Is Viner dead? and fhall each Mufe 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 found,
Find no one voice to fing him to the ground?
Mufic and poetry are fister arts,
Shew a like genius, and confenting hearts:
My foul with his is fecretly ally'd,
And I am forc'd to speak, since Viner dy'd.
Oh, that my Mufe, as once his notes, could fwell!
That I might all his praises fully tell;
That I might fay with how much fkill he play'd,
How nimbly four extended ftrings furvey'd;
How bow and fingers, with a noble ftrife,
Did raise the vocal fiddle into life;
How various founds, in various order rang'd,
By unobferv'd degrees minutely chang'd,
Through a vast space could în divifions run,
Be all diftinct, yet all agree in one:
And how the fleeter notes could swiftly pass,
And skip alternately from place to place;

The ftrings could with a sudden impulfe bound, Speak every touch, and tremble into found.

The liquid harmony, a tuneful tide, Now feem'd to rage, anon would gently glide; By turns would ebb and flow, would rife and fall, Be loudly daring, or be loftly fmall:

While all was blended in one common name,
Wave push'd on wave, and all compos'd a ftream.
The different tones melodiously combin'd,
Temper'd with art, in fweet confufion join'd;
The foft, the strong, the clear, the fhrill, the deep,
Would fometimes foar aloft, and fometimes creep;
While every foul upon his motions hung,

As though it were in tuneful concert ftrung.
His touch did ftrike the fibres of the heart,
And a like trembling fecretly impart ;
Where various paffions did by turns fucceed,
He made it cheerful, and he made it bleed;
Could wind it up into a glowing fire,
Then fhift 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,
Command their thoughts, and give their paffions
law;

While other mufic, in oblivion drown'd,
Seem'd a deed pulse, or a neglected found.

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

And all that's fweet and tuneful with him fled;
Hibernia, with one univerfal cry,

Laments the lofs, and speaks his elegy.
Farewell, thou author of refin'd delight,
Too little known, too foon remov'd from fight;
Thofe fingers, which fuch pleasure did convey,

Muft now become to ftupid worms a prey:
Thy grateful fiddle will for ever stand
A filent mourner for its mafter'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 foul refine
To the exalted pitch of harmony divine.

EPIGRAM.

"Haud facile emergunt, quorum virtutibus obftat "Res angufta domi-"

THE greatest gifts that nature does beftow,
Can't unaffisted to perfection grow:
A fcanty fortune clips the wings of fame,
And checks the progrefs of a rifing name :
Each daftard virtue drags a captive's chain,
And moves but flowly, for it moves with pain:
Domestic cares fit hard upon the mind, [confin'd:
And cramp thofe thoughts which fhould be un-
The cries of poverty alarm the foul,
Abate its vigour, its defigus control :
The ftings of want inflict the wounds of death,
And motion always ceafes with the breath,
The love of friends is found a languid fire,
That glares but faintly, and will foon expire;
Weak is its force, nor can its warmth be great,
A feeble light begets a feeble heat.

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

And what's more putrid than thy breath?
Think not you live because you speak,
For graves fuch hollow founds can make;
And refpiration can't fuffice,

For vapours do from caverns rife :
From fuch the noifome ftenches come,
Thy mouth betrays thy breaft a tomb.
Thy body is a corpfe that goes,
By magic rais'd from its repofse :
A peftilence, 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 fweets her virgin-breath contains
Arc fitted to remove my pains;
There will I healing nectar fip,
And, to be fav'd, approach her lip,
Though, if I touch the matchlefs dame,
I'm fure to burn with inward flame.
Thus, when I would one danger shun,
I'm ftraight upon another thrown:
I feek a cure, one fore to ease,
Yet in that cure's a new disease:
But love, though fatal, ftill can blefs,
And greater dangers hide the lefs;
I'll go where paffion bids me fly,
And choofe my death, fince I must die;
As doves, pursued by birds of prey,
Venture with milder man to stay.

ON THE NUMBER THREE.

BEAUTY refts not in one fix'd place,
But feems to neign in every face;
fis nothing fure but fancy then,
In various forms, bewitching men;
Or is its fhape and colour fram'd,
Proportion juft, and woman nam'd?
If fancy only rul'd in love,

Why fhould it then fo strongly move?
Or why should all that lock agree,
To own its mighty power in three?

i

1

In three it fhews a different face,
Each fhining with peculiar grace.
Kindred a native likenefs gives,
Which pleases, as in all it lives;
And, where the features difagree,
We praise the dear variety.
Then beauty furely ne'er was yet,

So much unlike itfelf, and fo complete.

ESSAY

O N

THE DIFFERENT TILES OF POETRY.

TO HENRY LORD VISCOUNT BOLINGBROKE.

"Vetibus addere calcar, "Ut ftudio majore petant Helicona virentem." HOR. Ep i. I.

Allegory is in itself fo retir'd a way of writing, that it was thought proper to fay fomething before hand concerning this piece, which is entirely framed upon it. The defign, therefore, is to fhow the feveral ftyles which have been made ufe of by those who have endeavoured to write verfe. The fcheme, by which it is carried on, fuppofes an old Grecian poet couching his obfervations or inftructions within an allegory; which allegory is wrought out upon the fingle word flight, as in the figurative way it fignifies a thought above the common level: Here wit is made to be Pegalus, and the poet his rider, who flies by feveral countries where he must not touch, by which are meant fo many vicious ftyles, and arrives at laft at the fublime. This way of writing is not only very engaging to the fancy, whenever it is well performed, but it has been thought alfo one of the first that the poets made ufe of. Hence arofe many of thofe ftories concerning the heathen gods, which at firft were invented to infinuate truth and morality more pleafingly, and which afterwards made poetry itfelf more folemn, when they happened to be received into the heathen divinity. And indeed, there feems 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 thofe excellent compofitions by which writers at prefent form their minds but it is not fo much required of us to adhere merely to their fables, as to obferve their manner. For, if we preclude our own invention, poetry will confift only in expreffion, or fimile, or the application of old flories; and the utmoft character to which a genius can arrive will depend on imitation, or a borrowing from others, which, we must agree together not to call ftealing, becaufe we take only From the ancients. There have been pocts amongt ourselves, fuch as Spenter and Milton, who Bave fuccefsfully ventured further. These inftances

may let us fee that invention is not bounded by what has been done before: they may open our imaginations, and be one method of preferving As for what us from writing without fchemes. relates any further particulerly to this poem, the reader will obferve, that its aim is inftruction. Perhaps a reprefentation of feveral mistakes and difficulties, which happen to many who write poetry, may deter fome from attempting what they have not been made for and perhaps the defcrip tion of feveral beauties belonging to it may afford hints towards forming a genius for delighting and improving mankind. If either of thefe happen, the poem is useful; and upon that account its faults may be more easily excused.

:

I HATE the vulgar with untuneful mind;
Hearts uninfpir'd, and fenfes unrefin'd.
Hence, ye profane: I raife the founding string,
And Bolingbroke defcends to hear me fing.

When Greece could truth in mystic fable shroud,
And with delight inftruct the liftening crowd,
An ancient poct (time has loft his name)
Deliver'd ftrains on verfe to future fame.
Still, as he fung, he touch'd the trembling lyre,
And felt the notes a rifing warmth inspire.
Ye fweetening graces, in the mufic throng,
Aflift my genius, and retrieve the fong
From dark oblivion. See, my genius goes
To call it forth. 'Twas thus the poem rofe,
"Wit is the Mufe's horfe, and bears on high
The daring rider to the Muses' sky :
Who, while his ftrength to mount aloft he tries,
By regions varying in their nature flies.

At first, he rifeth o'er a land of toil, A barren, hard, and undeferving foil, Where only weeds from heavy labour grow, Which yet the nation prune, and keep for fhow; Where coupling jingling on their accent run, Whofe point of epigram is funk to pun; Where t wings by fancy never feather'd fly, Where lines in measure form'd in hatchets lie; Where altars ftand, erected porches grape, [fhape; And fenfe is cramp'd while words are par'd to Where mean acroftics, labour'd in a frame

On scatter'd letters, raise a painful scheme;
And, by confinement in their work, centroul
The great enlargings of the boundless foul;
Where if a warrior's elevated fire
Would all the brightest strokes of verfe require,
Then ftraight in anagram a wretched crew
Will pay their undeferving praifes too;
While on the rack his poor disjointed name
Muft tell its mafter's character to fame.
And (if my fire and fears aright prefage)
The labouring writers of a future age
Shall clear new ground, and grots and caves repair,
To civilize the babbling echoes there.
Then, while a lover treads a lonely walk,
His voice fhall with its own reflection talk,
The clofing founds of all the vain device
Select by trouble frivelqufly nice,

+ Thele, and the like conceits, of putting poems into. feverai thapes, by the different lengths of lines, are grequent in old poets of mult langu gės,

Refound through verse, and with a faife pretence
Support the dialogue, and pafs for sense.
Can things like these to lasting praise pretend?
Can any mufe the worthlefs toil befriend?-
Ye facred 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!"

At this the poet ftood concern'd a while,
And view'd his objects with a fcornful fmile:
Then other images of kifferent kind,

With different workings, enter'd on his mind;
At whole approach, he felt the former gone,
And fhiver'd in conceit, and thus went on :
Ey a cold region next the ride coes,
Where all lies cover'd in eternal flows;
Where so bright genius drives the chariot high,
To glitter on the ground, and gild the fky
Bleak level realm, where frigid it les abound,
Where never yet a daring thought was found,
But counted feer is poetry defin'd;

And ftarv' conceits, that chill the reader's mind,
A little fenfe in many word imply,
And drag in loitering numbers flowly by.
Here dry fententious fpeeches, half afleep,
Prolong'd in lines, o'er niany pages creep;
Nor ever fhow the paffions well exprefs'd,
Nor raife like paffions in another's breast.
Here flat narrations fair exploits debase,
In measures void of every fhining grace;
Which never arm their hero for the field,
Nor with prophetic story paint the shield,
Nor fix the creft, nor make the feathers wave,
Nor with their characters reward the brave;
Undeck'd they ftand, and unadorn'd with praife,
And fail to profit, while they fail to please.
Here forc'd defcription is fo ftrargely wrought,
It never stamps its image on the thought;
The lifelefs trees may ftand for ever bare,
And rivers stop, for aught the readers care;
They fee no branches trembling in the woods,
Nor hear the murmurs of increafing floods,
Which near the oots with ruffled waters flow,
Aud fhake the fhadows of the boughs below.
Ah, facred verse, replete with heavenly flame,
Such cold endeavours would invade thy name!
The writer fondly would in these survive,
Which, wanting fpirit, ncver seem'd alive:
But, if applaufe or fame attend his pen,
Let breathlefs ftatues pafs for breathing men."
Here feem'd the finger touch'd at what he
fung,

And grief a while delay'd his hand and tongue :
But foon he check'd his fingers, chofe a ftrain,
And flourish'd fhrill, and thus arose again:

"Pass the next region which appears to show; 'Tis very open, unimprov'd, and low; No noble flights of elevated thought, No nervous strength of fenfe maturely wrought, Poffefs 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 rife, The jaded reader every where to strike, And move his paffions every where alike,

Tre all the graceful nymphs are forc'd to p'a
Where any water bubbles in the way :
There fhagy fatyrs are oblig'd to reve
In all the fields, and over all the grove
There every star is fummon'd from irs fphere,
To dref one face, and make Clorinda fair :
There Cupids fling their darts in every long,
Whilst nature ftands neglected all along :
Till the teaz'd hearer, vex'd at last to find
One constant object ftill affault the mind,
Admires no more at what's no longer new,
And haftes to fhun the perfecuting view.
l'here bright furprises of poetic rage

(Whose strength and beauty, more confirm'd in

age

For having lafted, last the longer ftill)
By weak attempts are imitated ill
Or carried on beyond their proper light,
Or with refinement flourish'd out of light.
There metaphors on metaphors abound,
And fenfe by differing images confound:
Strange injudicious management of thought,
Not born to rage nor into method brought.
Ah, facred Mufe! from fuch a realm retreat,
Nor idly wafte the influence of thy heat
On fhallow foils, where quick productions rife,
And wither as the warmth that rais'd them dies."
Here o'er his breaft a fort of pity roll'd,
Which fomething labouring in the mind controll'a;
And made him touch the loud refounding ftrings,
While thus with mufic's ftronger tones he fings:

"Mount higher ftill, ftill keep thy faithful feat
Mind the firm reins, and curb thy courfers heat;
Nor let him touch the realms that next appear,
Whose hanging turrets feem a fall to fcar;
And ftrangely ftand along the tracts of air,
Where thunder rolls, and bearded comets glare.
The thoughts that most extravagantly foar,
The words that found as if they meant to roar;
For rant and noife are offer'd here to choice,
And ftand elected by the public voice.
All schemes are flighted which attempt to shine
At once with ftrange and probable design;
'Tis here a mean conceit, a vulgar view,
That bears the feast respect to seeming true;
While every trifling turn of things is feen
To move by gods defcending in machine.
Here fwelling lines with ftalking strut proceed,
And in the clouds terrific rumblings breed;
Here fingle heroes deal grim deaths around,
And armies perifh in tremenduous found;
Herc fearful monfters are preferv'd to die,
In such a tumult as affrights the sky;
For which the golden fun fhall hide with dread,
And Neptune lift his fedgy-matted head,
Admire the roar, and dive with dire dismay,
And seek his deepest chambers in the sea.
To raife their fubject thus the lines devise,
And falfe extravagance would fain surprise;
Yet fill, ye god-, ye live untouch'd by fear,
And undisturb'd at hellowing monfters here:
But with compaflion guard the brain of men,
If thus they bellow through the poets pen:
So will the reader's eyes difcern aright
The rafhest fally from the nobleft flight,

And find that only boaft and found agree
To seem the life and voice of majesty,
When writers rampant on Apollo call,
And bid him enter and poffefs them all,
And make his flames afford a wild pretence
To keep them unreftram'd by common fenfe.
Ah, facred verfe left reafon quit thy feat,
Give none to fuch, or give a gentler heat."

'Twas here the finger felt his temper wrought By fairer profpects, which arofe to thought; And in himfeif a while collected far.

And much admir'd at this, and mach 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 fhow
In which weak nature dreffes 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 Mufes' ever-green,
Each fweetly fpringing from tome facred bough,
Whofe circling fhade adorn'd a poet's brow,
While through the leaves, in molefted fkies,
The gentle breathing of applauses flies,
And flattering founds are heard within the breeze,
And pleafing murmur runs among the trees,
And falls of water join the flattering founds,
And murmur foitening from the shore rebounds.
The warbled melody, the lovely fights,
The calms of folitude infpire delights,
The dazzled cyes, the ravish'd cars, are caught,
The panting heart unites to purer thought,
And grateful shiverings wander o'er the skin,
And wondrous ecftacies arife within,
Whence admiration overflows the mind,
And leaves the pleasure felt, but undefin'd.
Stay, daring rider, now no longer rove;
Now pals to find the palace through the grove:
Whate'er you fee, whate'er you feel, display
The realm you fought for; daring rider, ftay.
Here various fancy fpreads a varied fcene,
And judgment likes the fight, and looks ferene,
And can be pleas'd itself, and helps to please,
And joins the work, and regulates the lays.
Thus, on a plan defign'd by double care,
The building rifes in the glittering air,
With just agreement fram'd in every part,
And smoothly pol:fh'd with the nicest art.

Here laurel-boughs, which ancient heroes wore,
Now not fo fading as they prov'd before,
Wreath round the pillars which the poets rear,
And flope their points to make a foilage 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 lafting fong for ever live.

The fhades, for whom with fuch indulgent care Fame wreaths the boughs, or hangs the chaplets there,

To deathless honours thus preferv'd above,
For ages conquer, r for ages love.

'r

Here bold defcription paints the walls within, Her pencil touches, and the world is feen:

The fields look beauteous in their flowery pride,
The mountains rear aloft, the vales subside;
The cities rise, the rivers feem to play,
And hanging rocks repel the foaming fea;
The foaming feas their angry billows fhow,
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 ftains 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 ftatues proudly ride, or nobly stand,
To which narration with a pointing hand
Directs the fight and makes examples please
By boldly venturing to dilate in praise;
While chofen beauties lengthen cut the fong,
Yet make her hearers never think it long.
Or if, with clofer art, with sprightly mein,
Scarce like herself, and more like Action seen,
She bids their facts in images arife,
And seem to pass before the reader's eyes,
The words like charms inchanted motion give,
And all the ftatues of the palace live.
Then hosts embattled ftretch their lines afar,
Their leader's speeches animate the war,
The trumpets found, the feather'd arrows fly,
The fword is drawn, the lance is tofs'd on
high,

The brave prefs on, the fainter forces yield,
And death in different fhapes deforms the field.,
Or, should the shepherds be difpos'd to play,
Amintor's jolly pipe beguiles the day,
And jocund echos dally with the found,
And nymphs in meafures trip along the ground,
And, ere the dews have wet the grafs below,
Turn homewards finging all the way they go.

Here, as on circumftance narrations dwell,
And tell what moves, and hardly feem to tell,
The toil of heroes on the dufty plains,
Or on the green the merriment of swains,
Reflection speaks: then all the forms that rofe
In life's inchanted fcene themfelves compofe;
Whilft the grave voice, controlling all the fpells,
With folemn utterance, thus the moral tells:
"So public worth its enemics deftroys,
"Or private innocence itself enjoys.”

Here all the paffions, for their greater sway, In all the power of words themselves array; And hence the foft pathetic gently charms, And hence the bolder fills the breaft with arms. Sweet love in numbers finds a world of darts, And with defirings wounds the tender hearts. Fair hope difplays its pinions to the wind, And flutters in the lines, and lifts the mind. Brifk joy with transport fills the rifing ftrain, Breaks in the notes, and bounds in every vein. Stern courage, glittering in the fparks of ire, Inflames thofe lays that fet the breast on fire. Avcrfion learns to fly with fwifter will, In numbers taught to reprefent an ill,