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Τ Η Ε
ENGLISH PO E T S.
POEMS OF JOHN DRY DE N.
jIf then a blind, well-meaning, Indian stray, ON DRYDEN'S RELIGIO LAICI. Shall the great gulph be Mhew'd him for the way?
For better ends our kind Rezeemer dy'de
Or the faln angels room will be but ill supply'd.
That Christ, who at the creat deciding day, E gone, you you go,
(For he declares what he resolves to say) Let free, impartial mer, from Dryden learn
And save the Meep for actions, not for thoughts, Mysterious secrets, of a high concern,
Hath too much mercy to send men to hell, And weighty truths, folid convincing sense,
For humble charity, and hoping well. Explain'd by uraffected eloquence.
To what stupidity are zealots grown, What can you (Reverend Levi) here take ill?
Whose inhumanity profusely Town He chat hath none, and lives as angels do,
I'll err at least on the securer fide,
A convert free from malice and from pride.
TO MY FRIEND, MR. JOHN DRYDEN,
ON HIS SEVERAL EXCELLENT TRANSLATIONS What then have thinking honest men to do, But chufe a mear between th' ufurping two? Nor can th' Ægyptian patriarch blame thy muse, BY G. GRANVILLE, LORD LANSDOWNL. Which for his firmness does his heat excuse; Whatever councils have approv'd his creed,
S flowers transplanted from a southern sky, The preface sure was his own act and deed. Our church will have that preface read, you'll say: Milling their native sun, at best retain 'Tis true: but so the will th’ Apocrypha; But a faint odour, and survive with pain : And such as can believe them, freely may. Thus ancient wit, in modern numbers taught,
But did that God (so little understood) Wanting the warmth with which its author wrote, Whofe darling attribute is being good,
Is a dead, image, and a senseless dravght. -
Whence we conclude from thy tran Nated song, In that sad place from whence is no retum, So just, so smooth, so soft, and yet so strong, For unbelief in one they never knew,
Cæleftial poet! foul of harmony ! Or for not doing what they could not do! That every genius was reviv'd in thee. The very fiends know for what crime they fell, Thy trumpet sounds, the dead are rais'd to light, And so do all their followers that rebel :
Never to die, and take to heave their fight; VOL. III.