TO THE AUTHOR OF THE ESSAY ON MAN.

WHEN Love's * great goddess, anxious for her fon,

Beheld him wand'ring on a coaft unknown,
A huntress in the wood the feign'd to stray,
To cheer his drooping mind, and point his way:
But Venus' charms no borrow'd form could hide:
He knew and worfhipp'd his celeftial guide.

Thus vainly, Pope, unfeen you would dispense
Your glorious fyftem of benevolence;

And, heav'nly taught, explain the angels' feng,
That praife to God and peace to men belong.
Conceal'd in vain, the bard divine we know,
From whence fuch truths could spring, such lines
could flow.

Applaufe, which juftly fo much worth pursues,
You only can deferve, or could refufe.

TO THE CONCEALED AUTHOR OF THE ESSAY ON MAN.

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Conceal'd! but

YES, friend! thou art conceal'd.
Ever the brightest, more refulgent now,
By thy own luftre hid! each nervous line,
Each melting verfe, eath fyllable, is thine:
But fuch philofophy, fuch reafon strong,
Has never yet adorn'd thy loftieft fong.

Dost thou, fatiric, vice and folly brand,
Intent to purge the town, the court, the land?
Is thy defign to make men good and wife,
Expofing the deformity of vice?

Doft thou thy wit at once and courage fhow,
Strike hard, and bravely vindicate the blow?
Doft thou delineate God, or trace out man,
The vaft immenfity, or mortal span ?

[how?

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Thy hand is known; nor needs thy work a name, 15
The Poem loudly muft the pen proclaim.

I fee, my friend! O, facred Poet, hail!
The brightness of thy face defeats the veil.

VOL. I.

T
#Eneid I.

Write

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 fit, We fee thy wisdom, harmony, and wit: Forth breaks the blaze, aftonishing our fight; Enfhrin'd in clouds, we fee, we fee thee write. So the fweet warbler of the fpring, alone, Sings darkling, but unfeen her note is known; And fo 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 firft with curious eye
Thro' Nature's wondrous frame attempts to pry,
His doubtful reafon feeming faults furprise;
He afks if this be juft, if that be wife?

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J. R.

Storms, tempefts, earthquakes, virtue in distress,
And vice unpunish'd, with ftrange thoughts oppress;
Till thinking on, unclouded by degrees,
His mind he opens, fair is all he fees;

5

Storms, tempefts, earthquakes, Virtue's ragged plight,
And Vice's triumph, all are juft and right;
Beauty is found, and order, and defign,

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,

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20

My pride would fain have laid the fault on you.
This falfe, that ill-exprefs'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 foul;"
Saw in the scale of things his middle state,
And all his pow'rs adapted juft to that;
Saw reafon, paffion, weakness, how of use,
How all to good, to happiness, conduce;
Saw my own weakness, thy fuperior pow'r,
And ftill the more I read, admire the more.

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28 R. D.

TO MR. POPE.

BY A LADY.

my

FATHER of verfe! indulge an artless Mufe, Just to the warmth thy envy'd lays infuse. Rais'd by the foul that breathes in ev'ry line, (My Phoebus thou, thy awful works fhrine !) 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, eflay to write : Rous'd by thy heat, unnumber'd warms arife, As infects live beneath autumnal skies; While Envy pines, with unappeas'd defire, And each mean breaft betrays th' invidious fire. Yet thou, great Leader of the facred train! (Whofe Parthian fhaft ne'er took its flight in vain,) Go on, like Juvenal, arraign the age, Let wholefome Satire loofe thro' ev'ry page; Born for the task, whom no mean views inflame, Who lance to cure, and fcourge but to reclaim. Yet not on Satire all your hours bestow;

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Oft from your lyre let gentle numbers flow;

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Such ftrains as breath'd thro' Windfor's lov'd retreats,

"And call'd the Muses to their ancient feats."

Thy manly force, and genius uncontin❜d,

Shall mould to future fame the growing mind;
To ripen'd fouls more folid aids impart,

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And while you touch the fenfe correct the heart:
Yet tho' o'er all you shed diffufive light,
Bafe minds will envy ftill, and fcribblers write.
Thus the imperial fource of genial heat

Gilds the afpiring dome and mean retreat;
Bids gems a femblance of himself unfold,
And warms the purer ductile ore to gold:
Yet the fame heat affifts each reptile birth,

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And draws infectious vapours from the earth.

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AN ODE TO THE EARL OF CHESTERFIELD,

IN ALLUSION TO HORACE.

Pindarum quifquis, &c.

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10

FOR me how vain to urge my vent'rous flight, Where only Pope's strong pinion can afpire! 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, Tili with each fpring the fwelling current grows, And rolls his pow'r and commerce o'er the main; So foft defcending from the Muses' hill Pope's fpreading genius paffes ev'ry bound, Big with experience, knowledge, tafte, and skill, And flows uncheck'd o'er all poetic ground. Fresh wreaths on ev'ry fide await his head, Whether in Fancy's wilds*he youthful stray, In Humour's + frolic round new measures tread, Or boldly follow Pindar's pathlefs way. Religious he maintains the Mufes' truft; Pure in his breaft he guards the facred fire; To his progreffive genius ftrictly juft, Its ufe dilating as its pow'rs afpire. Whether from antique ruft, with pious toil, He polish'd Britain's ancient poets' || praise, Or planting careful in his better foil,

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Preferve more green the Greek and Roman bays.§
Whether the nobler monument ** he frame
To those whom virtues, arts, or arms, adorn;
Or fnatch from Envy tt, or the grave, their fame,
Whom Pride oppreffes, or the virtuous mourn;
Till (as of old, some heav'n-instructed bard)
To Man + he pleads in Truth and Wisdom's caufe;
Chaftifes Vice, deals Virtue her reward,
Supports the pulpit, and fupplies the laws.
High on the swelling gale of constant praise
We fee this Swan of Thames fublimely rife,
E'en Envy's breath but serves his flight to raise,
And lift his fpotless plumage to the skies.

Paftorals, and Windfor Foreft.

Rape of the Lock.

The Dunciad.

Chaucer and Donne. Homer, Horace, Ovid. **Epitaphs.
Efay on Man.

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+ Odes. tt Epiules.

While on the humble banks, far, far below!
Unmark'd, my tunelefs reed I painful try;
Like the fmall bee, with toil collecting flow
The faint perfume which lowly fhrubs fupply.
To move our abfent Prince (the realm's delire,)
Then let his skill compofe th' attractive fong;
Or you, my Lord, may boldly ftrike the lyre,
You, to whole call the willing Mutes throng.
Perfuafion decks your words with ev'ry art
To lead the focial band in fportive wit,
To guide the judgment, and to warm the heart,
While senates held in rapt'rous filence fit.

Or (tho' each bard in rev'rence mute should wait)
A joyful people his return thall greet;
The bufy hall shall ceafe from loud debate;
Contending parties bow at George's feet.
Applauding fenates fhall record his fame,
And hail the arbiter of Europe home:

Him haughty Gallia's dread they fhall proclaim; 55 From him the Turk and Tartar wait their doom.

Fate never gave a king fo great before;

A king fo good no nation fhall behold;

For him the grateful realm fhall Heav'n adore,
For him, whofe reign revives the Age of Gold.
To peaceful congrefs when his arts have led
Europe's contending lords, inur'd to war,
The facred olive wreath thall grace his head,
That wreath fo often purchas'd by his care.
My voice unheard would join the gen'ral praife,
When well-plac'd Eloquence exhaufts 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 fhall vie, th' eternal feafts fucceed;
Woods, lakes, and feas, their plenty shall afford,
And slaughter'd hecatombs profufely bleed.
But far from kings and courts, my humbler fate
Bleffes with health and peace my homely fare,
Where my calm wishes frame no fchemes of ftate,
But ftill for Britain's welfare form the pray'r.

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