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WHEN Love's * great goddess, anxious for her fun,
Beheld him wand'ring on a coast unknown,
A huntress in the wood she feign'd to stray,
To cheer bis drooping mind, and point his way:
But Venus' charms no borrow'd form could hide: 5
He knew and worshipp'd his celestial guide.
Thus vainly, Pope, unseen you would dispense
Your glorious system of benevolence;
And, heav'nly taught, explain the angels' song,
That praise to God and peace to men belong.
Conceal'd in vain, the bard divine we know,
From whence such truths could spring, such lines
Applause, which juftly so much worth pursues,
You cnly can delerve, or could refuse.
TO THE CONCEALED AUTHOR OF THE ESSAY ON MAN,
Yes, friend! thou art conceal'd. Conceal'd! but
Ever the brightest, more refulgent now, [how?
By thy own luftre hid! each nervous line,
Each melting verse, each fyllable, is thine :
But such philosophy, such reason strong,
5 Has never yet adorn'd thy loftielt fong.
Dost thou, satiric, vice and folly brand,
Intent to purge the town, the court, the land ?
Is thy design to make men good and wise,
Exposing the deformity of vice?
Dost thou thy wit at once and courage show,
Strike hard, and bravely vindicate the blow?
Dost thou delireate God, or trace out man,
The vast immensity, or mortal span ?
Thy hand is known; nor needs thy work a name, is
The Poem loudly muft the pen proclaim.
I see, my friend i o, sacred Poet, hail !
The brightness of thy face defeats the veil.
Write thou, and let the world the writing view; The world will know, and will pronounce it you. 20 Dark in thy grove, or in thy closet sit, We see thy wisdom, harmony, and wit: Forth breaks the blaze, astonishing our sight; Enshrin'd in clouds, we see, we see thee write.
So the sweet warbler of the spring, alone, 25 Sings darkling, but unseen her note is known; And so the lark, inhabiting the skies, Thrills unconceal'd, tho' wrapt from mortal eyes.
TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ESSAY ON MAN.
As when some student first with curious eye
Thro’ Nature's wondrous frame attempts to pry,
His doubtful reason seeming faults surprise ;
He asks if this be just, if that be wife ?
Storms, tempests, earthquakes, virtue in distress,
And vice unpunish'd, with strange thoughts oppress;
Till thinking on, unclouded by degrees,
His mind he opens, fair is all he fees;
Storms, tempeits, earthquakes, Virtue's ragged plight,
And Vice's triumph, all are just and right;
Beauty is found, and order, and design,
And the whole scheme acknowledg'd all divine.
So when at first I view'd thy wondrous plan, Leading thro' all the winding maze of Man, Bewilder'd, weak, unable to pursue,
15 My pride would fain have laid the fault on you. This false, that ill-express’d, this thought not good, And all was wrong which I misunderstood : But reading more attentive, foon I found The diction nervous, and the doctrine found; Saw man a part of that ftupendous whole, “ Whose body Nature is, and God the soul ;" Saw in the scale of things his middle state, And all his pow'rs adapted just to that; Saw reason, paffion, weakness, how of use, 25 How all to good, to happiness, conduce; Saw my own weakness, thy superior pow'r, And still the more I read, admire the more.
Father of verse! indulge an artless Muse,
Jult to the warmth thy envy'd lays infuse.
Rais'd by the soul that breathes in ev'ry line,
(My Phæbus thou, thy awful works my shrine !)
Grateful I bow, thy mighty genius own,
And hail thee feated on thy natal throne :
Stung by thy fame, tho'aided by thy light,
See bards, till now unknown, essay to write :
Rous'd by thy heat, unnumber'd lwarms arise,
As insects live beneath autumnal skies;
While Envy pines, with unappeas'd desire,
And each mean breast betrays th’invidious fire.
Yet thou, great Leader of the sacred train!
(Whofe Parthian fhatt ne'er took its flight in vain,)
Go on, like Juvenal, arraign the age,
Let wholesome Satire loole thro' ev'ry page;
Born for the task, whom no mean views inflame,
Who lance to cure, and scourge but to reclaim.
Yet not on Satire all your hours bestow;
Oft from your lyre let gentle numbers How;
Such strains as breath'd thro' Windsor's lov'd retreats,
« And call'd the Muses to their ancient seats."
Thy manly force, and genius uncontin'd,
Shall mould to future fame the growing mind;
To ripen’d souls more folid aids impart,
And while you touch the sense correct the heart:
Yet tho'o'er all you shed diffusive light,
Bale minds will envy still, and scribblers write.
Thus the imperial source of genial heat
Gilds the aspiring dome and mean retreat ; 30
Bids gems a semblance of himtelf unfold,
And warms the purer ductile ore to gold :
Yet the same heat ailifts each reptile birth,
And draws infectious vapours from the earth,
AV ODE TO THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD,
IN ALLUSION TO HORACE.
Pindarum quisquis, &c.
For me how vain to urge my vent'rous flight,
Where only Pope's strong pinion can aspire !
Horace, great fource of true poetic light,
Would melt my waxen wings before his fire.
As Thames' clear stream thro' flow'ry margins flows,
At first the humbler treasure of the plain,
6 Tili with each spring the swelling current grows, And rolls his pow'r and commerce o'er the main ; So toft descending from the Muses' hill Pope's spreading genius pafles ev'ry bound, Big with experience, knowledge, taste, and skill, And flows uncoeck'd o'er all poetic ground. Freih wreaths on ev'ry side await his head, Whether in Fancy's wilds * he youthful stray, In Humour's + frolic round new measures tread,
15 Or boldiy follow Pindar's I pathless way. Religious he niaintains the Muses' trust; Pure in his breast he guards the sacred fire ; To his progressive genius strictly just, Its uíe dilating as its pow'rs aspire. Whether from antique ruft, with pious toil, He polith'd Britain's ancient poets' ll praile, Or planting careful in his better foil, Preserve more green the Greek and Roman bays.s Whether the nobler monument ** he frame 25 To those whom virtues, arts, or arms, adorn; Or snatch froin Envy tt, or the grave, their fame, Whom Pride oppresses, or the viri uous mourn; Till (as of old, some heav'n-instructed bard) 29 To Man the pleads in Truth and Wisdom's cause ; Chastifes Vice, deals Virtue her reward, Supports the pulpit, and fupplies the laws. High on the swelling gale of constant praise We see this Swan of Thames sublimely rise, 34 E'en Envy's If breath but ferves his flight to raise, And lift his spotless plumage to the skies.
Paftorals, and Windsor Foreft. + Rape of the Lock. I Odes. Chaucer and Donne. Horner, Horace, Ovid. ** Epitaphs. tt Epigles. * Ellay on Man.
11 The Dupciad,
While on the husnble banks, far, far below!
Unmark'd, my tuneless reed I painful try;
Like the imall bee, with toil collecting Now
The faint perfume which lowly shrubs lupply. 40
To move our abfent Prince (the realm's deire,)
Then let his skill compote th' attractive fong;
Or you, my Lord, may boldly strike the lyre,
You, to whole call the willing Mutes throng.
Persuasion decks your words with ev'ry art 45
To lead the locial band in sportive wit,
To guide the judgment, and to warm the heart,
While fenates held in rapt'rous filence sit.
Or (tho' each bard in rev'rence mute should wait)
A joyful people his return thall greet;
The busy hall shall cease from loud debate ;
Contending parties bow at George's feet.
Applauding senates thall record his fame,
And hail the arbiter of Europe home :
Him haughty Gallia's dread they shall proclaim; $5
From him the Turk and Tartar wait their doom.
Fate never gave a king to great before ;
A king so good no nation shall behold ;
For him the grateful realm shall Heav'n adore,
For him, whose reign revives the Age of Gold.
To peaceful congress when his arts have led
Europe's contending lords, inur'd to war,
The sacred olive wreath thall grace his head,
That wreath to often purchas'd by his care.
My voice unheard would join the gen’ral praise, 65
When well-plac'd Eloquence exhausts the theme;
When mitred lords their hands to heav'n fhall raise,
And give God thanks with piety extreme.
With loyal luxury to crowd the board
Artists thall vie, th' eternal feasts succeed; 70
Woods, lakes, and seas, their plenty shall afford,
And laughter'd hecatombs profusely bleed.
But far from kings and courts, my humbler fate
Blesses with health and peace my homely fare,
Where my calm wishes fraine no schemes of state,
But still for Britain's welfare form the pray’r.