The drowsy winds breathe gently thro' the trees, Begin, begin, the mystic spells prepare, Ye lightnings scorch him, thunder strike him dead; Contain not half th' enchantment of her looks. As melted gold preserves its weight the same, Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart, Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart, Its killing anguish, and its secret smart. Dismay'd, and motionless, confus'd, amaz'd, Trembling I stood, and terrify'd I gaz'd; My faultering tongue in vain for utterance try'd, Faint was my voice, my thoughts abortive dy'd, Or in weak sounds, and broken accents came, Imperfect, as discourses in a dream. Tell, for you know the burthen of my heart, Its killing anguish, and its secret smart. Soon she divin'd what this confusion meant, And guess'd with ease the cause of my complaint. My tongue emboldening as her looks were mild, At length I told my griefs-and still she smil'd. O Syren! Syren! fair deluder, say Why would you tempt to trust, and then betray? So faithless now, why gave you hopes before? Alas! you should have been less kind, or more. Tell, for you know the birthen of my heart, Its killing anguish, and its secret smart. Secure of innocence, I seek to know From whence this change, and my misfortunes grow, Rumour is loud, and every voice proclaims Her violated faith, and conscious flames: Can this be true? Ah! flattering mischief speak; Could you make vows, and in a moment break? And can the space so very narrow be Betwixt a woman's oath, and perjury? O Jealousy! all other ills at first My love essay'd, but thou art sure the worst. THE VISION. In lonely walks, distracted by despair, Through paths untrodden, day and night I rove, When will my sorrows end? in vain, in vain Straight up I rose, and to my aking breast, His breath perfumes the grove, and music's in the sound 1. "Cease, lover, cease, thy tender heart to vex, In fruitless plaints of an ungrateful sex. In Fate's eternal volumes it is writ, That women ever shall be foes to wit. With proper arts their sickly minds cominand, And please 'em with the things they understand; With noisy fopperies their hearts assail, Renounce all sense; how should thy songs prevail, When I, the god of wit, so oft could fail ? Remember me, and in my story find How vainly merit pleads to womankind : 1, by whom all things shine, who tune the spheres, Create the day, and gild the night with stars; Whose youth and beauty, from all ages past, Sprang with the world, and with the world shall last. How oft with fruitless tears have I implor'd Ungrateful nymphs, and though a god, ador'd? When could my wit, my beauty, or my youth, Move a hard heart? or, mov'd, secure its truth? "Here a proud nymph,with painful steps I chase, The winds out-flying in our nimble race; Stay, Daphne, stay.-In vain, in vain I try To stop her speed, redoubling at my cry, O'er craggy rocks, and rugged hills she climbs, And tears on pointed flints her tender limbs : "Till caught at length, just as my arms I fold, Turn'd to a tree she yet escapes my hold. "In my next love, a diff'rent fate I find, Ah! which is worse, the false, or the unkind? 1 Apollo. Forgetting Daphne, I Coronis 2 chose, "Then cease to murmur at thy Myra's pride, [turn Change, change thy style, with mortal rage reUnjust disdain, and pride oppose to scorn; Search all the secrets of the fair and young, And then proclaim, soon shall they bribe thy tongue; The sharp detractor with success assails, Sure to be gentle to the man that rails; Women, like cowards, tame to the severe, Are only fierce when they discover fear.” Thus spake the god; and upward mounts in air, In just resentment of his past despair. Provok'd to vengeance, to my aid I call The Furies round, and dip my pen in gall: Not one shall 'scape of all the cozening sex, Vex'd shall they be, who so delight to vex. In vain I try, in vain to vengeance move My gentle Muse, so us'd to tender love ; Turns all to soft complaint, and amorous flight. Such magic rules my heart, whate'er I write "Begone, fond thoughts, begone, be bold," said I, Satire 's thy theme"-In vain again I try, So charming Myra to each sense appears, My soul adores, my rage dissolves in tears. So the gall'd lion, smarting with his wound, Threatens his foes, and makes the forest sound, With his strong teeth he bites the bloody dart, And tears his side with more provoking smart, Till, having spent his voice in fruitless cries, He lays him down, breaks his proud heart, and dies. ADIEU L'AMOUR. 2 A nymph beloved by Apollo, but at the same time had a private intrigue with one Ischis, which was discovered by a crow. To love, is to be doom'd on Earth to feel Is Love. Those streams where Tantalus is curst MEDITATION ON DEATH. I. ENOUGH, enough, my Soul, of worldly noise; And pleasures like the winds, that in a moment pass? II. How frail is beauty? Ah! how vain, How short is life? why will vain courtiers toil, IV. Those boasted names of conquerors and kings He carefully consults each beauteous line, We praise the piece, and give the painter fame, To copy out ideas in the mind; Words are the paint by which their thoughts are Who driven with ungovernable fire, (b) As veils transparent cover, but not hide, They wander thro' incredible to true : Nor needs forbidden regions to explore : He still fights on, and scorns to yield his breath." The captive Canibal weigh'd down with chains, Yet braves his foes, reviles, provokes, disdains, Of nature fierce, untameable, and proud, He grins defiance at the gaping crowd, And spent at last, and speechless as he lies, With looks still threatning, mocks their rage and No Fortune can exalt, but Death will climb as high. This is the utmost stretch that Nature can, [dies: ESSAY UPON UNNATURAL FLIGHTS IN POETRY. As when some image of a charming face In living paint, an artist tries to trace, And all beyond is fulsome, false, and vain. As painters flatter, so may poets too, Ariosto. (e) "The day that she was born, the Cyprian queen Had like t'have dy'd thro' envy and thro' spleen; f) The Roman wit, who impiously divides (g) Our King 3 return'd, and banish'd peace reThe Muse ran mad to see her exil'd lord; [stor'd, On the crack'd stage the bedlam heroes roar'd, First Mulgrave 4 rose, Roscommon next, like To clear our darkness, and to guide our flight; Inform'd by them, we need no foreign guide: Firm and unshaken, till it touch the skies. and chimera: but being however a system univer sally agreed on, all that has or may be contrived or invented upon this foundation, according to nature, shall be reputed as truth; but whatsoever shall diminish from, or exceed the just proportions of nature, shall be rejected as false, and pass for extravagance; as dwarfs and giants, for monsters. (b) When Homer, mentioning Achilles, terms him a lion, this is a metaphor, and the meaning is obvious and true, though the literal sense be false, the poet intending thereby to give his reader some idea of the strength and fortitude of his hero. Had he said, that wolf, or that bear, this had been false, by presenting an image not conformable to the nature and character of a hero, &c. (c) Hyperboles are of diverse sorts, and the manner of introducing them is different: some are as it were naturalized and established by a customary way of expression; as when we say, such a one is as swift as the wind, whiter than snow, or the itself. Martial, of Zoilus, lewdness itself. Such like. Homer, speaking of Nereus, calls him beauty hyperboles lie indeed, but deceive us not; and therefore Seneca terms them lies that readily conduct our imagination to truths, and have an intelligible signification, though the expression be strained beyond credibility. Custom has likewise ple, by irony; as when we say of some infamous familarised another way for hyperboles, for examwoman, she's a civil person, where the meaning is to be taken quite opposite to the latter. These few figures are mentioned only for example sake; it will be understood that all others are to be used with the like care and discretion. (d) I needed not to have travelled so far for an extravagant flight; I remember one of British growth of the like nature: See those dead bodies hence convey'd with care, Life may perhaps return-with change of air. But I choose rather to correct gently, by foreign examples, hoping that such as are conscious of the like excesses will take the hint, and secretly reprove themselves. It may be possible for some tempers to maintain rage and indignation to the last gasp; but the soul and body once parted, there must necessarily be a determination of action. Qoudcunque ostendis mihi sic incredulus odi. I cannot forbear quoting on this occasion, as an example for the present purpose, two noble lines of Jasper Main's, in the collection of the Oxford Verses From pulpits banish'd, from the court, from love, printed in the year 1643, upon the death of my Forsaken Truth seeks shelter in the grove; And take into your train th' abandon'd wanderer. EXPLANATORY ANNOTATIONS ON THE FOREGOING POEM. (a) THE poetic world is nothing but fiction; Parnassus, Pegasus, and the Muses, pure imagination 1 Corneille. 2 Lucan. 3 King Charles II. Earl of Mulgrave's Essay upon Poetry; and Lord Roscommon's upon translated Verse. grandfather, sir Bevil Granville, slain in the heat of action at the battle of Lansdowne. The poet, after having described the fight, the soldiers animated by the example of their leader, and enraged at his death thus concludes: Thus he being slain, his action fought anew, Pensa mourir de honte, en la voyant si belle, Et l'Amour, qui ne pût entrer dans son courage, Voulut obstinément loger sur son visage. This is a lover's description of his mistress, by the great Corneille; civil, to be sure, and polite as any thing can be. Let any body turn over Waller, and he will see how much more naturally and delicately the English author treats the article of love, than this celebrated Frenchman. I would not, however, be thought by any derogatory quotation to take from the merit of a writer, whose reputation is so universally and so justly established in all nations; but as I said before, I rather choose, where any failings are to be found, to correct my own countrymen by foreign examples, than to provoke them by instances drawn from their own writings. Humanum est errare. I cannot forbear one quotation more from another celebrated French author. It is an epigram upon a monument for Francis I. king of France, by way of question and answer, which in English is verbatim thus: Under this marble, who lies buried here? Francis the Great, a king beyond compare. Why has so great a king so sinali a stone? Of that great king here's but the heart alone. Then of this conqueror here lies but part? No-here he lies all-for he was all heart. The author was a Gascon, to whom I can properly oppose nobody so well as a Welchman, for which purpose I am farther furnished from the foreinentioned collection of Oxford Verses, with an epigram by Martin Lluellin upon the same subject, which I remember to have heard often repeated to me when I was a boy. Besides, from whence can we draw better examples than from the very seat and nursery of the Muses? Thus slain, thy valiant ancestor did lie, stand? Thy grandsire's fills the sea, and thine the land I cannot say the two last lines, in which consists the sting or point of the epigram, are strictly conform able to the rule herein set down: the word ashes, metaphorically, can signify nothing but fame; which is mere sound, and can fill no space either of land or sea: the Welchman, however, must be allowed to have out-done the Gascon. The fallacy of the French epigram appears at first sight; but the English strikes the fancy, suspends and dazzles the judgment, and may perhaps be allowed to pass under the shelter of those daring hyperboles, which, by presenting an obvious meaning, make their way, according to Seneca, through the incredible to true. (f) Victrix causa Deis placuit, sed victa Catoni. The consent of so many ages having established the reputation of this line, it may perhaps be presumption to attack it; but it is not to be supposed that 1 Sir Richard Granville, vice-admiral of England, in the reign of queen Elizabeth, maintained a fight with his single ship against the whole Armada of Spain, consisting of fifty-three of their best men of war. Cato, who is described to have been a man of rigid morals and strict devotion, more resembling the gods than inen, would have chosen any party in opposition to those gods, whom he professed to adore. The poet would give us to understand, that his hero was too righteous a person to accompany the divinities themselves in an unjust cause; but to represent a mortal man to be either wiser or juster than the Deity, may show the impiety of the writer, but add nothing to the merit of the hero; neither reason nor religion will allow it, and it is impossible for a corrupt being to be more excellent than a divine: success implies permission, and not approbation; to place the gods always on the thriving side, is to make them partakers of all successful wickedness: to judge right, we must wait for the conclusion of the action; the catastrophe will best decide on which side is Providence, and the violent death of Caesar acquits the gods from being companions of his usurpation, Lucan was a determined republican; no wonder he was a free-thinker. (g) Mr. Dryden, in one of his prologues, has these two lines: He's bound to please, not to write well, and knows There is a mode in plays, as well as clothes. From whence it is plain where he has exposed himself to the critics; he was forced to follow the fashion to humour an audience, and not to please himself. A hard sacrifice to make for present subsistence, especially for such as would have their writings live as well as themselves. Nor can the poet whose labours are his daily bread, be delivered from this cruel necessity, unless some more certain encouragement can be provided than the bare uncertain profits of a third day, and the theatre be put under some more impartial management than the jurisdiction of players. Who write to live, must unavoidably comply with their taste by whose approbation they subsist; some generous prince, or prime minister like Richlieu, can only find a remedy. In his Epistle Dedicatory to the Spanish Friar, this incomparable poet thus censures himself: "I remember some verses of my own, Maximin and Almanzor, which cry vengeance upon me for their extravagance, &c. All I can say for those passages, which are I hope not many, is, that I knew they were bad enough to please, even when I wrote them; but I repent of them among my sins: and if any of their fellows intrude by chance into my present writings, I draw a stroke over those Dalilahs of the theatre, and am resolved I will settle myself no reputation by the applause of fools: 'tis not that I am mortified to all ambition, but I scorn as much to take it from half-witted judges, as I should to raise an estate by cheating of bubbles: neither do I discommend the lofty style in tragedy, which is pompous and magnificent; but nothing is truly sublime, that is not just and proper." This may stand as an unanswerable apology for Mr. Dryden, against his critics; and likewise for an unquestionable authority to confirm those principles which the foregoing poem pretends to lay down, for nothing can be just and proper but what is built upon truth. |