Hath too much mercy to send men to hell,
For humble charity, and hoping well.

To what stupidity are zealots grown,

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Whose inhumanity profusely shown
In damning crowds of souls, may damn their own!
I'll err at least on the securer side,

A convert free from malice and from pride.

FROM MR. ADDISON'S ACCOUNT

OF THE ENGLISH POETS.

BUT see where artful Dryden next appears, Grown old in rhyme, but charming ev'n in years, Great Dryden next! whose tuneful Muse affords

The sweetest numbers, and the fittest words.

Whether in comic sounds, or tragic airs,

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She forms her voice, she moves our smiles and tears.

If satire or heroic strains she writes,

Her hero pleases, and her satire bites.

From her no harsh unartful numbers fall,

She wears all dresses, and she charms in all:

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T

How might we fear our English poetry,
That long has flourish'd, should decay in thee;
Did not the Muses' other hope appear,
Harmonious Congreve, and forbid our fear!
Congreve! whose fancy's unexhausted store,
Has giv'n already much, and promis'd more.
Congreve shall still preserve thy fame alive,
And Dryden's muse shall in his friend survive.

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ON ALEXANDER'S FEAST:

OR, THE POWER OF MUSIC. AN ODE.

From Mr. Pope's Essay on Criticism, 1. 376.

HEAR how Timotheus' vary'd lays surprize,
And bid alternate passions fall and rise!
While, at each change, the son of Libyan Jove
Now burns with glory, and then melts with love:
Now his fierce eyes with sparkling fury glow,
Now sighs steal out, and tears begin to flow.
Persians and Greeks like turns of nature found,
And the world's victor stood subdu'd by sound.

The pow'r of music all our hearts allow,
And what Timotheus was, is Dryden now.

CHARACTER OF DRYDEN.

FROM AN ODE OF GRAY'S.

BEHOLD, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,

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Wide o'er the fields of glory bear,

Two coursers of ethereal race,

[pace.

With necks in thunder cloath'd, and long-resounding

Oh! lyre divine, what daring spirit Wakes thee now? though he inherit Nor the pride, nor ample pinion, That the Theban eagle bear, Sailing with supreme dominion Through the azure deep of air: Yet oft before his infant-eyes would run Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far-But far above the great

TO THE UNKNOWN AUTHOR OF

ABSALOM AND ACHITHOPHEL.

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20

}

TAKE it as earnest of a faith renew'd,
Your theme is vast, your verse divinely good;
Where, tho' the Nine their beauteous strokes repeat,
And the turn'd lines on golden anvils beat,
It looks as if they strook 'em at a hear.
So all serenely great, so just refin'd,
Like angels' love to human seed inclin'd,
It starts a giant, and exalts the kind.
'Tis spirit seen, whose fiery atoms rowl,
So brightly fierce, each syllable's a soul.
'Tis miniature of man, but he's all heart;
'Tis what the world would be, but wants the art;
To whom e'en the Fanatics altars raise,
Bow in their own despite, and grin your praise;

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As if a Milton from the dead arose,

Fil'd off the rust, and the right party chose.
Nor, Sir, be shock'd at what the gloomy say;
Turn not your feet too inward nor too splay.
'Tis gracious all, and great: push on your theme;
Lean your griev'd head on David's diadem.
David, that rebel Israel's envy mov'd;
David, by God and all good men belov'd.

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The beauties of your Absalom excel, But more the charms of charming Annabel: Of Annabel, than May's first morn more bright, 25 Cheerful as summer's noon, and chaste as winter's

ABSALOM AND ACHITHOPHEL.

I Thought, forgive my sin, the boasted fire

Of poets' souls did long ago expire;

Of folly or of madness did accuse

The wretch that thought himself possest with muse; Laugh'd at the God within that did inspire

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With more than human thoughts the tuneful quire.
But sure 'tis more than fancy, or the dream
Of rhymers slumb'ring by the Muses' stream.

Some livelier spark of Heav'n, and more refin'd From earthly dross, fills the great Poet's mind. ro Witness these mighty and immortal lines,

Through each of which th' informing genius shines. Scarce a diviner flame inspir'd the king,

Of whom thy muse does so sublimely sing:

Not David's self could in a nobler verse,

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His gloriously offending son rehearse;

Tho' in his breast the prophet's fury met,

The father's fondness, and the poet's wit.

Here all consent in wonder and in praise,

And to the unknown Poet altars raise;
Which thou must needs accept with equal joy,
As when Æneas heard the wars of Troy,
(Wrapt up himself in darkness and unseen)
Extoll'd with wonder by the Tyrian Queen.
Sure thou already art secure of fame,

Nor want'st new glories to exalt thy name:
What father else would have refus'd to own
So great a son as godlike Absalom?

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25

R. DUKE.

TO THE CONCEALED AUTHOR OF

ABSALOM AND ACHITHOPHEL.

HAIL heav'n-born Muse! hail ev'ry sacred page!
The glory of our isle and of our age:

Th' inspiring sun to Albion draws more nigh,
The North at length teems with a work to vie
With Homer's flame and Virgil's majesty.

Volume I.

D

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