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Nature imparting her satiric gift,

Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift,
With droll sobriety they rais'd a smile

At Folly's cost, themselves unmov'd the while.

That constellation set, the World in vain

Must hope to look upon their like again.

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A. Are we then left-B. Not wholly in the dark; Wit now and then struck smartly shows a spark, Sufficient to redeem the modern race

From total night and absolute disgrace.
While servile trick and imitative knack
Confine the million in the beaten track,
Perhaps some courser, who disdains the road,
Snuffs up the wind and flings himself abroad.
Contemporaries all surpass'd, see one;

Short his career, indeed, but ably run;
Churchill, himself unconscious of his pow'rs,
In penury consum'd his idle hours;

And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown,

Was left to spring by vigour of his own.

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Lifted at length, by dignity of thought

And dint of genius, to an affluent lot,
He laid his head in Luxury's soft lap,
And took, too often, there his easy nap.
If brighter beams than all he threw not forth,
"Twas negligence in him, not want of worth.
Surly, and slovenly, and bold, and coarse,
Too proud for art, and trusting in mere force,
Spendthrift alike of money and of wit,
Always at speed, and never drawing bit,
He struck the lyre in such a careless mood,
And so disdain'd the rules he understood,
The laurel seem'd to wait on his command;
He snatch'd it rudely from the muses' hand.
Nature, exerting an unwearied pow'r,

Forms, opens, and gives scent to ev'ry flow'r;

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Spreads the fresh verdure of the fields, and leads The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads: She fills profuse ten thousand little throats

With music, modulating all their notes;

And charms the woodland scenes, and wilds un

known,

With artless airs and concerts of her own:

But seldom (as if fearful of expense)
Vouchsafes to man a poet's just pretence-
Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought,

Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought;
Fancy, that from the bow, that spans the sky,
Brings colours dipp'd in Heav'n, that never die;
A soul, exalted above Earth, a mind

Skill'd in the characters that form mankind;

And, as the Sun in rising beauty dress'd,
Looks to the westward from the dappled east,
And marks, whatever clouds may interpose,

Ere yet his race begins, it's glorious close;

An
eye like his to catch the distant goal:
Or, ere the wheels of verse begin to roll,
Like his to shed illuminating rays

On ev'ry scene and subject it surveys:
Thus grac'd, the man asserts a poet's name,
And the World cheerfully admits the claim.

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Pity Religion has so seldom found

A skilful guide into poetic ground!

The flow'rs would spring where'er she deign'd to

stray,

And ev'ry muse attend her in her way.

Virtue indeed meets many a rhyming friend, 720
And many a compliment politely penn'd;
But, unattir'd in that becoming vest
Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd,
Stands in the desert, shiv'ring and forlorn,
A wintry figure, like a wither'd thorn.
The shelves are full, all other themes are sped;
Hackney'd and worn to the last flimsy thread,
Satire has long since done his best; and curst
And loathsome Ribaldry has done his worst;
Fancy has sported all her pow'rs away

In tales, in trifles, and in children's play;

And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true,

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Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing

new.

"Twere newindee

to see a bard all fire,

Touch'd with a coal from Heav'n, assume the lyre,

And tell the World, still kindling as he sung,

With more than mortal music on his tongue,

That He, who died below, and reigns above,

Inspires the song, and that his name is Love.
For, after all, if merely to beguile,

By flowing numbers and a flow'ry style,
The tædium that the lazy rich endure,

Which now and then sweet poetry may cure;
Or, if to see the name of idle self,

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Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf,
To float a bubble on the breath of Fame,

Prompt his endeavour, and engage his aim,
Debas'd to servile purposes of pride,
How are the pow'rs of Genius misapplied!
The gift, whose office is the Giver's praise,
To trace him in his word, his works, his ways;

Then spread the rich discov'ry, and invite
Mankind, to share in the divine delight;

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