Not danger, toil, the tedious weary way,
Nor all the Gallic powers his promis'd aid delay.
Like truth itself unknowing how to fail,
He fcorn'd to doubt, and knew he must prevail.
Thus ever certain does the fun appear,
Bound by the law of Jove's eternal year;
Thus conftant to his course sets out at morn,
Round the wide world in twice twelve hours is born,
And to a moment keeps his fix'd return.
Straight to the town the heroes turn their care,
Their friendly fuccour for the brave prepare,
And on the foe united bend the war.
O'er the steep trench and ramparts guarded height,
At once they rush, and drive the rapid flight;
With idle arms the Gallic legions feem
To ftem the rage of the refiftless stream;
At once it bears them down, at once they yield,
Headlong are push'd and swept along the field;
Refistance ceases, and 'tis war no more,
At once the vanquish'd own the victor's power; 470 Throughout the field, where-e'er they turn their fight, 'Tis all or conqueft or inglorious flight;
Swift to their rescued friends their joys they bear,
With life and liberty at once they chear,
And fave them in the moment of despair.
So timely to the aid of sinking Rome,
With active hafte did great Camillus come:
So to the Capitol he forc'd his way,
So from the proud Barbarians fnatch'd his prey,
And fav'd his country in one fignal day.
From impious arms at length, O Louis, ceafe! 481
And leave at length the labouring world in peace,
Left heaven difclose fome yet more fatal scene,
Fatal beyond Ramillia or Turin;
Left from thy hand thou fee thy fceptre torn,
And humbled in the duft thy loffes mourn:
Left urg'd at length thy own repining flave,
Though fond of burdens, and in bondage brave,
Pursue thy hoary head with curfes to the grave.
ON THE SIGHT OF TWO PINDARIC ODES ON
THE SPLEEN AND VANITY.
WRITTEN BY A LADY HER FRIEND.
FLAVIA, to you with fafety I commend
This verse, the fecret failing of your friend.
To your good-nature I fecurely truft,
Who know, that to conceal, is to be just.
The Mufe, like wretched maids by love undone,
From friends, acquaintance, and the light would run;
Conscious of folly, fears attending shame,
Fears the cenforious world, and lofs of fame.
Some confident by chance the finds (though few
Pity the fools, whom love or verse undo),
Whose fond compassion fooths her in the fin,
And fets her on to venture once again.
* Anne Countess of Winchelsea.
Sure, in the better ages of old time,
Nor poetry nor love was thought a crime;
From heaven they both the gods best gifts were sent, Divinely perfect both, and innocent.
Then were bad poets and loofe loves not known;
None felt a warmth which they might blush to own.
Beneath cool fhades our happy fathers lay,
And spent in pure untainted joys the day:
Artless their loves, artless their numbers were,
While Nature fimply did in both appear,
None could the cenfor or the critic fear.
Pleas'd to be pleas'd, they took what heaven bestow'd,
Nor were too curious of the given good.
At length, like Indians fond of fancy'd toys,
We loft being happy, to be thought more wife.
In one curs'd age, to punish verfe and fin,
Critics and hangmen, both at once, came in.
Wit and the laws had both the fame ill fate,
And partial tyrants sway'd in either state.
Ill-natur'd cenfure would be fure to damn
An alien-wit of independent fame,
While Bayes grown old, and harden'd in offence,
Was fuffer'd to write on in spite of fenfe;
Back'd by his friends, th' invader brought along
A crew of foreign words into our tongue,
To ruin and enflave the free-born English song;
Still the prevailing faction propt his throne,
And to four volumes let his Plays run on;
Then a lewd tide of verse, with vicious rage,
Broke in upon the morals of the age.
In verfe like his, the heavenly nation raise
Their tuneful voices to their Maker's praise.
Nor fhall celeftial harmony disdain,
For once, to imitate an earthly strain,
Whose fame fecure, no rival e'er can fear,
But thofe above, and fair Ardelia here.
She who undaunted could his raptures view,
And with bold wings his facred heights purfue;
Safe through the Dithyrambic stream she steer'd,
Nor the rough deep in all its dangers fear'd;
Not fo the reft, who with successless pain
Th' unnavigable torrent try'd in vain.
So Clelia leap'd into the rapid flood,
While the Etrufcans ftruck with wonder ftood:
Amidst the waves her rash pursuers dy'd,
The matchlefs dame could only ftem the tide,
And gain the glory of the farther fide.
See with what pomp the antic masque comes in! The various forms of the fantastic spleen. Vain empty laughter, howling grief and tears, False joy, bred by false hope, and falfer fears; Fach vice, each paffion which pale nature wears, In this odd monftrous medley mix'd appears. Like Bayes's dance, confus'dly round they run, Statesman, Coquet, gay Fop, and penfive Nun, Spectres and Heroes, Husbands and their Wives, With Monkish Drones that dream away their lives. Long have I labour'd with the dire disease, Nor found, but from Ardelia's numbers, ease: The dancing verfe runs through my fluggish veins, Where dull and cold the frozen blood remains.
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