But all they trust in withers, as it must,

470

When He commands in whom they place no trust.

Vengeance at last pours down upon their coast,

A long despised, but now victorious, host;
Tyranny sends the chain that must abridge
The noble sweep of all their privilege,
Gives Liberty the last, the mortal shock,
Slips the slave's collar on, and snaps the lock.
A. Such lofty strains embellish what you teach,
Mean you to prophesy, or but to preach?

B. I know the mind that feels indeed the fire
The Muse imparts, and can command the lyre
Acts with a force, and kindles with a zeal,
Whate'er the theme, that others never feel;
If human woes her soft attention claim,
A tender sympathy pervades the frame,
She pours a sensibility divine

475

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Along the nerve of every feeling line;
But if a deed not tamely to be borne

Fire indignation and a sense of scorn,

The strings are swept with such a power, so loud,

490

The storm of music shakes the astonished crowd.

So, when remote futurity is brought

Before the keen inquiry of her thought,

A terrible sagacity informs

The poet's heart; he looks to distant storms;

495

He hears the thunder ere the tempest lowers;

• And armed with strength surpassing human powers, Seizes events as yet unknown to man,

And darts his soul into the dawning plan.

Hence, in a Roman mouth, the graceful name

500

Of prophet and of poet was the same;

Hence British poets too the priesthood shared,
And every hallowed Druid was a bard.
But no prophetic fires to me belong;
I play with syllables, and sport in song.

505

A. At Westminster, where little poets strive To set a distich upon six and five,

Where Discipline helps opening buds of sense,
And makes his pupils proud with silver pence,
I was a poet too: but modern taste
Is so refined, and delicate, and chaste,
That verse, whatever fire the fancy warms,
Without a creamy smoothness has no charms.
Thus, all success depending on an ear;
And thinking I might purchase it too dear,
If sentiment were sacrificed to sound,
And truth cut short to make a period round,

510

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I judged a man of sense could scarce do worse,

Than caper in the morris-dance of verse.

B. Thus reputation is a spur to wit,

520

And some wits flag through fear of losing it.

Give me the line that ploughs its stately course

Like a proud swan, conquering the stream by force;

That, like some cottage beauty, strikes the heart,

Quite unindebted to the tricks of art.

525

When Labour and when Dullness, club in hand,

Like the two figures at St. Dunstan's stand,

Beating alternately, in measured time,

The clockwork tintinnabulum of rhyme,

Exact and regular the sounds will be,

530

But such mere quarter-strokes are not for me.
From him who rears a poem lank and long,
To him who strains his all into a song,
Perhaps some bonny Caledonian air,

All birks and braes, though he was never there;
Or, having whelped a prologue with great pains,
Feels himself spent, and fumbles for his brains;
A prologue interdashed with many a stroke,
An art contrived to advertise a joke,
So that the jest is clearly to be seen,
Not in the words-but in the gap between ;
Manner is all in all, whate'er is writ,
The substitute for genius, sense, and wit.

535

540

To dally much with subjects mean and low Proves that the mind is weak, or makes it so.

545

Neglected talents rust into decay,

And every effort ends in push-pin play.

The man that means success, should soar above

A soldier's feather, or a lady's glove,

Else summoning the Muse to such a theme,

550

The fruit of all her labour is whipped cream;

As if an eagle flew aloft, and then

Stooped from its highest pitch to pounce a wren;
As if the poet, purposing to wed,

Should carve himself a wife in gingerbread.
Ages elapsed ere HOMER'S lamp appeared,

555

And ages ere the MANTUAN SWAN was heard;
To carry nature lengths unknown before,

To give a MILTON birth, asked ages more.

Thus genius rose and set at ordered times,

560

And shot a dayspring into distant climes;
Ennobling every region that he chose,

He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose,

And, tedious years of Gothic darkness passed,

Emerged all splendour in our isle at last;

565

Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,
Then show far off their shining plumes again.

A. Is genius only found in epic lays?
Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise.
Make their heroic powers your own at once,

570

Or candidly confess yourself a dunce.

B. These were the chief; each interval of night

Was graced with many an undulating light;

In less illustrious bards his beauty shone

A meteor, or a star; in these, the sun.

575

The nightingale may claim the topmost bough,
While the poor grasshopper must chirp below;
Like him unnoticed, I, and such as I,
Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly;
Perched on the meagre produce of the land,
An ell or two of prospect we command,
But never peep beyond the thorny bound,

580

Or oaken fence that hems the paddock round.

In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart Had faded, poetry was not an art; Language, above all teaching, or if taught, Only by gratitude and glowing thought, Elegant as simplicity, and warm

585

As ecstasy, unmanacled by form,

Not prompted, as in our degenerate days,
By low ambition and the thirst of praise,
Was natural as is the flowing stream,
And yet magnificent-a God the theme!

590

That theme on earth exhausted, though above 'Tis found as everlasting as his love.

595

Man lavished all his thoughts on human things,
The feats of heroes and the wrath of kings;
But still, while Virtue kindled his delight,
The song was moral, and so far was right.

'Twas thus till Luxury seduced the mind To joys less innocent, as less refined;

600

And dizzy with delight, profaned the sacred wires:

Anacreon, Horace, played in Greece and Rome

This Bedlam part; and others nearer home.

When Cromwell fought for power, and while he reigned, 610 The proud Protector of the power he gained,

Religion harsh, intolerant, austere,

Parent of manners like herself severe,

Drew a rough copy of the Christian face,

Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace;
The dark and sullen humour of the time

615

Judged every effort of the Muse a crime;
Verse in the finest mould of fancy cast,
Was lumber in an age so void of taste.

But when the Second Charles assumed the sway,
And arts revived beneath a softer day,

620

Then, like a bow long forced into a curve,

The mind, released from too constrained a nerve,

Flew to its first position, with a spring

That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring.

625

His court, the dissolute and hateful school

Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule,

Swarmed with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid
With brutal lust as ever Circe made.

630

From these a long succession, in the rage

Of rank obscenity, debauched their age
Nor ceased till, ever anxious to redress
The abuses of her sacred charge, the press,
The Muse instructed a well nurtured train
Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain,
And claim the palm for purity of song,,
That Lewdness had usurped and worn so long.
Then decent Pleasantry and sterling Sense,
That neither gave nor would endure offence,
Whipped out of sight, with satire just and keen,
The puppy pack that had defiled the scene.
In front of these came ADDISON.
Humour in holiday and sightly trim,
Sublimity and Attic taste combined,
To polish, furnish, and delight the mind.
Then POPE, as harmony itself exact,

In him

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645

In verse well disciplined, complete, compact,
Gave Virtue and Morality a grace,

That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face,

Levied a tax of wonder and applause,

650

E'en on the fools that trampled on their laws.