Adieu! the heart-expanding bowl, And all the kind deceivers of the soul! But why? ah tell me, ah too dear! Steals down my cheek the involuntary tear? Why words so flowing, thoughts so free, Stop, or turn nonsense, at one glance of thee? Thee, dress'd in Fancy's airy beam, Absent I follow through the extended dream; Now, now I cease, I clasp thy charms, And now you burst (ah cruel) from my arms And swiftly shoot along the Mall, Or softly glide by the canal; Now shown by Cynthia's silver ray, And now on rolling waters snatch'd away ART OF ODE IX. OF BOOK IV A FRAGMENT. LEST you should think that verse shall die, Which sounds the silver Thames along, Taught on the wings of truth to fly Above the reach of vulgar song; Though daring Milton sits sublime, Ere Cæsar was, or Newton named; And those new heavens and systems framed. Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride! They had no poet, and they died; In vain they schemed, in vain they bled! They had no rost, and are dead MISCELLANIES. On Receiving from the Right Hon. Lady Frances Shirley, a Standish and two Pens. YES, I beheld the Athenian queen This steel shall stab it to the heart.' But, friend, take heed whom you attack, 'You'd write as smooth again on glass, 'Athenian queen! and sober charms! Come, if you'll be a quiet soul, That dares tell neither truth nor lies, I'll list you in the harmless roll Of those that sing of these poor eyes. EPISTLE TO ROBERT, EARL OF OXFORD, AND EARL MORTIMER. Sent to the Earl of Oxford, with Dr. Parnell's Poems published by our Author, after the said Earl's im prisonment in the Tower and Retreat into the Coun try, in the Year 1721. SUCH were the notes thy once-loved poet sung, fill death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. Oh, just beheld, and lost : admired, and mourn'd! With softest manners, gentlest arts adorn'd! Bless'd in each science, bless'd in every strain! Dear to the muse! to Harley dear-in vain! For him, thou oft hast bid the world attend, Fond to forget the statesman in the friend; For Swift and him, despised the farce of state, The sober follies of the wise and great; Dexterous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit, And pleased to escape from flattery to wit. Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, And sure, if aught below the seats divine When interest calls off all her sneaking train, Through fortune's cloud one truly great can see, EPISTLE TO JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ Secretary of State in the Year 1720. A SOUL as full of worth, as void of pride, And strikes a blush through frontless flattery: EPISTLE TO MR. JERVAS; With Mr. Dryden's Translation of Fresnoy'. At of Painting. This Epistle, and the two following, were written some years before the rest, and originally printed in 1717 THIS verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refuse This, from no venal or ungrateful muse. Whether thy hand strike out some free design, Where life awakes and dawns at every line; Or blend in beauteous tints the colour'd mass, And from the canvass call the mimic face: Read these instructive leaves, in which conspire Fresnoy's close art, and Dryden's native fire: And reading wish, like theirs our fate and fame, So mix'd our studies, and so join'd our name: Like them to shine through long succeeding age, So just thy skill, so regular my rage. Smit with the love of sister arts we came, And met congenial, mingling flame with flame; Like friendly colours found them both unite, And each from each contract new strength and light. How oft in pleasing tasks we wear the day, How oft review; each finding, like a friend, Rome's pompous glories rising to our thought! With thee on Raphael's monument I mourn, Here thy well-studied marbles fix our eye; A fading fresco here demands a sigh: Each heavenly piece unwearied we compare, Match Raphael's grace with thy loved Guido's an |