To carry nature lengths unknown before,
To give a Milton birth, ask'd ages more.
Thus genius rose and set at order'd times,
And shot a dayspring into distant climes,
Ennobling ev'ry region that he chose;
He sunk in Greece, in Italy he rose;
And, tedious years of gothic darkness pass'd,
Emerg'd all splendour in our isle at last.
Thus lovely halcyons dive into the main,
Then show far off their shining plumes again.
A. Is genius only found in epic lays?
Prove this, and forfeit all pretence to praise.
Make their heroic pow'rs your own at once,
O candidly confess yourself a dunce.

560

570

B. These were the chief; each interval of night Was grac'd with many an undulating light. In less illustrious bards his beauty shone

A meteor, or a star; in these, the sun.

The nightingale may claim the topmost bough, While the poor grasshopper must chirp below.

Like him unnotic'd, I, and such as I,

Spread little wings, and rather skip than fly: Perch'd on the meager produce of the land, 580 An ell or two of prospect we command;

But never peep beyond the thorny bound,

Or oaken fence, that hems the paddock round.
In Eden, ere yet innocence of heart
Had faded, poetry was not an art;
Language, above all teaching, or, if taught,
Only by gratitude and glowing thought,
Elegant as simplicity, and warm

As ecstasy, unmanacled by form,

Not prompted as in our degen'rate days,
By low ambition and the thirst of praise,
Was natural as is the flowing stream,

And yet magnificent-A God the theme!
That theme on Earth exhausted, though above
'Tis found as everlasting as his love,

590

Man lavish'd all his thoughts on human things

The feats of heroes, and the wrath of kings:

But still, while Virtue kindled his delight,

The song was moral, and so far was right.

'Twas thus till Luxury seduc'd the mind
To joys less innocent, as less refin'd;

Then Genius danc'd a bacchanal; he crown'd
The brimming goblet, seiz'd the thyrsus, bound
His brows with ivy, rush'd into the field
Of wild imagination, and there reel'd,

The victim of his own lascivious fires,

600

And dizzy with delight, profan'd the sacred

wires.

Anacreon, Horace, play'd in Greece and Rome
This bedlam part; and others nearer home.
When Cromwell fought for pow'r, and while he

reign'd,

The proud protector of the pow'r he gain'd,

Religion harsh, intolerant, austere,

Parent of manners like herself severe,

Drew a rough copy of the Christian face,

Without the smile, the sweetness, or the grace;

610

The dark and sullen humour of the time
Judg'd ev'ry effort of the muse a crime;

Verse, in the finest mould of fancy cast,

Was lumber in an age so void of taste;

But, when the second Charles assum'd the sway, And arts reviv'd beneath a softer day,

Then, like a bow long forc'd into a curve,

621

The mind, releas'd from too constrain❜d a nerve,
Flew to it's first position with a spring,

That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring.
His court, the dissolute and hateful school

Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule,
Swarm'd with a scribbling herd, as deep inlaid
With brutal lust as ever Circe made.

From these a long succession, in the

rage

Of rank obscenity, debauch'd their age;
Nor ceas'd, till, ever anxious to redress
Th' abuses of her sacred charge, the

press,

The muse instructed a well nurtur'd train

Of abler votaries to cleanse the stain,

VOL. I.

D

630

And claim the palm for purity of song,
That Lewdness had usurp'd and worn so long.
Then decent pleasantry, and sterling sense,
That neither gave nor would endure offence,
Whipp'd out of sight, with satire just and keen,
The puppy pack, that had defil'd the scene.

In front of these came Addison. In him
Humour in holiday and sightly trim,
Sublimity, and attic taste, combin❜d,
To polish, furnish, and delight, the mind.
Then Pope,as harmony itself exact,
In verse well disciplin'd, complete, compact,
Gave Virtue and Morality a grace,

That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face,
Levied a tax of wonder and applause,

Ev'n on the fools that trampled on their laws.

641

650

But he (his musical finesse was such,

So nice his ear, so delicate his touch)

Made poetry a mere mechanic art;

And ev'ry warbler has his tune by heart.