To carry nature lengths unknown before, 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. As ecstasy, unmanacled by form, Not prompted as in our degen'rate days, And yet magnificent-A God the theme! 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 Then Genius danc'd a bacchanal; he crown'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 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 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, That made the vaulted roofs of Pleasure ring. Of Wantonness, where vice was taught by rule, From these a long succession, in the rage Of rank obscenity, debauch'd their age; 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, In front of these came Addison. In him That, quite eclipsing Pleasure's painted face, 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. |