fight,
They thall not fee a trail of light.
Nor thall the vapours upavard rife,
Nor a rew fiar adorn the fkies:
For who can hope to place one there,
As glorious as Belinda's hair?
Yet, if his name you'd eternize,
And must exalt him to the fkies;
Without a fiar this may be done :
So Tickell mourn'd his Addifon.

If Anna's happy reign you praise,
Pray, not a word of Halcyon days;
Nor let my votaries fhew their skill
In aping lines from Cooper's-Hill:
For know, I cannot bear to hear
The mimickry of deep, yet clear.
Whene'er my Viceroy is addrefs'd,
Against the Phoenix 1 proteft.
When Poets foar in youthful ftrains,
No Phaeton to hold the reins.

Wher. you defcribe a lovely girl,
No lips of coral, teeth of pearl.
Cupid hall ne'er mistake another,
However beauteous, for his mother :
Nor fhall his darts at random fly
From magazine in Cœlia's eye.
With women-compounds lam cloy'd,
Which only pleas'd in Biddy Floyd.
For foreign aid, what need they roam,
Whom Fate has amply bleft at home?
Unerring Heaven, with bounteous hand,
Ha form'u a model for your land,
Whom Jove endow'd with every grace;
The glory of the Granard race;
Now deftin'd by the powers divine
The bleffing of another line.

Then, would you paint a matchlefs dame,
Whom you'd confign to endless fame ?
Invoke not Cytherea's aid,

Nor borrow from the blue-ey'd maid;
Nor need you on the Graces call ;-
Take qualities from Donegal.

O GENIUS of Hibernia's ftate, Sublimely good, feverely great! How doth this lateft act excel All you have done or wrote fo well! Satire may be the child of spite, And Fame might bid the Drapier write : But to relieve, and to endow, Creatures that know not whence or how, Argues a foul both good and wife, Refembling Him who rules the fkies. He to the thoughtful mind difplays Immortal skill ten thousand ways; And, to complete his glorious task, Gives what we have not fenfe to ask !

III.

LO! Swift to Ideots bequeaths his ftore: Be wife, ye rich !-confider thus the poor!

ON THE DEAN OF ST. PATRICK's BIRTH-DAY.*

Nov. 30. ST. ANDREW'S-DAY.

BETWEEN the hours of twelve and one,
When half the world to reft were gone,
Intranc'd in deepest sleep I lay,
Forgetful of an anxious day;
From every care and labour free,
My foul as calm as it could be,

The Queen of Dreams, well pleas'd to find
An undisturb'd and vacant mind,
With magic pencil trac'd my brain,
And there the drew St. Patrick's Dean.

came to the Park, Swift remarked a new building, which he had never feen, and asked what it was de figned for. Towhich Dr. King Bhury answered, “ That,

Mr. Dean, is the magazine for arms and powder for the fecurity of the city.” “On ! oh!" Jays the Dean, pulling out his pocket-book, “let me take an item of that, This is worth remarking: my tablets, as Hamlet · fays, my tablets-memory, put down that !"Which produced the above lines, jaid to be the last he ever wrote.

6.

N.

See, in Parnell's Poems, an elegant compliment on the fame occafion, N.

Kkk

I ftraight beheld on either hand
Two faints, like Guardian Angels, ftand,
And either claim'd him for their fon 5
And thus the high difpute begun.

St. Andrew first, with reafon ftrong, Maintain'd to him he did belong : "Swift is my own, by right divine, "All born upon this day are mine." St. Patrick faid, "I own this true, "So far he does belong to you: "But in my church he's born again, "My fon adopted, and my Dean. "When first the Chriftian-trath I fpread, "The poor within this ife I fed, "And darkeft errors banish'd hence, "Made knowledge in their place commence ; "Nay more, at my divine command, "All noxious creatures fled the land. "I made hoth Peace and Plenty fmile.

Hibernia was my favourite ifle ; "Now his for he fucceeds to me, "Two angels cannot more agree.

"His joy is, to relieve the poor; "Behold them weekly at his door! "His knowledge too, in brighteft rays, "He like the fun to all conveys ; "Shows wifdem in a fingle page, "And in one hour inftructs an age. "When ruin lately stood around "Th' inclofures of my facred ground, "He gloriously did interpofe, "And fav'd it from invading foes; "For this I claim immortal Swift,

"As my own fon, and Heaven's beft gift."
The Caledonian Saint, enrag'd,
Now clofer in difpute engag'd:
Eflays to prove, by tranfmigration,
The Dean is of the Scottish nation;
And, to confirm the truth, he chofe
The loyal foul of great Montrofe.
"Montrofe and He are both the fame,
"They only differ in the name;
"Both, heroes in a righteous cause,
"Affert their liberties and laws:
"He's now the fame, Montrofe was then,
"But that the fword is turn'd a pen ;
"Apen of fo great power, each word
"Defends beyond the hero's fword."

Now words grew high-we can't fuppofe
Immortals ever came to blows;
But, left unruly paflion should
Degrade them into flesh and blood,
An angel quick from Heaven defcends,
And he at once the conteft ends :

"Ye reverend pair, from difcord cease,
"Ye both mistake the prefent cafe ;
"One kingdom cannot have pretence
"To fo much virtue! fo much sense:

EPISTLE TO ROBERT NUGENT, E
A PICTURE OF DEAN SWIFT.
BY DR. DUNKIN.*

TO gratify thy long defire

(So Love and Piety require),
From Bindon'st colours you may trace
The Patriot's venerable face,
The laft, O Nugent! which his art
Shall ever to the world impart ;
For know, the prime of mortal men,
That matchless monarch of the pen
(Whofe labours, like the genial fun,
Shall through revolving ages run,
Yet never, like the fun, decline,
But in their full meridian shine),
That ever-honour'd, envy'd Sage,
So long the wonder of his age,
Who charm'd us with his golden ftrain,"
Is not the fhadow of the Dean :
He only breathes Baotian air-
"Oh! what a falling-off was there!"
Hibernia's Helicon is dry,
Invention, Wit, and Humour die ;
And what remains against the ftorm
Of Malice, but an empty form?
The nodding ruins of a pile,
That flood the bulwark of this ifle ;
In which the fifterhood was fix'd
Of candid Honour, Truth unmix'd.
Impartial Reafon, Thought profound,
And Charity, diffusing round,

In cheerful rivulets, the flow
Of Fortune to the fons of woe?
Such one, my Nugent, was thy Swift,
Endued with each exalted gift.
But lo! the pure æthereal flame
Is darken'd by a mifty fteam:
The balm exhaufted breathes no smell,
The rofe is wither'a ere it fell.
That godlike fupplement of law,
Which held the wicked world in awe,
And could the tide of faction stem,
Is but a fhell without the gem.

Ye fons of genius, who would aim
To build an everlasting fame,
And, in the field of letter'd arts,
Difplay the trophies of your parts,
To yonder mansion turn afide,
And mortify your growing pride.
Behold the brighteft of the race,
And Nature's honour, in difgrace:
With humble refignation own,
That all your talents are a loan ;

* This elegant tribute of gratitude, as it was at a period when all fufpicion of flattey fl reflects, the highest honour on the ingent wri and cannot but be agreeable to the admirers of DY.

† Samuel Bindon, efq. a celebrated painter. N.

vidence advanc'd for ufe,

you should ftudy to produce. , the mental stock, alas!

er current now it pass,
ply be recall'd from you
the Grave demands his due.

while your morning-star proceeds,
your course to worthy deeds,
er day discharge your debts;
hen your fun of reafon fets,

ght fucceeds; and all your schemes ry vanish with your dreams.

where is now the fupple train, inc'd attendance on the Dean? here are those facetious folks, ook with laughter at his jokes, th attentive rapture hung dom dropping from his tongue; ok'd with high difdainful pride the bufy world befide,

ed his productions more reafures of Peruvian ore?

| Chriftians! they with bended knees

'd the wine, but loath the lees,
g (fo the text commands),
dent eyes and up-caft hands,
p of forrow from their lips,

like rats from finking fhips.
fome, who by his friendship rofe
alth, in concert with his foes,
unter to their former track,
Id Actæon's horrid pack

ling mungrels, in requitals

t on their mafter's vitals;

where they cannot blast his laurels,

pt to ftigmatize his morals;

gh Scandal's magnifying glass

bles view, but virtues pass,

n the ruins of his fame

an ignominious name.
min foul, of vile extraction,
pawn of dirt and putrefaction,
Dunder members traverse o'er,

= and fatten on a fore.

Hence ! peace, ye wretches, who revile
His wit, his humour, and his ftyle;
Since all the monsters which he drew
Were only meant to copy you;
And, if the colours be not fainter,
Arraign yourselves, and not the painter.
But, oh! that He, who gave him breath,
Dread arbiter of life and death;
That He, the moving foul of all,
The fleeping fpirit would recall,
And crowns him with triumphant meeds,
For all his past heroic deeds,
In manfions of unbroken reft,
The bright republick of the blefs'd!
Irradiate his benighted mind
With living light of ligh, refin'd;
And these the blank of thought employ
With objects of immortal joy!

Yet, while he drags the fad remains
Of life, flow-creeping through his veins,
Above the views of private ends,
The tributary Mufe attends,
To prop his feeble fteps, or fhed
The pious tear around his bed.

So Pilgrims, with devout complaints,
Frequent the graves of martyr'd Saints,
Infcribe their worth in artless lines,
And, in their ftead, embrace their shrines.

HABBAK KUK, HAP. III. PARAPHRASED. An ODE, written in 1710, as an Exercise.

HEN, in a glorious terrible array,

From Paran's towering height th' Almighty

took his way;
Borne on a cherub's wing he rode,
tolerable day proclaim'd the God;
No earthly cloud

Could his effulgent brightness shroud :
Glory, and majesty, and power,
March'd in a dreadful pomp before

Behind, a grim and meagre train,

Pining fickness, frantic pain,

Stalk'd widely on; with all the difmai band, Which heaven in anger fends to fcourge a guilty land.

With terror cloath'd, he downward flew,
And wither'd half the nations with a view;
Through half the nations of th' aftonifh'd earth
He fcatter'd war, and plagues, and dearth!
And when he spoke,

The everlasting hills from their foundations fhook
The trembling mountains, by a lowly nod,

With reverence ftruck, confefs'd the God

On Sion's holy hill he took his ftand,
Grafping omnipotence in his right hand;
Then mighty earthquakes rock'd the ground,
And the fun darken'd as he frown'd:
He dealt affliction from his van,
And wild confufion from his rear;
They through the tents of Cuihan ran,
The tents of Cufhan quak'd with fear,
And Midian trembled with defpair.
I fee! his fword wave naked in the air;
It fheds around a baleful ray,

The rains pour down, the lightnings play,
And on their wings vindictive thunders bear.
When through the mighty flood
He led the murmuring crowd,
What ail'd the rivers that they backward fled?
Why was the mighty flood afraid ?
March'd he against the rivers? or was he,

Thou mighty flood! difpleas'd at thee?
The flood beheld from far

The deity in all his equipage of war ;
And lo! at once it burts in diverfe falls
...On either hand! it fwells in crystal walls!

Th' eternal rocks difclofe! the toffing waves
Ruth in loud thunder from a thousand caves !
Why tremble ye, O faithlefs! to behold

The opening deeps their gulphs unfold ?
Enter the dreadful chafms! 'tis God, who guides
Your wondrous way! the God who rules the tides
And lo! they march amid the deafening roar
Of tumbling feas! they mount the adverfe fhore !
Advance, ye chofen tribes !Arabia's fands,
Lonely, uncomfortable lands!

Void of fountain, void of rain,
Oppofe their burning coafts in vain!
See the great prophet ftand,
Waving his wonder-working wand!
He frikes the stubborn rock, and lo!
The stubborn rock feels the Almighty blow!

His ftony entrails burst, and rushing torrents flow,

Then did the fun his fiery courfers stay,
And backward held the falling day;
The nimble-footed minutes cease to run,
And urge the lazy hours on.

Time hung his unexpanded wings,
And all the fecret springs
That carry on the year,

Stopp'd in their full career :
Then the aftonish'd moon

Forgot her going down ;

And paler grew,

The difmal fcene to view,

How through the trembling Pagan nation,

Th' Almighty ruin dealt, and ghaftly defolation.
But why, ah ! why, O Sion, reigns
Wide wasting havock o'er thy plains?

VARIATION.

* 1 fee his fword wave with redoubled ire.
Ah! has it fet the very clouds on fire?
The clouds burft down in deluges of showers 3
Fierce lightning flames, vindiétive thunder roars.
Ah, what new fores urfold, what voice I hear!
Sun, ftand thou ftill; thou most, thye ufe forbear
Ah,
jun, thy wheels cheatent flay,
Doubling the fplendors of the wondrous day.

Ah, me deftruction is abroad! Vengeance is loofe, and wrath from Ged See! hofts of fpoilers feize their prey! See flaughter marks in blood his way! See how embattled Babylon

Like an unruly deluge rushes on!

Lo! The fields with millions (warms! I hear their fhouts! their clathing arms I Now the conflicting hefts engage,

With more than mortal rage

1 die!

Oh! heaven! 1 faint
The yielding powers of Ifrael Ay !
Now banner'd hafts furround the walls
Of Sion! now the finks, the falls!-
Ah! Sion, how for thee 1 mourn!

What pangs for thee I feel!
Ah! how art thou become the Pagans' fcorn,
Lovely, unhappy Ifrael!

A fhivering damp invades my heart,
A trembling horror fhoots through every part;
My nodding frame can scarce fuftain
Th' oppreflive load I undergo :
Speechlefs I figh! the envious woe
Forbids the very pleasure to complain :
Forbids my faultering tongue to tell
What pangs for thee I feel,
Lovely, unhappy Ifrael!

Yet though the fig-tree should no burthen bear,
Though vines delude the promise of the year;
Yet though the olive fhould not yield her oil,
Nor the parch'd glebe reward the peafant's toil;
Though the tir'd ox beneath his labours fall,
And herds in millions perish from the stall !
Yet fhall my grateful strings

For ever praife thy name,
For ever thee proclaim,

Thee everlasting God, the mighty King of kings,

TO BELINDA,

ON HER SICKNESS AND RECOVERY.

SURE never pain fuch beauty wore,
Or look'd fo amiable before!

You graces give to a disease,
Adorn the pain, and make it please :
Thus burning incenfe fheds perfumes,
Still fragrant as it ftill confumes.

Nor can even fickness, which difarms, All other nymphs, destroy your charms ;

The nimble-footed minutes ecafe to run
And urge the lasy hours on.
Time hangs his unexpanded wings,
And all the fecret of rings
That carry on the year
Stop in the r full career;
At once th' aftenfh'd moon
Forgets her going doton,

And paler grows,

A thousand beauties you can spare,
And ftill be fireft of the fair.

But fee! the pain begins to fly,;
Though Venus bled, fhe could not die :
See! the new Phoenix point her eyes,
And lovelier from her afhes rife :
Thus rofes, when the ftorm is o'er,
Braw beauties from th' inclement fhower.
Welcome, ye hours! which thus repay
What anxious fickness ftole away!
Welcome as thofe which kindly bring,
And ufher in the joyous fpring;
That to the fmiling earth restore

The beauteous herb, and blooming flower,
And give her all the charms the loft
By wintery ftorms, and hoary froft!
And yet how well did she sustain,
And greatly triumph o'er her pain!
So flowers, when blafting winds invade,
Breathe sweet, and beautifully fade.

Now in her cheeks, and radiant eyes,
New blushes glow, new lightnings rife ;
Behold a thoufand charms fucceed,
For which athousand hearts muft bleed 1
Brighter from her disease the shines,
As fire the precious gold refines.

Thus when the filent grave becomes
Pregnant with life, as fruitful wombs ;
When the wide feas, and spacious earth,
Refign us to our fecond birth;

Our moulder'd frame rebuilt affumes
New beauty, and for ever blooms;

And, crown'd with youth's immortal pride,
We angels rife, who mortals dy'd.

TO BELINDA,

ON HER APRON EMBROIDERED WITH ARMS AND FLOWERS.

"THE liftening trees Amphion drew

And the loud voice of thunder fpoke the God.
Cherubs, and feraphs from cœleftial bowers!
Ten thousand thousand bright, ethereal powers !
Miniftrant round, their radiant files unfold,
Arm'd in eternal adamant, and gold!
Whirlwinds and thundrous storms his chariot drew
'Tween worlds and worlds, triumphant as it flew :
He ftretch'd his dark pavilion o'er the floods,
Bade hills fubfide, and reign'd th' obedient clouds
Then from his awful gloom the godhead spoke,
And at his voice affrighted nature shook.

Vain man who boldly with dim reason's ray Vies with his God, and rivals his full day! But tell me now, fay how this beauteous frame

Of all things from the womb of nothing

came;

When nature's Lord with one Almighty call

From no-where rais'd the world's capacious

ball?

Say if thy hand directs the various rounds

Of the vaft earth, and circumfcribes the bounds?
How orbs oppos'd to orbs amid the sky,

In concert move, and dance in harmony?
What wondrous pillars their foundations bear
When hung felf-balanc'd in the fluid air?

But you exprefs a power more great ;
The flowers you draw not, but create.

Behold your own creation rife,
And smile beneath your radiant eyes!
'Tis beauteous all! and yet receives
From you more graces than it gives.

But fay, amid the softer charms

Of blooming flowers, what mean these arms २
So round the fragrance of the rofe,
The pointed thorn, to guard it, grows.
But cruel you, who thus employ
Both arms and beauty to destroy !
So Venus marches to the fray

In armour, formidably gay.

It is a dreadful pleasing fight!
The flowers attract, the arms affright

VARIATION,

The lovely Flora paints the earth, ad calls the morning flowers to birth : But you difplay a power more great ; She calls forth flowers, but you create.

In fhining mazes gently glide away;
Anon, why fwelling with impetuous stores
Tumultuous tumbling, thunder to the shores?
By thy command does fair Aurora rife,

And gird with purple beams the blushing skies;
The warbling lark falutes her chearful ray,
And welcomes with his fong the rifing day;
The rifing day ambrofial dew diftils,

Th' ambrofial dew with balmy odour fills
The flowers, the flowers rejoice, and nature
fmiles.

Why night, in fable rob'd, as day-light fades, O'er half the nations draws her awful fhades?

VARIATION,

But tell me mortal, when th' Almighty faid, Be made, ye worlds! how worlds at once were made

When hafts of angels wrapt in wonder fung
His praije as order from disorder (prung?