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Faint, breathless, thus she pray'd, nor pray'd in vain;
"Ah, Cynthia! ah-though banish'd from thy
Then foaming pour along, and rush into the Thames,
Happy the man whom this bright court approves, 235 His sovereign favours, and his country loves: Happy next him, who to these shades retires, Whom Nature charmis, and whom the Muse inspires, Whom humbler joys of home-felt quiet please, Successive study, exercise, and ease.
He gathers health from herbs the forest yields,
Such was the life great Scipio once admir'd,
Led by the sound, I roam from shade to shade.
Since Fate relentless stopp'd their heavenly voice, No more the forests ring, or groves rejoice; Who now shall charm,the shades, where Cowley His living harp, and lofty Denham sung? [strung But hark! the groves rejoice, the forest rings! Are these reviv'd? or is it Granville sings! "Tis yours, s, my lord, to bless our soft retreats, And call the Muses to their ancient seats; To paint anew the flowery sylvan scenes, To crown the forests with immortal greens, Make Windsor hills in lofty numbers rise, And lift her turrets nearer to the skies; To sing those honours you deserve to wear, And add new lustre to her silver star. Here noble Surrey felt the sacred rage, Surrey, the Granville of a former age: Matchless his pen, victorious was his lance, Bold in the lists, and graceful in the dance: In the same shades the Cupids tan'd his lyre, To the same notes, of love, and soft desire : Fair Geraldine, bright object of his vow, Then fill'd the groves, as heavenly Mira now.
Oh wouldst thou sing what heroes Windsor bore, What kings first breath'd upon her winding shore, Or raise old warriors, whose ador'd remains In weeping vaults her hallow'd earth contains! With Edward's acts adorn the shining page, Stretch his long triumphs down through every age;
Draw monarchs chain'd, and Cressi's glorious field, | The god appear'd: he turn'd his azure cyes
Let softer strains ill-fated Henry mourn, And palms eternal flourish round his urn. Here o'er the martyr-king the marble weeps, And, fast behind him, once-fear'd Edward sleeps! Whom not th' extended Albion could contain, From old Belerium to the northern main, The grave unites; where e'en the great find rest, And blended lie th' oppressor and th' opprest!
Make sacred Charles's tomb for ever known: (Obscure the place, and uninscrib'd the stone) Oh fact accurs'd what tears has Albion shed! 321 Heavens, what new wounds! and how her old have She saw her sons with purple deaths expire, [bled! Her sacred domes involv'd in rolling fire, A dreadful series of intestine wars, Inglorious triumphs, and dishonest scars. At length great Anna said, -"Let discord
She said, the world obey'd, and all was peace!
High in the midst, upon his urn reclin'd, (His sea-green mantle waving with the wind)
"Hail, sacred Peace! hail, long-expected days, That Thames's glory to the stars shall raise ! Though Tyber's streams immortal Rome behold, Though foaming Hermus swells with tides of gold, From Heaven itself the seven-fold Nilus flows, And harvests on a hundred realms bestows; These now no more shall be the Muses' themes, Lost in my fame, as in the sea their streams.. Let Volga's banks with iron squadrons shine, 363 And groves of lances glitter on the Rhine; Let barbarous Ganges arm a servile train: Be mine the blessing of a peaceful reign. No more my sons shall dye with British blood Red Iber's sands, or Ister's foaming flood: Safe on my shore each unmolested swain Shall tend the flocks, or reap the bearded grain: The shady empire shall retain no trace Of war or blood, but in the sylvan chase:
The trumpet sleep, while cheerful horns are blown,
"Thy trees, fair Windsor! now shall leave their And half thy forests rush into thy floods; [woods, 385 Bear Britain's thunder, and her cross display, To the bright regions of the rising day: Tempt icy seas, where scarce the waters roll, Where clearer flames glow round the frozen pole; Or under southern skies exalt their sails, Led by new stars, and borne by spicy gales! For me the balm shall bleed, and amber flow, The coral redden, and the ruby glow, The pearly shell its lucid globe unfold, And Phoebus warm the ripening ore to gold. The time shall come, when free as seas or wind Unbounded Thames shall flow for all mankind, Whole nations enter with each swelling tide,. And seas but join the regions they divide; Earth's distant ends our glory shall behold, And the new world lanch forth to seek the old. Then ships of uncouth form shall stem the tide, And feather'd people crowd my wealthy side, And naked youths and painted chiefs admire Our speech, our colour, and our strange attire! Oh, stretch thy reign, fair Peace! from shore to Till conquest cease and slavery be no more; [shore,
Ver. 363. Originally thus in the MS.
Let Venice boast her towers amidst the main,
Or those green isles, where headlong Titan steeps
Till the freed Indians in their native groves
Here cease thy flight, nor with unhallow'd lays Touch the fair fame of Albion's golden days: The thoughts of gods let Granville's verse recite, And bring the scenes of opening fate to light: My humble Muse, in unambitious strains, Paints the green forests and the flowery plains, Where Peace descending bids her olive spring, And scatters blessings from her dove-like wing. Ev'n I more sweetly pass my careless days, Pleas'd in the silent shade with empty praise ; Enough to me, that to the listening swains First in these fields I sung the sylvan strains.
ODE ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY,
M DCC VIII.
AND OTHER PIECES FOR MUSIC.
ODE FOR MUSIC
ON ST. CECILIA'S DAY.
DESCEND, ye Nine! descend, and sing;
In a sadly-pleasing strain
Hark! the numbers soft and clear
Now louder, and yet louder rise,
And fill with spreading sounds the skies; Exulting in triumph now swell the bold notes, In broken air trembling, the wild music floats; Till, by degrees, remote and sinall,
The strains decay,
In a dying, dying fall.
By Music, minds an equal temper know,
Or, when the soul is press'd with cares,
Melancholy lifts her head, Morpheus rouses from his bed, Sloth unfolds her arms and wakes, Listening Envy drops her snakes; Intestine war no more our passions wage, And giddy factions hear away their rage.
But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
To arms, to arms, to arins!
But when through all th' infernal bounds, Which flaming Phlegetop surrounds,
Love, strong as Death, the poets led
O'er all the dreary coasts!
Fires that glow, Shrieks of woe,
And cries of tortur'd ghosts!
But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And the pale spectres dance!
By the streams that ever flow,
By the fragrant winds that blow O'er the elysian flowers;
By those happy souls who dwell In yellow meads of asphodel, Or amaranthine bowers; By the hero's armed shades, Glittering through the gloomy glades; By the youths that dy'd for love, Wandering in the myrtle grove, Restore, restore Eurydice to life: Oh take the husband, or return the wife! He sung, and Hell consented To hear the poet's prayer; Stern Proserpine relented, And gave him back the fair. Thus Song could prevail O'er Death, and o'er Hell, A conquest how hard and how glorious! Though Fate had fast bound her With Styx nine times round her, Yet Music and Love were victorious.
But soon, too soon the lover turns his eyes!/ Again she falls, again she dies, she dies! How wilt thou now the fatal sisters move? No crine was thine, if 'tis no crime to love.
Now under hanging mountains,
He trembles, he glows,
Yet ev'n in death Eurydice he sung;
Eurydice the rocks and hollow mountains rung,
Music the fiercest grief can charm, And Fate's severest rage disarm: Music can soften pain to ease, And make despair and madness please; Our joys below it can improve, And antedate the bliss above, This the divine Cecilia found, And to her Maker's praise confin'd the sound. When the full organ joins the tuneful quire, Th' immortal powers incline their ear; Borne on the swelling notes our souls aspire, While solemn airs improve the sacred fire; And angels lean from Heaven to hear. Of Orpheus now no more let poets tell, To bright Cecilia greater power is given: His numbers rais'd a shade from Hell, Her's lift the soul to Heaven.
TO THE TRAGEDY OF BRUTUS. ALTERED FROM SHAKESPEARE BY THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, AT WHOSE DESIRE THESE TWO CHORUSES WERE COMPOSED, TO SUPPLY AS MANY, WANTING IN HIS PLAY. THEY WERE SET MANY YEARS AFTERWARDS BY THE FAMOUS BONONCINI, AND PERFORMED AT BUCKINGHAM-HOUSE.
CHORUS OF ATHENIANS.
Y shades, where sacred truth is sought;
In vain your guiltless laurels stood
And steel now glitters in the Muses' shades.
Oh heaven-born sisters! source of art!
To what new crime, what distant sky, Forsaken, friendless, shall ye fly? Say, will ye bless the bleak Atlantic shore? Or bid the furious Gaul be rude no more?
When Athens sinks by fates unjust, When wild Barbarians spurn her dust; Perhaps ev'n Britain's utmost shore Shall cease to blush with stranger's gore See Arts her savage sons control, And Athens rising near the pole ! Till some new tyrant lifts his purple hand, And civil madness tears them from the land.
Ye gods! what justice rules the ball! Freedom and Arts together fall; Fools grant whate'er Ambition craves, And men, once ignorant are slaves. Oh curs'd effects of civil hate, In every age, in every state! Still, when the lust of tyrant power succeeds, Some Athens perishes, some Tully bleeds.
CHORUS OF YOUTHS AND VIRGINS.
OH tyrant Love! hast thou possest
The prudent, learn'd, and virtuous breast!
Love, soft intruder, enters here,
Love's purer flames the gods approve; The gods and Brutus bend to Love: Brutus for absent Porcia sighs, And sterner Cassius melts at Junia's eyes. What is loose love? a transient gust, Spent in a sudden storm of lust; A vapour fed from wild desire, A wandering, self-consuming fire. But Hymen's kinder flames unite, And burn for ever one; Chaste as cold Cynthia's virgin light, Productive as the Sun.
Oh source of every social tye,
As son, as father, brother, husband, friend!
What tender passions take their turns,
His heart now melts, now leaps, now burns,
Hence, guilty joys, distastes, surmises; Hence, false tears, deceits, disguises, Dangers, doubts, delays, surprizes;
Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine: Purest love's unwasting treasure, Constant faith, fair hope, long leisure; Days of ease, and nights of pleasure; Sacred Hymen! these are thine.
ODE ON SOLITUDE.
WRITTEN WHEN THE AUTHOR WAS ABOUT TWELVE
HAPPY the man, whose wish and care
In his own ground.
Hours, days, and years, slide soft away,
201.] give rules for the study of the art of criticism; the second [from thence to ver. 560.] exposes the causes of wrong judgment; and the third [from thence to the end] marks out the morals of the critic. When the reader hath well considered the whole, and hath observed the regularity of the plan, the masterly conduct of the several parts, the penetration into Nature, and the compass of learning so conspicuous throughout, he should then be told, that it was the work of an author who had not attained the twentieth year of his age.-A very learned critic has shown, that Horace had the same attention to method in his Art of Poetry.
1 Mr. Pope told me himself, that the Essay on Criticism was indeed written in 1707, though said 1709 by mistake. J. Richardson.
PART II. VER. 203, &c. Causes hindering a true judgment. 1. Pride, 2. Imperfect learning, ver. 215. 3. Judging by parts, and not by the whole, ver. 233 to 288. Critics in wit, language, versification, only, 288, 305, 339, &c. 4. Being too hard to please, or too apt to admire, ver. 384. 5. Partiality-too much love to a sect, to the ancients or moderns, ver. 394. 6. Prejudice or prevention, ver. 408. 7. Singularity, ver. 424. 8. Inconstancy, ver. 430. 9. Party spirit, ver. 352, &c. 10. Envy, ver. 466. Against envy, and in praise of good-nature, ver. 508, &c. When severity is chiefly to be used by the critics, ver. 526, &c. PART III. VER. 560, &c. Rules for the conduct of manners in a critic. 1. Candour, ver. 563. Modesty, ver. 566. Good-breeding, ver. 572. Sincerity and freedom of advice, ver. 578. 2. When one's counsel is to be restrained, ver. 584. Character of an incorrigible poet, ver. 600; and of an impertinent critic, ver. 610, &c. Character of a good critic, ver. 629. The history of criticism, and characters of the best critics : Aristotle, ver. 645. Horace, ver. 653. Dionysius, ver. 665. Petronius, ver. 667. Quin