Know, when he bade the deep appear,
"Thus far," th' Almighty faid,
"Thus far, nor farther, rage; and here-
"Let thy proud waves be ftay'd."
I heard; and, to! at once controul'd,
The waves, in wild retreat,
Back on themselves reluctant roll'd,
And murmuring left my feet.
Deeps to affembling deeps in vain
Once more the fignal gave:
The fhores the rufhing weight fiftain,
And check th' ufurping wave.
Convinc'd, in Nature's volume wife,
The imag'd truth I read ;
And fudden from my waking eyes
Th' inftructive vifion fled.
Then why thus heavy, O my foul!
Say why, diftraftful ftill,
Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
O'er fcenes of future ill ?
Let faith fupprefs each rifing fear,
Each anxious doubt exclude;
Thy Maker's will has plac'd thee here,
A Maker wife and good!
He to thy ev'ry trial knows
Its just restraint to give;
• Attentive to behold thy woes,
And faithful to relieve,
Then why thus heavy, O my foul!
Say why, difruftful ftill,
Thy thoughts with vain impatience roll
'O'er fcenes of future ill ?
• Tho' griefs unnumber'd throng thee round, Still in thy God confide,
• Whose finger marks the seas their bound, •And curbs the headlong tide.
SI walk'd to my felf, I faid to my felf,
And myself said again to me :
Look to thy felf, take care of thyself,
For nobody cares for thee;
Then I faid to myself, and thus anfwer'd my felf,
With the felf fame repartee ;
Look to thy felf, or look not to thy felf,
'Tis the felf fame thing to me..
Nature's chief mafler-piece is writing well:
No writings lifts exalted man fo high
As facred and foul-moving Poefy:
No kind of work requires fo nice a touch;
And, if well finish'd, nothing fhines so much.
But Heaven forbid we fhould be fo profane.
To grace the vulgar with that noble name..
'Tis not a flash of fancy, which fometimes,
Dazzling our minds fets off the flightest rhyme
Bright as a blaze, but in a moment done
True wit is everlafting, like the fun;
Which, though fometimes behind a cloud. retir'd,
Breaks out again, and is by all admir'd.
Number, and rhyme, and that harmonious found,
Which not the niceft ear with harfhnefs wound,
Are neceffary, yet but vulgar arts;
And all in vain thefe fuperficial parts
Contribute to the flructure of the whole,
Without a genius too; for that's the foul:
A fpirit which infpires the work throughout,
As that of nature moves the world about,
A flame that glows amidft conceptions fit;
Even fomething of divine, and more than wit;
Itself unfeen, yet all things by it fhewn,
Deferibing all men, but defcrib'd by none.
Where doft thou dwell ? what caverns of the brain
Can fuck a vaft and mighty thing contain?
When I, at vacant hours, in vain thy absence mourn,
Oh! where doft thou retire ? and why doft thou retire,
Sometimes with pow'rful charms to hurry me away,
From pleáfures of the night and business of the day?
Even now, no far transported, I am fain
To check thy course, and use the needful rein.
As all is dulnefs when the fancy's bad;
So, without judgment, fancy is but mad.:
And judgment has a boundless influence
Not only in the choice of words, or sense,
But on the world, on manners, and on men ;
Fancy is but the feather of the pen ;
Reafon is that fubftantial useful part,
Which gains the head, while t'other wins the heart.
Here I fhall all the various forts of verfe,
And the whole art of poetry, rehearse;
But who that talk could after Horace do ?
The beft of mafiers and examples too!
Echoes at beft, all we can fay is vain;
Dull the design, and fruitless were the pain.
'Tis true, the ancients we may rob with ease!
But who with that mean shift himself can please,
Without an actor's pride? A player's art
I's above his who writes a borrow'd part.
Yet modern laws are made for latter faults,
And new abfurdities inspire new thoughts
What need has Satire then to live on theft,
When so much fresh occafion ftill is left ?
Fertile our foil, and full of rankeft weeds,
And monfters worfe than ever Nilus breeds.
But hold the fool fhall have no cause to fear;
'Tis wit and fenfe that are the subject here an
Defects of witty men deferve a cure; }
And those who are fo will ev'n this endure.
Firft then of fongs which now fo much abound;
Without his fong no fop is to be found ;
A most offenfive weapon, which he draws
On all he meets, against Apollo's laws.
Though nothing feems more easy, yet no part
Of poetry requires a nicer art;
For as in rows of richeft pearl there lies
Many a blemish that escapes our eyes,
The leaft of which defects is plainly fhewn
In one small ring, and brings the value down ;
So fongs fhould be to juft perfection wrought;
Yet where can one be feen without a fault ?
Exact propriety of words and thought ';
Expreflion eafy, and the fancy high;
Yet that not feem to creep, nor this to fly;
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