It might (what nature never gives the young) Have taught the numbers of thy native tongue. But fatire needs not thofe, and wit will fhine 15 When poets are by too much force betray'd. Thy generous fruits, though gather'd ere their prime, Still fhew'd a quickness; and maturing time 20 But mellows what we write, to the dull sweets of rhyme. Once more, hail, and farewell; farewell, thou young, But ah too short, Marcellus of our tongue! Thy brows with ivy, and with laurels bound; But fate and gloomy night encompass thee around. 25 TO THE PIOUS MEMORY OF THE ACCOMPLISHED YOUNG LADY, MRS. ANNE KILLIGREW, EXCELLENT IN THE TWO SISTER ARTS OF POESY AND PAINTING. AN ODE. I. THOU youngest virgin-daughter of the skies, Ver. 1. Thou youngest virgin] At length we are arrived at the Ode on the Death of Mrs. Anne Killigrew, which Dr. Johnfon, by an unaccountable perverfity of judgment, and want of tafte for true poetry, has pronounced to be undoubtedly the nobleft Ode that our language ever has produced. The first ftanza, he says, flows with a torrent of enthufiafm. To a cool and candid reader, it appears abfolutely unintelligible. Examples of bad writing, of tumid expreffions, violent metaphors, farfought conceits, hyperbolical adulation, unnatural amplifications, interfperfed, as ufual, with fine lines, might be collected from this applauded Ode, fo very inferior in all refpects to the Rich with immortal green above the rest: 5 10 divine Ode on St. Cecilia's Day. But fuch a paradoxical judgment cannot be wondered at in a critic, that defpifed the Lycidas of Milton, and the Bard of Gray. I have been cenfured, I am informed, for contradicting fome of Johnfon's critical opinions. As I knew him well, I ever refpected his talents, and more fo his integrity; but a love of paradox and contradiction, at the bottom of which was vanity, gave an unpleasant tincture to his manners, and made his converfation boisterous and offenfive. I often used to tell the mild and fenfible Sir Joshua Reynolds, that he and his friends had contributed to spoil Johnfon, by conftantly and cowardly affenting to all he advanced on any fubject. Mr. Burke only kept him in order, as did Mr. Beauclerc alfo, fometimes by his playful wit. It was a great pleasure for Beauclerc to lay traps for him to induce him to oppofe and contradict one day what he had maintained on a former. Left the cenfure prefumed to be paffed on this Ode fhould be thought too uncandid and fevere, the reader is defired attentively to confider ftanzas the third, fixth, feventh, ninth, and tenth. In a word, Dryden, by his inequality, much refembles another great genius, Cafimir, of Poland; who, in the very midft of fome poetical strokes in his Ode on the Deluge, mars all by his ufual mixtures of Ovidian puerilities. After faying vacuas fpatiofa cete Ludunt per aulas, ac thalamos pigræ Comes this idle conceit, et refixæ Ad pelagus rediere Gemmæ. Lib. iv. Od. Mafon has too much commended an Ode of Cafimir on the Eolian Harp. Dr. J. WARTON. Thou wilt have time enough for hymns divine, But fuch as thy own voice did practise here, And candidate of heaven. II. If by traduction came thy mind, But if thy pre-existing foul Was form'd, at firft, with myriads more, It did through all the mighty poets roll, Who Greek or Latin laurels wore, 15 20 25 30 And was that Sappho laft, which once it was before. Ver. 33. And was that Sappho laft, &c.] Our author here compliments Mrs. Killigrew, with admitting the doctrine of metempfychofis and fuppofing the foul that informs her body. to be the fame with that of Sappho's, who lived fix hundred years before the birth of Chrift, and was equally renowned for poetry and love. She was called the tenth Mufe. Phaon, whom the loved, treating her with indifference, he jumped into the fea, and was drowned. DERRICK. If fo, then cease thy flight, O heaven-born mind! Thou haft no drofs to purge from thy rich ore: Nor can thy foul a fairer manfion find, Than was the beauteous frame fhe left be hind: Return to fill or mend the choir of thy celef tial kind. III. 35 May we prefume to fay, that, at thy birth, New joy was fprung in heaven, as well as here on earth. For fure the milder planets did combine 40 Strung each his lyre, and tun'd it high, 45 Might know a poetefs was born on earth. Had heard the music of the spheres. And if no clustering fwarm of bees 50. On thy fweet mouth diftill'd their golden dew, 'Twas that fuch vulgar miracles Heaven had not leifure to renew: For all thy bleft fraternity of love Solemniz'd there thy birth, and kept thy holy day above. 55 |