Nature imparting her satiric gift, Her serious mirth, to Arbuthnot and Swift, At Folly's cost, themselves unmov'd the while. That constellation set, the World in vain Must hope to look upon their like again. 660 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. Short his career, indeed, but ably run; And, like a scatter'd seed at random sown, Was left to spring by vigour of his own. 670 Lifted at length, by dignity of thought And dint of genius, to an affluent lot, Forms, opens, and gives scent to ev'ry flow'r; 681 690 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) Harmony, strength, words exquisitely sought; Skill'd in the characters that form mankind; And, as the Sun in rising beauty dress'd, Ere yet his race begins, it's glorious close; An On ev'ry scene and subject it surveys: 700 710 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 In tales, in trifles, and in children's play; And 'tis the sad complaint, and almost true, 730 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. By flowing numbers and a flow'ry style, Which now and then sweet poetry may cure; 740 Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf, Prompt his endeavour, and engage his aim, Then spread the rich discov'ry, and invite 750 |