صور الصفحة
النشر الإلكتروني

How oft in pleasing tasks we wear the day,
While fummer-suns roll unperceiv'd away?
How oft our slowly growing works impart,
While Images reflect from art to art?

20 How oft review; each finding like a friend Something to blame, and something to commend?

What fatt'ring fcenes our wand'ring fancy wrought, Rome's pompous glories rifing to our thought! Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly, 25 Fir'd with Ideas of fair Italy. With thee, on Raphael's Monument I mourn, Or wait inspiring Dreams at Maro's Urn: With thee repose, where Tully once was laid, Or seek fome Ruin's formidable shade : While fancy brings the vanish'd piles to view, And builds imaginary Rome a new, Here thy well-study'd marbles fix our eye; A fading Fresco here demands a figh : Each heav'nly piece unwearied we compare, 35 Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air, Carracci's strength, Correggio's softer line, Paulo's free ftroke, and Titian's warmth divine.

How finish'd with illustrious toil appears This small, well-polith'd Gem, the * work of years! Yet ftill how faint by precept is expreft The living image in the painter's breast ? Thence endless streams of fair Ideas flow, Strike in the sketch, or in the picture glow; Thence Beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies 45 An Angel's sweetness, or Bridgewater's eyes.

NOTE s. Fresnoy employed above twenty Years in finihing his Poem. P. # D 4


[ocr errors]



Muse! at that Name thy sacred sorrows shed, Those tears eternal, that embalm the dead : Call round her Tomb each object of desire, Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire : 50 Bid her be all that chears or softens life, The tender fifter, daughter, friend and wife: Bid her be all that makes mankind adore; Then view this Marble, and be vain no more!

Yet ftill her charms in breathing paint engage; Her modeft cheek shall warm a future

age. Beauty, frail Aow'r that ev'ry season fears, Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years. Thus Churchill's race shall other hearts surprize, And other Beauties envy Worsley's eyes ;

6. Each pleasing Blount shall endless smiles bestow, And soft Belinda's blush for ever glow.

Oh lasting as those Colours may they shine, Free as thy stroke, yet faultless as thy line ; New graces yearly like thy works display, Soft without weakness, without glaring gay ; Led by some rule, that guides, but not constrains; And finish'd more thro' happiness than pains. The kindred Arts shall in their praise conspire, One dip the pencil, and one string the lyre. 70 Yet should the Graces all thy figures place, And breathe an air divine on ev'ry face"; Yet should the Muses bid my numbers roll Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul; With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie, 7.5 And these be sung 'till Granville's Myra die; Alas ! how little from the grave we claim ! Thou but preserv'st a Face, and I a Name.





With the WORKS of VOITURE.


N these gay thoughts the Loves and Grace

His easy Art may happy Nature seem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.
Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,

Who without flatt'ry pleas'd the fair and great ;
Still with esteem no less convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-bred:
His heart, his mistress, and his friend did share,
His time, the Muse, the witty, and the fair. 10
Thus wisely careless, innocently gay,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
'Till fate scarce felt his gentle breath supprest,
As smiling Infants sport themselves to rest.
Ev'n rival Wits did Voiture's death deplore, 15
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd before;
The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brightest Eyes :
The Smiles and Loves had dy'd in Voiture's death,
But that for ever in his lines they breathe.

Let the strict life of graver mortals be
A long, exact, and serious Comedy ;
In ev'ry scene fome Moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.



Let mine, an innocent


And more diverting still than regular,
Have Humour, Wit, a native Eafe and Grace,
Tho' not too strictly bound to Time and Place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please,
Few write to those, and none can live to these. 30

Too much your Sex is by their forms confin'd,
Severe to all, but most to Womankind;
Custom, grown blind with Age, must be your guide ;
Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride;
By Nature yielding, stubborn but for fame; 35
Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by shame.
Marriage may all those petty Tyrants chase,
But sets up one, a greater in their place ;
Well might you wish for change by those accurst,
But the last Tyrant ever proves the worst. 40
Still in constraint your fuff'ring Sex remains,
Or bound in formal, or in real chains :
Whole years neglected, for some months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah quit not the free innocence of life,

For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let false Shews, or empty Titles please : *
Aim not at Joy, but rest content with Ease.

The Gods, to curse Pamela with her pray’rs,
Gave the gilt Coach and dappled Flanders Mares,
The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, 51
And, to compleat her bliss, a Fool for Mate.
She glares in Balls, front Boxes, and the Ring,
A vain, unquiet, glittring, wretched 'Thing!
Pride, Pomp, and State but reach her outward part;
She fighs, and is no Duchess at her heart. 56


But, Madam, if the fates withstand, and you Are destin'd Hymen's willing Victim too ; Trust not too much your now resistless charms, Those, Age or Sickness, foon or late disarms: 60 Good humour only teaches charms to last, Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past; Love, rais'd on Beauty, will like that decay, Our hearts may bear its slender chain a day; As flow'ry bands in wantonness are worn, 65 A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn; This binds in ties more easy, yet more strong, The willing heart, and only holds it long.

Thus * Voiture's early care still fhone the same, And Monthausier was only chang'd in name: 70 By this, ev'n now they live, ev’n now they charm, Their Wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm.

Now crown'd with Myrtle, on th’ Elysian coast, Amid those Lovers, joys his gentle Ghost: Pleas'd, while with smiles his happy lines you view, And finds a fairer Ramboüillet in you. The brightest eyes of France inspir’d his Muse; The brightest eyes of Britain now peruse; And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride Still to charm those who charm the world beside.


* Mademoiselle Pauler. P.

« السابقةمتابعة »