Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

I then appear'd to public view

A creature wondrous bright; But shortly perishable too,

nconstant, nice, and light.

On feathers not together fast

I wildly flew about,

And from my father's country pass'd To find my mother out.

Where her gallant, of her beguil'd,

With me enamour'd grew, And 1, that was my mother's child, Brought forth my mother too.

ON THE DEATH OF MR. VINER. Is Viner dead? and shall each Muse become Silent as Death, and as his music dumb? Shall he depart without a poet's praise, Who oft to harmony has tun'd their lays? Shall he, who knew the elegance of sound, Find no one voice to sing him to the ground? Music and Poetry are sister-arts, Show a like genius, and consenting hearts: My soul with his is secretly ally'd, And I am forc'd to speak, since Viner dy'd. Oh, that my muse, as once his notes, could That I might all his praises fully tell; [swell! That I might say with how much skill he play'd, How nimbly four extended strings survey'd; How bow and fingers, with a noble strife, Did raise the vocal fiddle into life; How various sounds, in various order rang'd, By unobserv'd degrees minutely chang'd, Through a vast space could in divisions run, Be all distinct, yet all agree in one: And how the fleeter notes could swiftly pass, And skip alternately from place to place; The strings could with a sudden impulse bound, Speak every touch, and tremble into sound.

The liquid harmony, a tuneful tide, Now seem'd to rage, anon would gently glide; By turns would ebb and flow, would rise and fall, Be loudly daring, or be softly small: While all was blended in one common name, Wave push'd on wave, and all compos'd a stream. The different tones melodiously combin'd, Temper'd with art, in sweet confusion join'd; The soft, the strong, the clear, the shrill, the deep, Would sometimes soar aloft, and sometimes creep; While every soul upon his motions hung, As though it were in tuneful concert strung. His touch did strike the fibres of the heart, And a like trembling secretly impart; Where various passions did by turns succeed, He made it cheerful, and he made it bleed; Could wind it up into a glowing fire, Then shift the scene, and teach it to expire. Oft have I seen him, on a public stage, Alone the gaping multitude engage; The eyes and ears of each spectator draw, [law; Command their thoughts, and give their passions While other music, in oblivion drown'd, Seem'd a dead pulse, or a neglected sound.

Alas! he's gone, our great Apollo's dead,

And all that's sweet and tuneful with him fled;
Hibernia, with one universal cry,
Laments the loss, and speaks his elegy.

Farewell, thou author of refin'd delight,
Too little known, too soon remov'd from sight;
Those fingers, which such pleasure did convey,
Must now become to stupid worms a prey:
Thy grateful fiddle will for ever stand
A silent mourner for its master's hand:
Thy art is only to be match'd above,
Where music reigns, and in that music love:
Where thou wilt in the happy chorus join,
And quickly thy melodious soul refine
To the exalted pitch of harmony divine.

EPIGRAM.

Haud facile emergunt, quorum virtutibus obstat
Res angusta domi—

THE greatest gifts that Nature does bestow,
Can't unassisted to perfection grow:

A scanty fortune clips the wings of fame,
And checks the progress of a rising name:
Each dastard virtue drags a captive's chain,
And moves but slowly, for it moves with pain:
Domestic cares sit hard upon the mind, [fin'dı
And cramp those thoughts which should be uncon-
The cries of poverty alarm the soul,
Abate its vigour, its designs control:
The stings of want inflict the wounds of death,
And motion always ceases with the breath.
The love of friends is found a languid fire,
That glares but faintly, and will soon expire;
Weak is its force, nor can its warmth be great,
A feeble light begets a feeble heat.
Wealth is the fuel that must feed the flame,
It dies in rags, and scarce deserves a name.

[blocks in formation]

CHLORIS APPEARING IN A LOOKINGGLASS.

OFT have I seen a piece of art,

Of light and shade the mixture fine, Speak all the passions of the heart,

And show true life in every line.

But what is this before my eyes,

With every feature, every grace, That strikes with love and with surprize, And gives me all the vital face?

It is not Chloris: for, behold,

The shifting phantom comes and goes; And when 't is here, 't is pale and cold, Nor any female softness knows.

But 't is her image, for I feel

The very pains that Chloris gives ; ller charms are there, I know them well, I see what in my bosom lives.

Oh, could I but the picture save!

'Tis drawn by her own matchless skill; Nature the lively colours gave,

And she need only look to kill.
Ah! fair-one, will it not suffice,

That I should once your victim lie;
Unless you multiply your eyes,
And strive to make me doubly die?

ON A LADY WITH FOUL BREATH.

ART thou alive? It cannot be,
There's so much rottenness in thee,
Corruption only is in death;

And what's more putrid than thý breath?
Think not you live because you speak,
For graves such hollow sounds can make;
And respiration can't suffice,
For vapours do from caverns rise:
From thee such noisome stenches come,
Thy mouth betrays thy breast a tomb.
Thy body is a corpse that goes,
By magic rais'd from its repose:
A pestilenee that walks by day,
But falls at night to worms and clay,
But I will to my Chloris run,
Who will not let me be undone :
The sweets her virgin-breath contains
Are fitted to remove my pains;
There will I healing nectar sip,
And, to be sav'd, approach her lip,
Though, if I touch the matchless dame,
I'm sure to burn with inward flame.
Thus, when I would one danger shun,
I'm straight upon another thrown:
I seek a cure, one sore to ease,
Yet in that cure's a new disease:
But love, though fatal, still can bless.
And greater dangers hide the less;
I'll go where passion bids me fly,
And choose my death, since I must die;
As doves pursued by birds of prey,
Venture with milder man to stay.

ON THE NUMBER THREE.

BEAUTY rests not in one fix'd place,
But seems to reign in every face;
'Tis nothing sure but fancy then,
In various forms, bewitching men;
Or is its shape and colour fram'd,
Proportion just, and woman nam'd?
If fancy only rul'd in love,

Why should it then so strongly move?
Or why should all that look agree,
To own its mighty power in Three?
In Three it shows a different face,
Each shining with peculiar grace.
Kindred a native likeness gives,
Which pleases, as in all it lives;
And, where the features disagree,
We praise the dear variety.
Then beauty surely ne'er was yet,
So much unlike itself, and so complete.

ESSAY ON THE DIFFERENT STYLES OF POETRY'.

TO HENRY LORD VISCOUNT BOLINGBROKE.

-Vatibus addere calcar,

Ut studio majore petant Helicona virentem. HOR. Ep. II. 1.

I HATE the vulgar with untuneful mind;
Hearts uninspir'd, and senses unrefin'd.
Hence, ye prophane: I raise the sounding string,
And Bolingbroke descends to hear me sing.

Allegory is in itself so retired a way of writing, that it was thought proper to say something beforehand concerning this piece, which is entirely framed upon it. The design, therefore, is to show the several styles which have been made use of by those who have endeavoured to write in verse. The scheme, by which it is carried on, supposes an old Grecian poet couching his observations or instructions within an allegory; which allegory is wrought out upon the single word flight, as in the figurative way it signifies a thought above the common level: here wit is made to be Pegasus, and the poet his rider, who flies by several countries where he must not touch, by which are meant so many vicious styles, and arrives at last at the sublime. This way of writing is not only very engaging to the fancy whenever it is well performed; but it has been thought also one of the first that the poets made use of. Hence arose many of those stories concerning the heathen gods, which at first were invented to insinuate truth and morality more pleasingly, and which afterwards made poetry itself more solemn, when they happened to be received into the heathen divinity. And indeed there seems to be no likelier way by which a poetical genius may yet appear as an original, than that he should proceed with a full compass of thought and knowledge, either to design his plan, or to beautify the parts of it, in an allegorical manner. We are much beholden to antiquity for those excellent compositions by

ESSAY ON THE DIFFERENT STYLES OF POETRY.

When Greece could truth in mystic fable
shroud,

And with delight instruct the listening crowd,
An ancient poet (time has lost his name)
Deliver'd strains on verse to future fame.
Still, as he sung, he touch'd the trembling lyre,
And felt the notes a rising warmth inspire.
Ye sweetening graces, in the music throng,
Assist my genius, and retrieve the song
From dark oblivion. See, my genius goes
To call it forth. 'Twas thus the poem rose.
"Wit is the Muses' horse, and bears on high
The daring rider to the Muses' sky:
Who, while his strength to mount aloft he tries,
By regions varying in their nature flies.

"At first, he riseth o'er a land of toil,
A barren, hard, and undeserving soil,
Where only weeds from heavy labour grow,
Which yet the nation prune, and keep for show;
Where couplets jingling on their accent run,
Whose point of epigram is sunk to pun;
Where wings by fancy never feather'd fly 2,
Where lines by measure form'd in hatchets lie;
Where altars stand, erected porches gape,
And sense is cramp'd while words are par'd to
Where mean acrostics, labour'd in a frame [shape.
On scatter'd letters, raise a painful scheme;
And, by confinement in their work, control
The great enlargings of the boundless soul;
Where if a warrior's elevated fire
Would all the brightest strokes of verse require,
Then straight in anagram a wretched crew
Will pay their undeserving praises too;
While on the rack his poor disjointed name
Must tell its master's character to Fame.
And (if my fire and fears aright presage)
The labouring writers of a future age

which writers at present form their minds; but
it is not so much required of us to adhere merely

For, to their fables, as to observe their manner. if we preclude our own invention, poetry will consist only in expression, or simile, or the applica

413

[repair,
Shall clear new ground, and grots and caves
To civilize the babbling Echoes there.
Then, while a lover treads a lonely walk,
His voice shall with its own reflection talk,
The closing sounds of all the vain device
Select by trouble frivolously nice,
Resound through verse, and with a false pretence
pass for sense.
Support the dialogue, and
Can things like these to lasting praise pretend?
Can any Muse the worthless toil befriend?
Ye sacred virgins, in my thoughts ador'd,
Ah, be for ever in my lines deplor'd,
If tricks on words acquire an endless name,
And trifles merit in the court of Fame!"

[ocr errors]

At this the poet stood concern'd a while,
And view'd his objects with a scornful smile:
Then other images of different kind,
With different workings enter'd on his mind;
At whose approach, he felt the former gone,
And shiver'd in conceit, and thus went on :
By a cold region next the rider goes,
Where all lies cover'd in eternal snows;
Where no bright genius drives the chariot high,
To glitter on the ground, and gild the sky.
Bleak level realin, where frigid styles abound,
Where never yet a daring thought was found,
But counted feet is poetry detin'd;

And starv'd concits, that chill the reader's mind.
A little sense in many words imply,
And drag in loitering numbers slowly by.
Here dry sententious speeches, half asleep,
Prolong'd in lines, o'er many pages creep;
Nor ever show the passions well express'd,
Nor raise like passions in another's breast.
Here flat narrations fair exploits debase,
In measures void of every shining grace;
Which never arm their hero for the field,
Nor with prophetic story paint the shield,
Nor fix the crest, nor make the feathers wave,
Undeck'd they stand. and unadorn'd with praise,
And fail to profit while they fail to please.
Here forc'd description is so strangely wrought,
It never stamps its image on the thought;

Nor with their characters reward the brave;

The lifeless trees may stand for ever bare,
And rivers stop, for ought the readers care;
They see no branches trembling in the woods,
Nor hear the murmurs of increasing floods,

Which near the roots with ruffled waters flow,
And shake the shadows of the boughs below.
Such cold endeavours would invade thy name!
Ah, sacred Verse, replete with heavenly flame,
The writer fondly would in these survive,
Which, wanting spirit, never seem'd alive:
But, if applause or fame attend his pen,
Let breathless statues pass for breathing men."
Here seem'd the singer touch'd at what he sung,
And grief a while delay'd his hand and tongue :

tion of old stories; and the utmost character to which a genius can arrive will depend on imitation, or a borrowing from others, which we must agree together not to call stealing, because we take only from the ancients. There have been poets amongst ourselves, such as Spencer and Milton, who have These instances successfully ventured further. may let us see that invention is not bounded by what has been done before: they may open our imaginations, and be one method of preserving us from writing without schemes. As for what relates any further, particularly to this poem, the reader will observe, that its aim is instruction. Perhaps a representation of several mistakes and difficulties, which happen to many who write poetry, may deter som from attempting what they have not been made for: and perhaps the description of several beauties belonging to it may afford hints towards forming a genius for delighting and in-Tis very open, unimprov'd, and low; If either of these happen, the No noble flights of elevated thought, proving mankind. poem is useful; and upon that account its faults No nervous strength of sense maturely wrought, may be more easily excused.

PARNELL.

2 These and the like conceits of putting poems into several shapes by the different lengths of lines, are frequent in old poets of most languages. PARNELL.

But soon he check'd his fingers, chose a strain,

"Pass the next region which appears to show: And flourish'd shrill, and thus arose again :

Possess this realm; but common turns are there,
Which idly sportive move with childish air.
On callow wings, and like a plague of flies,
The little Fancies in a poem rise,
The jaded reader every where to strike,
And move his passions every where alike.

[age

There all the graceful nymphs are forc'd to play
Where any water bubbles in the way:
There shaggy satyrs are obliged to rove
In all the fields, and over all the grove:
There every star is summon'd from its sphere,
To dress one face, and make Clorinda fair:
There Cupids fiing their darts in every song,
While nature stands neglected all along :
Till the teaz'd hearer, vex'd at last to find
One constant object still assault the mind,
Admires no more at what 's no longer new,
And hastes to shun the persecuting view.
There bright surprises of poetic rage
(Whose strength and beauty, more confirm'd in
For having lasted, last the longer still)
By weak attempts are imitated ill,
Or carried on beyond their proper light,
Or with refinement flourished out of sight.
There metaphors on metaphors abound,
And sense by differing images confound:
Strange injudicious management of thought,
Not born to rage, nor into method brought.
Ab, sacred Muse! from such a realm retreat,
Nor idly waste the influence of thy heat
On shallow soils, where quick productions rise,
And wither as the warmth that rais'd them dies."
Here o'er his breast a sort of pity roll'd,
Which something labouring in the mind control'd,
And made him touch the loud resounding strings,
While thus with music's stronger tones he sings:
"Mount higher still, still keep thy faithful seat,
Mind the firm reins, and curb thy courser's heat;
Nor let him touch the realms that next appear,
Whose hanging turrets seem a fall to fear;
And strangely stand along the tracts of air,
Where thunder rolls and bearded comets glare.
The thoughts that most extravagantly soar,
The words that sound as if they meant to roar;
For rant and noise are offer'd here to choice,
And stand elected by the public voice.
All schemes are slighted which attempt to shine
At once with strange and probable design;
'Tis here a mean conceit, a vulgar view,
That bears the least respect to seeming true;
While every trifling turn of things is seen
To move by gods descending in machine.
Here swelling lines with stalking strut proceed,
And in the clouds terrific rumblings breed;
Here single heroes deal grim deaths around,
And armies perish in tremendous sound;
Here fearful monsters are preserv'd to die,
In such a tumult as affrights the sky;
For which the golden Sun shall hide with dread,
And Neptune lift his sedgy-matted head,
Admire the roar, and dive with dire dismay,
And seek his deepest chambers in the sea.
To raise their subject thus the lines devise,
And false extravagance would fain surprise;
Yet still, ye gods, ye live untouch'd by fear,
And undisturb'd at bellowing monsters here:
But with compassion guard the brain of men,
If thus they bellow through the poet's pen :
So will the reader's eyes discern aright
The rashest sally from the noblest flight,
And find that only boast and sound agree
To seem the life and voice of majesty,
When writers rampant on Apollo call,
And bid him enter and possess them all,
And make his flames afford a wild pretence
To keep them unrestrain'd by common sense.

Ah, sacred Verse ! lest reason quit thy seat,
Give none to such, or give a gentler heat."

'Twas here the singer felt his temper wrought By fairer prospects, which arose to thought; And in himself a while collected sat,

And much admir'd at this, and much at that;
Till all the beauteous forms in order ran,
And then he took their track, and thus began:

"Above the beauties, far above the show
In which weak Nature dresses here below,
Stands the great palace of the bright and fine,
Where fair ideas in full glory shine;
Eternal models of exalted parts,

The pride of minds, and conquerors of hearts.
"Upon the first arrival here, are seen
Rang'd walks of bay, the Muses' ever-green,
Each sweetly springing from some sacred bough,
Whose circling shade adorn'd a poet's brow,
While through the leaves, in unmolested skies,
The gentle breathing of applauses flies,
And flattering sounds are heard within the breeze,
And pleasing murmur runs among the trees,
And falls of water join the flattering sounds,
And murmur softening from the shore rebounds.
The warbled melody, the lovely sights,
The calms of solitude inspire delights,
The dazzled eyes, the ravish'd ears are caught,
The panting heart unites to purer thought,
And grateful shiverings wander o'er the skin,
And wondrous extacies arise within,
Whence admiration overflows the mind,
And leaves the pleasure felt, but undefin'd."
Stay, daring rider, now no longer rove;
Now pass to find the palace through the grove:
Whate'er you see, whate'er you feel, display
The realm you sought for ; daring rider, stay.

"Here various Fancy spreads a varied scene,
And Judgment likes the sight, and looks serene,
And can be pleas'd itself, and helps to please,
And joins the work, and regulates the lays.
Thus, on a plan design'd by double care,
The building rises in the glittering air,
With just agreement fram'd in every part,
And smoothly polish'd with the nicest art.

"Here laurel-boughs, which ancient heroes wore,
Now not so fading as they prov'd before,
Wreath round the pillars which the poets rear,
Aud slope their points to make a foliage there.
Here chaplets, pull'd in gently-breathing wind,
And wrought by lovers innocently kind,
Hung o'er the porch, their fragrant odours give,
And fresh in lasting song for ever live.
The shades, for whom with such indulgent care
Fame wreaths the boughs, or hangs the chaplets
To deathless honours thus preserv'd above, [there,
For ages conquer, or for ages love.

"Here bold Description paints the walls within, Her pencil touches, and the world is seen: The fields look beauteous in their flowery pride, The mountains rear aloft, the vales subside: The cities rise, the rivers seem to play, And hanging rocks repel the foaming sea; The foaming seas their angry billows show, Curl'd white above, and darkly roll'd below, Or cease their rage, and, as they calmly lie, Return the pleasing pictures of the sky; The skies, extended in an open view, Appear a lofty distant arch of blue, In which description stains the painted bow, Or thickens clouds, and feathers-out the snow,

Or mingles blushes in the morning ray,
Or gilds the noon, or turns an evening gray.

"Here, on the pedestals of War and Peace,
In different rows, and with a different grace,
Fine statues proudly ride, or nobly stand,
To which Narration with a pointing hand
Directs the sight, and makes examples please
By boldly venturing to dilate in praise;
While chosen beauties lengthen out the song,
Yet make her hearers never think it long.
Or if, with closer art, with sprightly mien,
Scarce like herself, and more like Action seen,
She bids their facts in images arise,
And seem to pass before the readers eyes,
The words like charms enchanted motion give,
And all the statues of the palace live.
Then hosts embattled stretch their lines afar,
Their leaders' speeches animate the war,
The trumpets sound, the feather'd arrows fly,
The sword is drawn, the lance is toss❜d on high,
The brave press on, the fainter forces yield,
And death in different shapes deforms the field.
Or, should the shepherds be dispos'd to play,
Amintor's jolly pipe beguiles the day,
And jocund Echos dally with the sound,
And nymphs in measures trip along the ground,
And, ere the dews have wet the grass below,
Turn homewards singing all the way they go.
"Here, as on circumstance narrations dwell,
And tell what moves, and hardly seem to tell,
The toil of heroes on the dusty plains,

Or on the green the merriment of swains,
Reflection speaks: then all the forms that rose
In life's enchanted scene themselves compose:
Whilst the grave voice, controlling all the spells,
With solemn utterance, thus the moral tells:
So public worth its enemies destroys,
Or private innocence itself enjoys.'

"Here all the passions, for their greater sway,
In all the power of words theinselves array;
And hence the soft pathetic gently charms,
And hence the bolder fills the breast with arms.
Sweet love in numbers finds a world of darts,
And with desirings wounds the tender hearts.
Fair hope displays its pinions to the wind,
And flutters in the lines, and lifts the mind.
Brisk joy with transport fills the rising strain,
Breaks in the notes, and bounds in every vein.
Stern courage, glittering in the sparks of ire,
Inflames those lays that set the breast on fire.
Aversion learns to fly with swifter will,
In numbers taught to represent an ill.
By frightful accents Fear produces fears;
By sad expression Sorrow melts to tears:
And dire Amazement and Despair are brought
By words of horrour through the wilds of thought.
Tis thus tumultuous passions learn to roll;
'Thus, arm'd with poetry, they win the soul.

"Pass further through the dome, another view
Would now the pleasures of thy mind renew,
Where oft Description for the colours goes,
Which raise and animate its native shows;
Where oft Narration seeks a florid grace
To keep from sinking ere 't is time to cease;
Where easy turns Reflection looks to find,
When Morals aim at dress to please the mind;
Where lively figures are for use array'd,
And these an action, those a passion, aid.

"There modest Metaphors in order sit, With unaffected, undisguising wit,

That leave their own, and seek another's place,
Not fore'd, but changing with an easy pace,
To deck a notion faintly seen before,

[more.

And Truth preserves her shape, and shines the
"By these the beauteous similes reside,

In look more open, in desigu ally'd,
Who, fond of likeness, from another's face
Bring every feature's corresponding grace,
With near approaches in expression flow,
And take the turn their pattern loves to show;
As in a glass the shadows meet the fair,
And dress and practice with resembling air.
Thus Truth by pleasure doth her aim pursue,
Looks bright, and fixes on the doubled view.
"There Repetitions one another meet,
Expressly strong, or languishingly sweet,
And raise the sort of sentiment they please,
And urge the sort of sentiment they raise.

"There close in order are the Questions plac'd,
Which march with art conceal'd in shows of haste,
And work the reader till his mind be brought
To make its answers in the writer's thought.
For thus the moving passions seem to throng,
And with their quickness force the soul along;
And thus the soul grows fond they should prevail,
When every question seems a fair appeal;
And if by just degrees of strength they soar,
In steps as equal each affects the more.

"There strange Commotion, naturally shown,
Speaks on regardless that she speaks alone,
Nor minds if they to whom she talks be near,
Nor cares if that to which she talks can hear.
The warmth of Anger dares an absent foe;
The words of Pity speak to tears of Woe;
The Love that hopes, on errands sends the breeze;
And Love despairing moans to naked trees.

"There stand the new Creations of the Muse,
Poetic persons, whom the writers use
Whene'er a cause magnificently great
Would fix attention with peculiar weight.
'Tis hence that humble provinces are seen
Transform'd to matrons with neglected mien,
Who call their warriors in a mournful sound,
And show their crowns of turrets on the ground,
While over ums reclining rivers moan
They should enrich a nation not their own.
'Tis hence the virtues are no more confin'd
To be but rules of reason in the mind;
The heavenly forms start forth, appear to breathe,
And in bright shapes converse with men beneath;
And, as a god in combat Valour leads,
In council Prudence as a goddess aids.

"There Exclamations all the voice employ
In sudden flashes of concern or joy:
Then seem the sluices, which the passions bound,
To burst assunder with a speechless sound;
And then with tumult and surprise they roll,
And show the case important in the soul.

"There rising Sentences attempt to speak,
Which wonder, sorrow, shame, or anger, break;
But so the part directs to find the rest,
That what remains behind is more than guess'd.
Thus fill'd with ease, yet left unfinish'd too,
The sense looks large within the reader's view:
He freely gathers all the passion means,
And artful silence more than words explains.
Methinks a thousand graces more I see,
And I could dwell-but when would thought be
Engaging Method ranges all the band,
And smooth Transition joins them hand in hand:

[free?

« AnteriorContinuar »