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ENGLISH POET S.
Deck'd in thy verse, as clad with rays they shine,
U'T see where artful Dryden next appears,
Grown old in rhyme, hut charming ev'n years
U satire or hero.c strains the writes,
From her no ha: 1h unartful numbers fall,
TO MR. DRYD EN,
JOSEPH ADDISON, Esq.
Cow long, great poet, Mall thy sacied lays
Can neither injuries of time, or age,
THE POWER OF MUSIC.
AN ( D E.
Prevailing warmth has itill thy mind pofTeft, EAR how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprize,
While, at each change, the son of Lybian Jove
Now burns with gioiy, and then melts with love;
Now figlis steai o. and tears begin to flow.
Persians and Grecks like turns of nature found In smçother numbers, and a clearer style : And the world's vicor flood subdued by sound, And Juvenal, instructed in thy page,
The power of Music all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was is Dryden now.
Now Ovid boasts th' advantage of thy song,
CHARACTER OF DRYDEN,
O may'st thou still the roble tale prolony,
pace. How some in feathers, or a ragged hide
Hark, his hands the lyre explore !
Thoughts that breathe, and words that bum.
But, ah! 'tis heard ro more Mag. Coll. Oxon.
Oh! lyre divine, what daring fpirit
Wakes thee now? though he inherit
ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL.
That the Theban cagle bear,
Th’infpiring sun to Albion, draws more nigh, Sailing with supreme dominion
The north ai length teems with a work, to vie Through the azure deep of air :
With Homer's fame and Virgil's majesty. Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
While Pindus' loity heighth our poer sought, Such forms, as glitter in the Muse's ray
(His ravish'd mind with vast ideas fraught) With orient hues, unborro v'd of the fun: Our language fail'd beneath his rising thought. Yet ihall be mount, and keep his distant way This checks not his attempt; for Maro's mines Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate
He drains of all their gold, t'adorn his lines : Ecceath the good how far-but far above the great. Through each of which the Mantuan genius shines.
The rock obey'd the powerful Hebrew guide,
And, with his poem, a new speech presents.
And ev'n the factious give your verse applause,
Whose lightning strikes to ground : Where, though the Nine their beauteous Itrokes
Of civi! gore, ror spar'd the royal blood ; repeat, And the turn'd lines on golden anvils beat,
The cause, whose growth to cruin, our prelates It looks as if they strook them at a heat.
In vain, almost in vain our heroes fought;
Yet by one ftab of your keen satire dies ;
Refore your sacred lines their shatter'd Dagon lies. It starts a giant, and exalts the kind.
Oh! if unworthy we appear to know Tis ípirit seen, whose fiery atoms roil,
The fire, to whom this lovely birth we owe: So brightly fierce, each fyllabie 's a soul.
Deny'd our ready homage to express, Ta miniature of man, but he's all beart;
And can at best but thankful be by guess; *Dis what the world would be, but wants the art; To wlon even the fanaticks altars raise,
This hope remains: May David's godlike mind Eow in their own despite, and grin your praise ;
(For him 'twas u sote) the unknown author find; As if a Milton from the dead arose,
And, having found, shower equal favours down FI'd off the rust, and the right party chose.
On wit so vaft, as could oblige à crown
The beauties of your Abfalom excel:
THE AUTHOR OF THE MEDAL. 0. Annabci, than May's first morn more bright, Cuartul as summer's noon, and chatte a winter's night,
NCE more our awful poet arms, t'engage
Once more prepares his dreadful pen to wield,
And every Musc attends him to the field. And to your master-piece these shadows send. By art and nature for this task design'd,
Nat. LEL. Yet modestly the fight he long declind;
Fortore the torrent of his verse to pour,
And blest che cause that such a champion found!
And black sedition in each quarter galls; ABSALOM AND ACHITOPHEL. Secure of conqueft he rebates his rage;
Yet, like a prince with subjects forc'd t'engage,
His fury not without distinction theds,
To less-infected members gentle sound,
Or spares, or else pours balm into the wound,
Τ Η Σ
Such gererous grace, th' ungrateful tribe abuse, | Firm, as fair Albion, midn the ragine main,
Surveys incircling danger with disdain.
In vain the winds with mingled fury roar,
Fair Albion's beautious chifts thine whiter than
Though the worse rare of zeal's tamatic fire ;
N. TATE. Are those dear proofs of heaven's indulgence vain,
Restoring David and his genèle reign ?
No more, fond ille! ro more thyself engage
No rebel zeal thy d teous land molest,
But a smooth calm foothe every peaceful breast,
While in such charming notes divirely fings
The best of poets, of the best of kings.
To Mr. DR Y D E N,
REL I GIO L AICI.
'HOSE Cols the pious ancients did adore,
Thivking it rude to use the common way
Nay, they that taught religion firít, thought fit
And every little stanza was a law.
The priinitive design of poetry;
Whilft your lov'd Muse does in sweet numbers fing,
She vindicates her Cod, and godlike king.
Atheist, and rehel too, she does oppose
Legions of verfe you raise in their defence,
A conquering champion for the Deity
To disinherit God-Almighty's heir.
And what the hot-brain d Arian ärft began,
But 'tis the prince of poets' talk alone
T'allert the rights of God's and Charles's throne.
Whilft vulgar poets purchafe vulgar fame
By chaunting Chloris' or fair Phyllis' name;
Whose reputation shall last as long,
So, nory tells, a painter once would try |But first takes time with majesty to rife,
Then, without pride, divinely great,
She mounts her native skies; Could draw a miror-god with wondrous art :
And, Goddess like, retains her state Bue when great Jove did to the workman sit,
When down again the fliesa The thunderer such horror did beget,
Commands, which judgment gives, she fill obeys, That put the frighted artist to a 1tand,
Both co deprets her flight, and raise.
Thus Mercury froin heaven descends,
When Jove his dread commands has given :
But still, descending, dignity maintains,
As wien he, towering, realcends to heaven.
But when thy Goddess takes her flight,
With so much majesty to such a height,
As can alone suffice to prove, CHILE mounting wings
Inat the descends from mighty Jove :
Immortal spirit animates each line ;
Each with bright Aanne that fires our souls is crown's, Mankind stands wondering at his fight,
Each has magnificence of sound,
And harmony divine.
Thus the first orbs, in their high rounds,
With shining poinp advance;
And to their own cæleftial sounds
On, with eternal sympliony, they roll, lo modern numbers, which express
Each turn'd in its harmonious course Their music, and their utmost might:
And each inform’d by the prodigious force
Of an empyreal soul.
See a Poem by Dorz, in this work
Sometimes of humble rural things,
And sometimes her sonorous fight
DRYDEN'S ORIGINAL POEMS
THE DEATH OF LORD HASTINGS,
CUST noble Hastings immaturely die,
Beauty and learning thus together meet,
Our noble youth nov lave pretence to be
Though not his own, all tongues befides do raise :
A young apostle; and with reverence may
Whose regular motions better to our view,
But thou, O virgin-widow, left alone, Than Archimedes' sphere, the heavens did hew. Now thy beloved, heaven-ravilhed fpoufe is gone Graces and virtues, languages, and arts,
Whore ikiliul fire in vain Itrove to apply Beauty and learning, tillid up all the parts. Medicines, when thy balm was no remedy, Heaven's gifts, which do like falling stars appear With greater than Platonic love, O wed Scatter'd in others; all as in their Gphere,
His soul, though not hus body, to thy bed: Were fix'd .conglobate in his foul; and thence Let that make thee a mother; bring thou forth Shone through his body, with sweet influence; Th’ideas of lus virtue, krowledge, worth; Letting their glories lo on each limb fall,
Transcribe th' original in new copies; give The whole frame render'd was cclettial.
Haftungs o'th' better part; lo fuall be live Come, learn'd Ptolemy, and trial make,
In's nobler half; and the great grandtire be If thou thuis hero's altitude canit take:
of an heroic divine progeny :
Yer but th' irradiations which he cait.
HEROIC STANZAS ON THE DEATH OF
OLIVER CROMWELL. So many spots, like neves on Venus' foil, One jewel fet off with so many a foil;
WRITTEN AFTER HIS FUNERAL. Blifters with pride swell d, which through's feth
Who would helore have borne him to the sky,
Did let too soon the sacred eagle fly.
Though our best noies are treason to his fame,
Join'd with the loud applause of public voice; Whose corps might seem a constellation.
Since heaven, what praise we offer to his name, O! had he dy'd of old, how great a strife
Hath render'd too authentic by its choice. Vad been, who from his death should draw their
life? Who Mould, by one rich draught, become whate'er Though in his praise no arts can liberal te, Seneca, Cato, Numa, Cæsar, were?
Since they whore Muses have the highest flow,
Add not o his immortal memory,
But do an act of friendship to their own:
Yet 'tis our duty, and our interest too,
Where all the parts so equal perfect are ?
His grandeur he deriv'd from heaven alone ;
For he was great ere fortune made him fo:
And wars, like mists that rise against the fun
Made him but greater seem, not greater grow. None live, but fuch as should die? Thall we meet With none but ghostly fathers in the street ? Grief makes me rail ; forrow will force its way ; No borrow'd bays his temples did adorn, And showers of tears tempestuous fighs best lay, But to our crown he did freth jewels bring ; The tongue may fail; but overflowing eyes Nor was his virtue poison'd soon as born, Will weep out lasting Atreams of elegies.
With the too early thoughts of being king.