Thus far my zeal, though for the task unfit, Has pointed out the rocks where others fplit; By that infpir'd, though ftranger to the Nine, And negligent of any fame-but thine, I take the friendly, but superfluous part; You act from nature what I teach from art. But they to glory by degrees arose, VI. Next to the godlike praife of writing well, Is on that praife with juft delight to dwell. THE OLD MAN'S RELAPSE. O, for fome God my drooping foul to raise! ROM man's too curious and impatient fight, The future, heaven involves in thickest night, Credit grey hairs: though freedom much we boast, Some leaft perform, what they determine moft, And fhews its weaknefs. Whom fhall men believe, That I might imitate, as well as praise; VII. A golden period shall from you commence : VIII. I would proceed, but age has chill'd my vein, When constantly themselves, themselves deceive. 'Twas a fhort fever, and I'm cool again. Through the fimooth flow of pures: eloquence; 'Tis like the limpid ftreams of Tagus roll'd Though life I hate, methinks I could renew O'er boundless wealth, o'er fhining beds of gold. VERSES SENT BY LORD MELCOMBE TO IV. But whence fo finish'd, fo refin'd a piece? The tongue denies it to old Rome and Greece; The Genius bids the moderns doubt their claim, And flowly take poffeffion of the fame. But I nor know, nor care by whom 'twas writ, Enough for me that 'tis from human wit, That fooths my pride: all glory in the pen Which has done honor to the race of men. V. But this have others done; a like applause An ancient and a * modern Horace draws. Boikau "A Poetical Epifle from the late Lord Mel"combe to the Earl of Bute, with corrections by the "Author of the Night Thoughts" was publifked in 4to. 1776. Take the Mufe's latest spark", III. But where 's his dolphin? Know'ft thou, THE BRITISH SAILOR'S EXULTATION. where ? May that be found in Thee, Voltaire! Save thou from harm my plunge into the wave: How will thy name illuftrious raife My finking fong! Mere mortal lays, So patroniz'd, are refcued from the grave. IV. "Tell me, say'st thou, who courts my fimile? "What firanger ftray'd from yonder ifle !— No franger, Sir! though born in foreign climes; On Dorfet downs, when Milton's page, With Sin and Death, provok'd thy rage, Thy rage provok'd, who footh'd with gentle rhymes ? *See Mr. Cuff's Life of Young. I. IN lofty founds let thofe delight Who brave the foe, but fear the fight; And, bold in word, of arms decline the ftroke: 'Tis mean to boaft; but great to lend To foes the counfel of a friend, And warn them of the vengeance they provoke. JI. From whence arife thefe loud alarms? Ambition mean, ignoble pride! Annals of the Emperor Charles XII. Lewis XIV. When weigh'd the wonders Britain's failor fings. Hear, Thefe minifters of fate fulfil, On empires wide, an island's will, Or do I dream? Or do I rave? Or fee I Vulcan's footy cave, When thrones unjuft wake vengeance: know, ye Where Jove's red bolts the giant brothers frame? powers! In fudden night, and ponderous balls, And floods of flame, the tempest falls, When brav'd Britannia's awful fenate lowers. Thofe fwarthy gods of toil and heat, Loud peals on mountain anvils heat, And panting tempefts rouze the roaring flame. 12 Ally Supreme! we turn to Thee; "We learn obedience from the fea; A Pindaric carries a formidable found ; but there is nothing formidable in the true nature of With feas, and winds, henceforth, thy laws it; of which (with utmost submission) I conceive " fulfil : 'Tis thine our blood to freeze, or warm; And turn the tide of conquest, at thy will. "Tis Thine to beam fublime renown, "Or quench the glories of a crown; the critics have hitherto entertained a falfe idea. Pindar is as natural as Anacreon, though not fo familiar, As a fixt ftar is as much in the bounds of nature, as a flower of the field, though less obvious, and of greater dignity, This is not the received notion of Pindar; I fhall therefore foun fupport at large that hint which is now given. Trade is a very noble subject in itself; more 'Tis Thine to doom, 'tis Thine, from death to proper than any for an Englishman; and parti "<free; "To turn afide his level'd dart, Or pluck it from the bleeding heart There we caft anchor, we confide in Thee. * Rufia, cularly feafonable at this juncture. We have more fpecimens of good writing in every province, than in the sublime; our two famous Epic Poems excepted. I was willing to make an attempt where I had fewest rivals. Aurora Borealis If, on reading this Ode,' any man has a fuller idea of the real intereft, or poffible glory of his country, than before; or a stronger impreffion from it, or a warmer concern for it, I give up to the I eritic any farther reputation. We have many copies and tranflations that pass for originals. This Ode I humbly conceive is an original, though it profeffes imitation. No man can be like Pindar, by imitating any of his particular works; any more than like Raphael, by copying the cartoons. The genius and spirit of fuch great men must be collected from the whole; and when thus we are poffeffed of it, we must exert its energy in fubjects and defigns of our own. Nothing is fo unpindarical as following Pindar on the foot. Pindar is an original, and he must be fo too, who would be like Pindar in that which is his greatest praise. Nothing fo unlike as a close copy, and a noble original, As for length, Pindar has an unbroken Ode of fix hundred lines. Nothing is long or short in writing, but relatively to the demand of the fubject, and the manner of treating it. A diftich may be long, and a folio bort. However, I have broken this Ode into Strains, each of which may be confidered as a fepavite Ode if you pleafe. And if the variety and fullness of matter be confidered, I am rather apprehenfive of danger from brevity in this Ode, than from length. But lank writing is. what I think ought most to be declined, if for nothing else, for our plenty of it. The Ode is the most spirited kind of poetry, and. the Pinduric is the most spirited kind of Ode; this I fpeak at my own very great peril: but truth has an eternal title to our confeffion, though we are fure to fuffer by it. The waves are hufh'd; the winds are spent !This kingdom, from the kingdoms rent, celebrate in fong-Fam'd Ifle! no less, to By nature's favour, from mankind,«» Than by the foaming fea, disjoin'd; Alone in blifs! an ifle, in happiness ! IIL 'I Though Fate and Time have damp'd my frains, Though youth no longer fires my veins, Though flow their ftreams in this cold climate The royal eye difpels. my cares, Recals the warmth of blooming years, Returning George fupplies the distant fun. Or teach this flag, like that to foar, Bid her a British conftellation rife The fea fhe fcorns; and, now, fhall bound I am her pilot, and her port the fkić ! VII. Dare you to fing, ye tinkling train? Who fhackle prafe, and boast of abfent Gods; And labour stiff. Anacreontic Odes., VILI. Ye lawful Sons of Genius rife! Ye founts of Learning! and ye mints of Fame! Of glowing thought, with Attic, art, And drink pure fong from Cam's or Ifis' fream. IX. I glow, I burn! the numbers pure,” High-favour'd, delicate, mature, Spontaneous fream from my umlabour'd breast, As, when full-ripened teems the vine, The generous bursts of willing wine Diftil nectareous from the grape unpref. |