« PoprzedniaDalej »
Some in a polislı'd style write Pastoral,
40 With virgin charms, and native excellence. Yet long her modesty those charms conceald, ”Till by men's envy to the world reveal'd; For Wits industrious to their trouble seem, And needs will envy what they must esteem.
45 Live ‘and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate, Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait; Whose Muse did once, like thine, in plains delight; Thine shall, like his, soon take a higher flight; So Larks, which first from lowly fields arise, 50 Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies.
FR. KNAPP. The following lines were addressed to Mr. Pope, from Killala, in the county of Mayo, in Ireland, (a circumstance which serves to explain the allusion at the commencement of them,) and were dated June 7, 1715. They were printed in the first edition of the works of Pope, where some lines
appear which have been judiciously omitted in the subsequent editions.
TO MR. POPE, ON HIS WINDSOR FOREST. Hail, sacred Bard ! a Muse unknown before Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore.
To our dark world thy shining page is shown,
10 And dress’d the rocky shelves, and pav'd the painted
15 Where'er we dip in thy delightful page, What pompous
our busy thoughts
30 Can paint the grove, and add the music too.
With vast variety thy pages shine;
35 And give at once the day, at once the night!
And here again what sweet confusion reigns,
Happy the man, who strings his tuneful lyre,
spire ! Thrice happy thou ! and worthy best to dwell 45 Amidst the rural joys you sing so well. I in a cold, and in a barren clime, Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhyme, Here on the Western beach attempt to chime. O joyless flood ! O rough tempestuous main ! 50 Border'd with weeds, and solitudes obscene! Snatch me, ye Gods! from these Atlantic shores, And shelter me in Windsor's fragrant bow'rs ; Or to my much lov'd Isis' walks convey, And on her flow'ry banks for ever lay.
55 Thence let me view the venerable scene, The awful dome, the groves' eternal green: Where sacred Hough long found his fam'd retreat, And brought the Muses to the sylvan seat, Reform'd the wits, unlock'd the Classic store, 60 And made that Music which was noise before. There with illustrious Bards I spent my days, Nor free from censure, nor unknown to praise, Enjoy'd the blessings that his reign bestow'd, Nor envy'd Windsor in the soft abode. The golden minutes smoothly danc'd away, And tuneful Bards beguild the tedious day: They sung, nor sung in vain, with numbers fir’d That Maro taught, or Addison inspir’d. Ev'n I essay’d to touch the trembling string : 70 Who could hear them, and not attempt to sing?
Rous’d from these dreams by thy commanding strain,
Nor can I pass the gen'rous courser by,
Nor shall thy song, old Thames ! forbear to shine,
105 And make one glorious and immortal Thames.
ELIJAH FENTON. By far the most elegant and best turned compliment of all addressed to our Author ; happily borrowed from that fine Greek epigram in the Anthologia, p. 30, and most gracefully applied ;
"Ήειδον μεν 'Εγών, εχάρασσε δε θείος "Ομηρος. Fenton was the best Greek scholar of all our Author's poetical friends. Boileau also imitated this epigram.- Warton.
TO MR. POPE.
IN IMITATION OF A GREEK EPIGRAM ON HOMER.
WHEN Phæbus, and the nine harmonious maids,
5 “ To sing young Peleus, and the fall of Troy.' The wond'rous song with rapture they rehearse ; Then ask who wrought that miracle of verse? He answer'd with a frown: “ I now reveal “ A truth, that envy bids me not conceal :
10 Retiring frequent to this Laureat vale, " I warbled to the Lyre that fav’rite tale,
Which, unobserv’d, a wand'ring Greek and blind, “ Heard me repeat, and treasur’d in his mind; “ And fir’d with thirst of more than mortal praise, 15 “ From me, the God of Wit, usurp'd the bays.
“ But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame, “ Proud with celestial spoils to grace her name;
Yet when my Arts shall triumph in the West,
And the white Isle with female pow'r is blest; 20 “ Fame, I foresee, will make reprisals there,
And the Translator's Palm to me transfer. “ With less regret my claim I now decline, “ The World will think his English Iliad mine.”