Writers of the Paftoral Drama, that have ever yet
wrote.
We hope it will be observed, that we have impartially shown the Beauties of these Poets; not having any Regard to the Differences between Mr. Philips and Mr. Pope, we have done Juftice to the former, and shall still quote from his Fifth Pastoral the Story of the Nightingale; which, though not entirely of Mr. Philips's Invention, (being first touched by Strada, and then by Mr. Crashaw) is very finely improved:
When Shepherds flourish'd in Eliza's Reign, There liv'd in great Efteem a jolly Swain, Young Colin Clout; who well could pipe and fing, And by his Notes invite the lagging Spring. He, as his Cuftom was, at Leifure laid In filent Shade, without a Rival play'd. Drawn by the Magick of th' inticing Sound, What Crouds of mute Admirers flock'd around! The Steerlings left their Food; and Creatures wild By Nature form'd infenfibly grew mild. He makes the Birds in Troops about him throng, And loads the neighb'ring Branches with his Song. Among the reft, a Nightingale of Fame, Jealous, and fond of Praise, to listen came. She tun'd her Ear; and emulous with Pride, Like Eccho, to the Shepherd's Pipe reply'd. The Shepherd heard with Wonder; and again, To try her more, renew'd his various Strain. To all his various Strain fhe fhapes her Throat, And adds peculiar Grace to ev'ry Note.. If Colin in complaining Accents grieves,^ Or brifker Motion to his Meafure gives; If gentle Sounds he modulates, or strong, She, not a little vain, repeats his Song:
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But fo repeats, that Colin half defpis'd.
His Pipe and Skill, fo much by others priz'd:
And, fweetest Songfter of the winged Kind,
What Thanks, faid he, what Praifes can I find
To equal thy melodious Voice? In thee
The Rudeness of my Rural Fife I fee;
From thee I learn to vaunt no more my Skill.
Aloft in Air she fate, provoking ftill
The vanquifh'd Swain: Provok'd at last, he ftrove
To fhew the little Minstrel of the Grove
His utmost Art; if fo fome fmall Esteem
He might obtain, and Credit loft, redeem.
He draws in Breath, his rifing Breaft to fill;
Thro' all the Wood his Pipe is heard to fhrill.
From Note to Note in Hafte his Fingers fly;
Still more and more his Numbers multiply;
And now they thrill, and now they fall and rife,
And swift and flow they change, with fweet Surprize.
Attentive fhe does fcarce the Sounds retain,
But to herself firft cons the puzzling Strain;
And tracing careful, Note by Note, repays
The Shepherd, in his own harmonious Lays;
Thro' ev'ry changing Cadence runs at Length,
And adds in Sweetnefs, what the wants in Strength,
Then Golin threw his Fife difgrac'd afide;
While the loud Triumph fings, proclaiming wide
Her mighty Conqueft. What could Colin more?
A little Harp, of Maple Ware, he bore:
The Harp itself was old, but newly ftrung,
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Which usual he a-cross his Shoulders hung.
Now take, delightful Bird, my laft Farewel,
He faid; and learn from hence, thou doft excel
No trivial Artist. And at that he wound
The murm?ring Strings, and order'd every Sound.
Then earneft to his Inftrument he bends,
And both his Hands upon the Strings extends.
The Strings obey his Touch, and various move,
The low'r anfw'ring ftill to those above.
His reftlefs Fingers traverse to and fro,
And in Purfuit of Harmony they go;
Now, lightly fkimming, o'er the Strings they pafs,
Like Winds that gently brufh the plying Grafs,
And melting Airs rife at their Command:
And now, laborious, with a weighty Hand
He finks into the Cords with folemn Pace,
And gives the fwelling Tones a manly Grace:
Then, intricate he blends agreeing Sounds,
While Mufick thro' the trembling Harp abounds.
The double Sounds the Nightingale perplex,
And pos'd, the does her troubled Spirit vex.
She warbles diffident, 'twixt Hope and Fear,"
And hits imperfect Accents here and there.
Then Colin play'd again, and playing fung:
She, with the fatal Love of Glory ftung,
Hears all in Pain; her Heart begins to fwell;
In piteous Notes fhe fighs, in Notes that tell
Her bitter Anguish. He, ftill finging, plies
His limber Joints: Her Sorrows higher rife,
How fhall the bear a Conq'ror, who before
No equal, thro' the Grove, in Musick bore?
She droops, and hangs her flagging Wings, and moans,
And fetches from her Breaft melodious Groans.
Opprefs'd with Grief at laft, too great too quell,
Down breathless on the guilty Harp fhe fell.
Mr. Pope's Paftorals, being but four, afford not fo much Room for Criticifm as the others do, Guarini's Paftoral being near Seven Thousand Lines; but we venture to say, that thofe four of Mr. Pope's are without any Fault almoft, and were efteemed by the Author as the moft perfect of his Works. In few Words, they were wrote in his firft Manner, a N 4 fmooth,
fmooth, foft Harmony in the Numbers, and a la bour'd Correctnefs in the Stile. That this is true, we appeal to the following Lines fpoken by the defpairing Shepherd Egon, in the third Paftoral:
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Refound, ye Hills, refound my mournful Strains!
I'll fly from Shepherd's Flocks to flow'ry Plains.
From Shepherds Flocks and Plains I may remove,
Forfake Mankind, and all the World but Love!
I know thee, Love! wild as the raging Main,
More fell than Tygers on the Lybian Plain :
Thou wert from Etna's burning Entrails torn,
Got by fierce Whirlwinds, and in Thunder born!
Refound, ye Hills, refound my mournful Lay!
Farewell ye Woods, adieu the Light of Day!
All Mr. Pope's Paftoral Verfes are very serious and folemn, whereas Mr. Gay (with whom this Dif courfe of Paftoral began, and with whom it shall end) has a great Deal of Comic Defcription in his; he has many very pretty quick Turns, that are fure to make the Reader fmile, which was his natural Genius. The laft Day of his Shepherd's Week he calls THE FLIGHTS; where Bowzybee, drunk and asleep under a Hedge, being wak'd by the Crowd of Lads and Laffes, begins to fing, they making a Circle round him :
Of Nature's Laws his Carrols firft begun,
Why the grave Owl can never face the Sun.
For Owls, as Swains observe, deteft the Light,
And only fing and feek their Prey by Night.
How Turnips hide their fwelling Heads below,
And how the clofing Colworts upwards grow;
How Will-a-wifp misleads night-faring Clowns,
O'er Hills, and finking Bogs, and pathlefs Downs.
211.
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Of Stars he told that shoot with fhining Trail,
And of the Glow-worm's Light that gilds his Tail.
He fung where Wood-cocks in the Summer feed,
And in what Climates they renew their Breed;
Some think to northern Coasts their Flight they tend,
Or to the Moon in midnight Hours afcend.
• Where Swallows in the Winter's Seafon keep,
And how the drowsy Bat and Dormouse sleep.
How Nature does the Puppy's Eyelid close,
Till the bright Sun has nine Times fet and rofe.
For Huntsmen by their long Experience find,
That Puppies ftill nine rolling Suns are blind.
Now he goes on, and fings of Fairs and Shows,
For ftill new Fairs before his Eyes arose.
How Pedlars Stalls with glitt'ring Toys are laid,
The various Fairings of the Country Maid.
Long filken Laces hang upon the Twine,
And Rows of Pins and Amber Bracelets fhine;
How the tight Lafs, Knives, Combs and Sciffars fpys,
And looks on Thimbles with defiring Eyes.
Of Lott❜ries next with tuneful Note he told,
Where filver Spoons are won and Rings of Gold.
The Lads and Laffes trudge the Street along,
And all the Fair is crouded in his Song.
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His Carrols ceas'd: The lift'ning Maids and Swains Seem still to hear fome foft imperfect Strains. Sudden he rose; and as he reels along Swears Kiffes fweet should well reward his Song. The Damfels laughing fly: the giddy Clown Again upon a Wheat-fheaf drops adown;. The Pow'r that guards the drunk, his Sleep attends, Till, ruddy, like his Face, the Sun defcends.
Thus have we (till under the Correction of abler Pens) by Examples from fix very great Writers of Paftorals, fhown that Sort of poetical Compofition
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