C

There wanted one, who licenfe could restrain,
Make civil laws o'er barbarous ufage reign:
One worthy in Apollo's chair to fit,

To hold the fcales, and give the stamp of wit;
In whom ripe judgment and young fancy meet;
And force poetic rage to be difcreet;

Who grows not naufeous while he ftrives to please,
But marks the fhelves in the poetic feas.

Who knows, and teaches what our clime can bear,

And makes the barren ground obey the labourer's

care.

Few could conceive, none the great work could
do,

'Tis a fresh province, and referv'd for you.
Thofe talents all are yours, of which but one
Were a fair fortune for a Mufe's fon.

Wit, reading, judgment, converfation, art,
A head well-balanc'd, and a generous heart.
While infect rhymes cloud the polluted sky,
Created to moleft the world, and die.
Your file does polifh what your fancy caft;
Works are long forming which must always laît.
Rough iron fenfe, and itubborn to the mold,
Touch'd by your chemic hand, is turn'd to gold,
A fecret grace fafhions the flowing lines,
And infpiration through the labour fhines,
Writers, in fpight of all their paint and art,
Betray the darling paffion of their heart.

No fame you wound, give no chafte cars offence,
Still true to friendship, modefty, and feufe.
So Saints, from Heaven for our example fent,
Live to their rules, have nothing to repent.
Horace, if living, by exchange of fate,
Would give no laws, but only yours tranflate.

Hoift fail, bold writers, fearch, discover far,
You have a compafs for a Polar-ftar.
Tune Orpheus' harp, and with enchanting rhymes
Soften the favage humour of the times.

Tell all thofe untouch'd wonders which appear'd When Fate itself for our great Monarch fear'd: Securely through the dangerous forest led

By guards of Angels, when his own were fled. Heaven kindly exercis'd his youth with cares, To crown with unmix'd joys his riper years. Make warlike James's peaceful virtues known, The fecond hope and genius of the throne. Heaven in compaion brought him on our stage, To tame the fury of a monitrous age. But what bleft voice fhall your Maria fing? Or a fit offering to her altars bring? In joys, in grief, in triumphs, in retreat, Great always, without aiming to be great. True Roman majefty adorns her face; And every gefture 's form'd by every Grace. Her beauties are too heavenly and refin'd For the grofs fenfes of a vulgar mind. t is your part (you Poets can divine) To prophefy how fhe by Heaven's defign hall give an heir to the great British line, Who over all the Western ifles fhall reign, Both awe the continent, and rule the main. is your place to wait upon her name hrough the vast regions of eternal fame.

3

True Poets fouls to Princes are ally'd,
And the world's Empire with its Kings divide.
Heaven trufts the prefent time to Monarch's care,
Eternity is the good Writer's share.*

TO THE

EARL OF ROSCOMMON;

OCCASIONED BY HIS LORDSHIP'S ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE.

From the Latin of Mr. Charles Dryden.

BY MR. NEEDLER.

Tnd laurel wreaths her peaceful temples

HAT happy Britain boasts her tuneful race,

grace,

The honour and the praife is juftly due
To you alone, illuftrious Earl! to you.
For foon as Horace, with his artful page,
By thee explain'd, had taught the listening age;
Of brightest Bards arofe a ikilful train,
Who fweetly fung in their immortal strain.
No more content great Maro's steps to trace,
New paths we fearch, and tread unbeaten ways.
Ye Britons, then, triumphantly rejoice;
And with loud peals, and one confenting voice,
Applaud the man who does unrival'd fit,
"The fovereign-judge and arbiter of wit!"

For, led by thee, an endless train shall rife
Of Poets, who fhall climb fuperior skies;
Heroes and Gods in worthy verse shall sing,
And tune to Homer's lay the lofty string.

Thy works too, fovereign Bardt! if right I fee, They fhall tranflate with equal majesty; While with new joy thy happy fhade fhall rove Through the bleft mazes of th' Elysian grove, And, wondering, in Britannia's rougher tongue To find thy heroes and thy fhepherds fung,' Shall break forth in thefe words: 66

name,

Thy favour'd

Great heir and guardian of the Mantuan fame!
How fhall my willing gratitude pursue
With praifes large as to thy worth are due?
Though tastelefs Bards, by Nature never taught,
In wretched rhymes difguife my genuine thought:
Though Homer now the wars of godlike Kings
In Ovid's foft enervate numbers fings:
Tuneful Silenus, and the matchless verse
That does the birth of infant worlds rehearse,
Atones for all, by that my rescued fame
Shall vie in age with Nature's deathlefs frame;
By thee the learned fong fhall nobly live,
And praife from every British tongue receive.
Give to thy daring genius then the rein,
And freely launch into a bolder train;

*See Mifcellany Poems, 1780, vol. III. p. 173. + Virgil, H. N.

Nor with thefe words my happy spirit grieve:
The last good office of thy friend receive*.'
On the firm bafe of thy immortal lays,
A nobler pile to thy lov'd Maro raise;
My glory by thy fkill fhall brighter fhine,
With native charms and energy divine!
Britain with just applause the work fhall read,
And crown with fadelefs bays thy facred head.
Nor fhall thy Mufe the graver's pencil need,
To draw the hero on his prancing steed;
Thy living verfe fhall paint th' imbattled hoft
In bolder figures than his art can boast.
While the low tribe of vulgar writers strive,
By mean falfe arts to make their versions live;
Forfake the text, and blend each sterling line
With comments foreign to my true design;
My latent fenfe thy happier thought explores,
And injur'd Maro to himfelf reftores."

Ye dragons, whose contagious breath Peoples the dark retreats of death, Change your fierce hiffing into joyful fong, And praise your Maker with your forked tongue.

Praise him, ye monsters of the deep, That in the feas vaft bofoms fleep; At whole command the foaming billows roar, Yet know their limits, tremble and adore.

Ye mifts and vapours, hail and fnow, And you who through the concave blow, Swift executors of his holy word, Whirlwinds and tempefts, praife th' Almighty Lord.

Mountains, who to your Maker's view
Seem less than mole-hills do to you,
Remember how, when first Jehovah spoke,
All heaven was fire, and Sinai hid in fmoke.

Praise him fweet offspring of the ground,
With heavenly nectar yearly crown'd;
And ye tall cedars, celebrate his praise,
That in his temple facred altars raife.

Idle musicians of the spring,
Whofe only care's to love and fing,
Fly through the world, and let your trembling
throat

Praise your Creator with the sweetest note,

Praise him each favage furious beast,
That on his ftores do daily feast:
And you tame flaves of the laborious plow,
Your weary knees to your Creator bow.

Majestic monarchs, mortal gods,
Whose power hath here no periods,
May all attempts against your crowns be vain!
But ftill remember by whofe power you reign.

Let the wide world his praifes fing, Where Tagus and Euphrates fpring, And from the Danube's frosty banks, to thofe Where from an unknown head great Nilus flows

You that difpofe of all our lives,

Praise him from whom your power derives; Be true and just like him, and fear his word, As much as malefactors do your fword.

Praife him, old monuments of time; O praise him in your youthful prime; Praise him, fair idols of our greedy sense; Exalt his name, fweet age of innocence.

Jehovah's name fhall only laft,

When heaven, and earth, and all is past : Nothing, great God, is to be found in thee, But unconceivable eternity.

Exalt, O Jacob's facred race,

The God of gods, the God of grace;

Lord Rofcommon's Effay. H. N.

And with his glory recompenfe your praise.

A PROLOGUE,

SPOKEN TO

HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE DUKE OF

YORK,

AT EDINBURGH.

OLLY and vice are easy to defcribe,

FOLL

The common fubjects of our scribbling tribe; But when true virtues, with unclouded light, All great, all royal, fhine divinely bright, Our eyes are dazzled, and our voice is weak; Let England, Flanders, let all Europe speak, Let France acknowledge that her fhaken throne Was once fupported, Sir, by you alone; Banifh'd from thence for an ufurper's fake, Yet trusted then with her last desperate stake: When wealthy neighbours ftrove with us for power, Let the fea tell, how in their fatal hour, Swift as an

eagle, our victorious prince,

Great Britain's genius, flew to her defence;
His name ftruck fear, his conduct won the day,
He came, he faw, he feiz'd the struggling prey,
And while the heavens were fire and th' ocean
blood,

Confirm'd our empire o'er the conquer'd flood.
O happy islands, if you knew your blifs!
Strong by the fea's protection, fafe by his!
Express your gratitude the only way,
And humbly own a debt too vast to pay :
Let Fame aloud to future ages tell,
None e'er commanded, none obey'd so well;
While this high courage, this undaunted mind,
So loyal, fo fubmiffively refign'd,
Proclaim that fuch a hero never springs
But from the uncorrupted blood of kings.

SON G.

ON A YOUNG LADY WHO SUNG FINELY, AND WAS AFRAID OF A COLD.

WINTill fatal tempefts fwell the fea.

INTER, thy cruelty extend,

in vain let finking pilots pray;

Beneath thy yoke let Nature bend,
Get piercing froit, and lasting snow,
Through woods and fields destruction sow!

Yet we unmov'd will fit and fmile,
While you thefe leffer ills create,
These we can bear; but, gentle Fate,
And thou, bleft Genius of our ifle,
From Winter's rage defend her voice,
At which the liftening Gods rejoice.

May that celeftial found each day With extafy transport our fouls, Whilst all our paffions it controuls,

And kindly drives our cares away; Let no ungentle cold deftroy, All tafte we have of heavenly joy! VOL. U.

VIRGIL'S SIXTH ECLOGUE,

SIL EN U S.

THE ARGUMENT.

Two young foepherds, Chromis and Mnafylus, baving been often promifed a fong by Silenus, chance to catch bim afleep in this Eclogue; where they bind him band and foot, and then claim bis promise. Silenus, finding they would be put off no longer, begins bis fong, in which be deferibes the formation of the universe, and the original of animals, according to the Epicurean philofophy; and then runs through the moft furprifing transformations which have happened in Nature fince ber birth. This Ealogue was defigned as a compliment to Syro the Epicurean, who inftructed Virgil and Varus in the principles of that philofophy. Silenus acts as tutor, Chromis and Mnafylus as the two pupils.

I

First of Romans ftoop'd to rural strains,

Nor blush'd to dwell among Sicilian swains, When my Thalia rais'd her bolder voice, And kings and battles were her lofty choice, Phoebus did kindly humbler thoughts infufe, And with this whisper check th' afpiring Muse A fhepherd, Tityrus, his flocks fhould feed, And choose a subject fuited to his reed. Thus I (while each ambitious pen prepares To write thy praises, Varus, and thy wars) My paftoral tribute in low numbers pay, And though I once prefum'd, I only now obey. But yet (if any with indulgent eyes Can look on this, and fuch a trifle prize) Thee only, Varus, our glad fwains fhall fing, And every grove and every echo ring. Phoebus delights in Varus' favourite name, And none who under that protection came Was ever ill receiv'd, or unfecure of fame. Proceed my Muse.

}

Young Chromis, and Mnafylus chanc'd to stray
Where (fleeping in a cave) Silenus lay,
Whose constant cups fly fuming to his brain,
And always boil in each extended vein;
His trufty flaggon, full of potent juice,
Was hanging by, worn thin with age and use;
Drop'd from his head, a wreath lay on the ground
In hafte they seiz'd him, and in haste they bound;
Eager, for both had been deluded long
With fruitless hope of his inftructive fong:
But while with conscious fear they doubtful stood,
Ægle, the faireft Naïs of the flood,
With a vermilion dye his temples stain'd.
Waking, he fmil'd, and must I then be chain'd?
Loofe me, he cry'd; 'twas boldly done, to find
And view a God, but 'tis too bold to bind.
The promis'd verfe no longer I'll delay
(She fhall be fatisfy'd another way).

With that he rais'd his tuneful voice aloud, The knotty oaks their listening branches bow'd, And favage beafts and Sylvan Gods did crowd;

For lo! he fung the world's ftupendous birth, How fcatter'd feeds of fea, and air, and earth,

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And purer fire, through univerfal night
And empty space, did fruitfully unite;
From whence th' innumerable race of things,
By circular fucceffive order fprings.

By what degrees this earth's compacted sphere
Was harden'd, woods and rocks and towns to bear;
How finking waters (the firm land te drain)
Fill'd the capacious deep, and form'd the main,
While from above, adorn'd with radiant light,
A new-born fun furprised the dazzled fight;
How vapours turn'd to clouds obfcure the sky,
And clouds diffolv'd the thirsty ground fupply;
How the first foreft rais'd its fhady head,
Till when, few wandering beats on unknown
mountains fed.

Then Pyrrha's ftony race rofe from the ground, Old Saturn reign'd with golden plenty crown'd, And bold Prometheus (whofe untam'd defire Rival'd the fun with his own heavenly fire) Now doom'd the Scythian vulture's endless prey, Severely pays for animating clay.

He nam'd the nymph (for who but Gods could tell?)

Into whofe arms the lovely Hylas fell;

Alcides wept in vain for Hylas loft,

Hylas in vain refounds through all the coaft.
He with compaffion told Pafiphaë's fault,

Ah! wretched queen! whence came that guilty thought?

The maids of Argos, who with frantic cries
And imitated lowings fill the fkies,

(Though metamorphos'd in their wild conceit)
Did never burn with fuch unnatural heat.

Ah! wretched queen! while you on mountains ftray,

He on foft flowers his fnowy fide does lay;
Or feeks in herds a more proportion'd love :
Surround, my nymphs, the cries, furround the
grove;

Perhaps fome footsteps printed in the clay,
Will to my love direct your wandering way;
Perhaps, while thus in fearch of him I roam,
My happier rivals have entic'd him home.
He fung how Atalanta was betray'd
By thofe Hefperian baits her lover laid,
And the fad fifters who to trees were turn'd,
While with the world th' ambitious brother burn'd.
All he defcrib'd was prefent to their eyes,

And as he rais'd his verfe, the poplars feem'd to rife.

He taught which Mufe did by Apollo's will Guide wandering Gallus to th' Aonian hill: (Which place the God for folemn meetings chofe) With deep respect the learned fenate rofe, And Linus thus (deputed by the rest) The hero's welcome, and their thanks, exprefs'd:

This harp of old to Hefiod did belong, To this, the Mufes' gift, join thy harmonious fong:

Charm'd by thefe ftrings, trees ftarting from the

ground,

Have follow'd with delight the powerful found.
Thus confecrated, thy Grynæan grove
Shall have no equal in Apollo's love.

Why should I speak of the Megarian maid, For love perfidious, and by love betray'd? And her, who round with barking monsters arm The wandering Greeks (ah frighted men alarm'd;

Whofe only hope on fhatter'd ships depends,
While fierce fea-dogs devour the mangled friends.
Or tell the Thracian tyrant's alter'd shape,
And dire revenge of Philomela's rape,
Who to those woods directs her mournful couric,
Where she had suffer'd by incestuous force,
While, loth to leave the palace too well known,
Progré flies, hovering round, and thinks it f

her own?

Whatever near Eurota's happy ftream With laurels crown'd, had been Apollo's theme, Silenus fings; the neighbouring rocks reply, And fend his myftic numbers through the ky; Till night began to spread her gloomy veil, And call'd the counted fheep from every dale; The weaker light unwillingly declin'd, And to prevailing fhades the murmuring refign'd,

O D E

UPON

SOLITUDE.

I.

[AIL, facred Solitude! from this calm bay,

Hview the world's tempeftuous fea,

And with wife pride despise
All thofe fenfelefs vanities:
With pity mov'd for others, caft away

On rocks of hopes and fears, I fee them tofs'd
On rocks of folly, and of vice, I see them loft:
Some the prevailing malice of the great,

Unhappy men or adverse Fate, Sunk deep into the gulphs of an afflicted state. But more, far more, a numberlefs prodigious tra Whilft Virtue courts them, but alas in vain, Fly from her kind embracing arms, Deaf to her fondeft call, blind to her greate charms,

And, funk in pleasures and in brutish ease, They in their fhipwreck'd state themselves obdurat please.

II.

Hail, facred Solitude! foul of my foul,

It is by thee I truly live, Thou doft a better life and nobler vigour give; Doft each unruly appetite controul: Thy conftant quiet fills my peaceful breaft, With unmix'd joy, uninterrupted reft. Prefuming love does ne'er invade This private folitary shade: And, with fantastic wounds by beauty made,

The joy has no allay of jealoufy, hope, and fear, The folid comforts of this happy fphere:

Yet I exalted Love admire, Friendship, abhorring fordid gain, And purify'd from Luft's difhoneft ftain: Nor is it for my folitude unfit,

For I am with my friend alone,

As if we were but one;

'Tis the polluted love that multiplies, But friendship does two fouls in one comprise.

III.

Here in a full and conftant tide doth flow

All bleflings man can hope to know; Here in a deep recefs of thought we find Pleafures which entertain, and which exalt the mind;

Pleasures which do from friendship and from knowledge rife,

Which make us happy, as they make us wise :
Here
may I always on this downy grafs,
Unknown, unfeen, my cafy minutes pafs:
Till with a gentle force victorious death
My folitude invade,

And, ftopping for a while ray breath,
With cafe convey me to a better shade.

THE

TWENTY-SECOND ODE

OF THE

FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

VIRTUE, dear friend, needs no defence,
The fureft guard is innocence:
None knew, till guilt created fear,
What darts or poifon'd arrows were.
Integrity undaunted goes

Through Libyan fands and Scythian fnows,
Or where Hydafpes' wealthy fide
Pays tribute to the Perfian pride.

For as (by amorous thoughts betray'd)
Careless in Sabine woods I ftray'd,
A grifly foaming wolf unfed,
Met me unarmed, yet trembling fled.
No beat of more portentous fize
In the Hercinian foreft lies;
None fiercer, in Numidia bred,
With Carthage were in triumph led.

Set me in the remoteft place,
That Neptune's frozen arms embrace;
Where angry Jove did never spare
One breath of kind and temperate air.
Set me where on fome pathlefs plain
The fwarthy Africans complain,
To fee the chariot of the Sun
So near their fcorching country run.
The burning zone, the frozen ifles,
Shall hear me fing of Calia's fmiles:
All cold but in her breaft I will defpise,
And dare all heat but that in Calia's eyes.

H happy grove! dark and fecure retreat

A of deered filence, reft's eternal feat;

How well your cool and unfrequented shade
Suits with the chafte retirements of a maid;
Oh! if kind heaven had been fo much my friend,
To make my fate upon my choice depend;
All my ambition I would here confine,
And only this Elyfium fhould be mine:
Fond men, by pallion wilfully betray'd,
Adore thofe idols which their fancy made;
Purchafing riches with our time and care,
We lofe our freedom in a gilded fnare;
And, having all, all to ourselves refuse,
Oppreft with bleflings which we fear to use.

4 [E] 2

⚫ Mrs. Catharine Philips.