Ages elaps'd ere Homer's lamp appear'd, B. These were the chief, each interval of night Was grac'd with many an undulating light. In less illustrious bards his beauty shone A meteor, or a star; in these the sun. The nightingale may claim the topmost bough, While the poor grasshopper must chirp below. Like him unnotic'd, I, and such as I, Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly; Perch'd on the meagre produce of the land, Language, above all teaching, or, if taught, As ecstacy, unmanacled by form, Not prompted, as in our degen'rate days, Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human things- Then Genius danc'd a bacchanal; he crown'd The brimming goblet, seiz'd the thyrsus, bound His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field And, dizzy with delight, profan'd the sacred wires. Anacreon, Horace play'd in Greece and Rome This bedlam part; and others nearer home. When Cromwell fought for pow'r, and while he reign'd The proud protector of the pow'r he gain'd, 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 Judg'd ev'ry effort of the muse a crime; Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast, Was lumber in an age so void of taste: Then, like a bow long forc'd into a curve, The mind, releas'd from too constrain❜d a nerve, Flew to it's first position with a spring, That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring. His court, the dissolute and hateful school Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, Swarm'd with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid With brutal lust as ever Circe made. From these a long succession, in the rage Of rank obscenity, debauch'd their age Nor ceas'd, till, ever anxious to redress The abuses of her sacred charge, the press, The muse instructed a well-nurtur'd train Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain, And claim the palm for purity of song, That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long. Then decent Pleasantry and sterling Sense, That neither gave nor would endure offence, Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen, The puppy pack, that had defil'd the scene. In front of these came Addison. In him Humour in holiday and sightly trim, In verse well-disciplin'd, complete, compact, That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face, evied a tax of wonder and applause, Ev'n on the fools that trampled on their laws. So nice his ear, so delicate his touch) Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, A. Are we then left-B. Not wholly in the dark; Wit now and then, struck smartly, shows a spark, Sufficient to redeem the modern race From total night and absolute disgrace. While servile trick and imitative knack Confine the million in the beaten track, Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road, Snuffs up the wind, and flings himself abroad. Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one; Short his career indeed, but ably run; Churchill; himself unconscious of his pow'rs In penury consum'd his idle hours; |