By frightful accents fear produces fears;
By fad expreffion forrow melts to tears:
And dire amazement and defpair are brought
By words of horror through the wilds of thought.
'Tis thus tumultuous paffions learn to roll;
Thus, arm'd with poetry, they win the foul.

Pafs farther through the dome, another view
Would now the pleasures of thy mind renew,
Where oft defcription for the colours goes,
Which raise and animate its native fhows;
Where oft narration feeks a florid grace
To keep from finking ere 'tis time to ceafe;
Where easy turns reflection looks to find,
When morals aim at drefs to please the mind;
Where lively figures are for use array'd,
And these an action, thofe a paffion, aid.

There modeft metaphors in order fit,
With unaffected, undifguifing wit,

That leave their own, and seek another's place,
Not forc'd, but changing with an eafy pace,
To deck a notion faintly feen before,

And truth preferves her fhape, and fhines the

more.

By these the beauteous fimiles refide,
In look more open, in defign ally'd,
Who, fond of likenefs, from another's face
Bring every feature's corresponding grace,
With near approaches in expreffion flow,
And take the turn their pattern loves to fhow;
As in a glass the shadows meet the fair,
And drefs and practise with refembling air.
Thus truth by pleasure doth her aim pursue,
Looks bright, and fixes on the doubled view.
There repetitions one another meet,
Expressly ftrong, or languishingly sweet,
And raise the fort of fentiment they please,
And urge the fort of fentiment they raife.

There close in order are the questions plac'd,
Which march with art conceal'd in fhows of hafte,
And work the reader till his mind be brought
To make its answers in the writer's thought.
For thus the moving paffions feem to throng,
And with their quickness force the foul along ;
And thus the foul grows fond they fhould prevail,
When every question feems a fair appeal;
And if by just degrees of ftrength they foar,
In fteps as equal each affects the more.

There ftrange commotion, naturally shown,
Speaks on regardless that she speaks alone,
Nor minds if they to whom she talks be near,
Nor cares if that to which fhe talks can hear.
The warmth of anger dares an absent foe;
The words of pity speak to tears of woe;
The love that hopes, on errands sends the breeze;
And love despairing moans to naked trees.

There ftand the new creations of the mufe,
Poetic perfons, whom the writers use
Whene'er a caufe magnificently great
Would fix attention with peculiar weight.
'Tis hence that humble provinces are feen
Transform'd to marrons with neglected mien,
Who call their warriors in a mournful found,

And fhew their crowns of turrets on the ground,
While over urns reclining rivers moan
They should enrich a nation not their own.

'Tis hence the virtues are no more confin'd
To be but rules of reafon in the mind;
The heavenly forms ftart forth, appear to breathe,
And in bright fhapes converfe with men beneath;
And, as a god in combat valour leads,
In council prudence as a goddess aids.

There exclamations all the voice employ
In fudden flushes of concern or joy:
Then feem the fluices, which the paffions bound,
To burst asunder with a speechlefs found;
And then with tumult and furprise they roll,
And fhew the cafe important in the foul.

There rising sentences atempt to speak, Which wonder, forrow, fhame, or anger break; But fo the part directs to find the reft, That what remains behind is more than guess'd. Thus fill'd with eafe, yet left unfinish'd too, The fenfe looks large within the reader's view: He freely gathers all the paffion means, And artful filence more than words explains, Methinks a thoufand graces more I fee, And I could dwell-but when would thought be free

Engaging method ranges all the band,

And smooth transition joins them hand in hand;
Around the mufic of my lays they throng,
Ah, too deferving objects of my fong!
Live, wondrous palace, live fecure of time,
To fenfes harmony, to fouls fublime,
And just proportion all, and great defign,
And lively colours, and an air divine.

Tis here that, guided by the Mules' fire, And fili'd with facred thought, her friends rev tire,

Unbent to care, and unconcern'd with noife,
fo tafte repose and elevated joys,
Which in a deep untroubled leifure meet,
Serenely ravishing, politely fweet.

From hence the charms that most engage they

chocfe,

And, as they please, the glittering objects use;
While to their genius, more than art, they truft,
Yet art acknowledges their labours juft.
From hence they lock, from this exalted fhow,
To choose their fubject in the world below,
And where an hero well deferves a name,
They confecrate his acts in fong to fame;
Or, if a science unadorn'd they find,
They fmooth its look to please and teach the
mind;

And where a friendship's generously ftrang,
They celebrate the knot of fouls in fong;
Or, if the verfes muft inflame defire,
The thoughts are melted, and the words on fire :
But, when the temples deck'd with glory ftand,
And hymns of gratitude the gods demand,
Their bofoms kindle with celeftial love,
And then alone they caft their eyes above.
Hail, facred verte! ye facred Mufes, hail!
Could I your pleaiures with your fire reveal,
The world night then be taught to know you
right,

And court your rage, and envy my delight.
But, whilft I follow where your pointed beams
My courfe directing fhoct in golden freams,

The bright appearance dazzles fancy's eyes,
And weary'd-out the fix'd attention lies;
Enough, my verses, have you work'd my breast,
I'll feek the facred grove, and fink to reft."

No longer now the ravish'd poet fung,
His voice in eafy cadence left the tongue;
Nor o'er the mufic did his fingers fly,
The sounds ran tingling, and they seem'd to die.
O, Bolingbroke! O favourite of the skies,
born to gifts by which the noblest rise,
Improv'd in arts by which the brightest please,
Intent to business, and polite for ease;
Sublime in eloquence, where loud applaufe
Hath ftyl'd thee patron of a nation's cause,
'Twas there the world perceiv'd and own'd thee
great,

Thence Anna call'd thee to the reins of ftate;
"Go, faid the greatest queen, with Oxford go,
And still the tumults of the world below,
Exert thy powers, and profper; he that knows
To move with Oxford, never should repofe."

She spake the patriot overfpread thy mind,
And all thy days to public good resign'd.
Elfe might thy foul, fo wonderfully wrought
For every depth and turn of curious thought,
To this the poet's sweet recefs retreat,
And thence report the pleasures of the feat,
Describe the raptures which a writer knows,
When in his breast a vein of fancy glows,
Defcribe his business while he works the mine,
Describe his temper when he fees it fhine,
Or fay, when readers eafy verse infnares,
How much the writer's mind can act on theirs:
Whence images, in charming numbers set,
A fort of likeness in the foul beget,
And what fair vifions oft we fancy nigh
By fond delufions of the fwimming eye,
Or further pierce through nature's maze to find
How paffions drawn give paffions to the mind.

Oh, what a fweet confufion! what furpife! How quick the fhifting views of pleasure rise! While, lightly fkimming, with a tranfient wing, I touch the beauties which I wish to fing. Is verse a sovereign regent of the soul, And fitted all its motions to control? Or are they fisters, tun'd at once above, And shake like unifons if either move? For, when the numbers fing an eager fight, I've heard a foldier's voice express delight;

I've seen his eyes with crowding fpirits fhine,
And round his hilt his hand unthinking twine.
When from the fhore the fickle Trojan flies,
And in fweet measures poor Eliza dies,
I've seen the book forfake the virgin's hand,
And in her eyes the tears but hardly stand.
I've known her blufh at foft Corinna's name,
And in red characters confefs a flame:
Or with fuccess had more adorn'd his arms,
Who gave the world for Cleopatra's charms.
Ye fons of glory, be my first appeal,

If here the power of lines thefe lines reveal. When fome great youth has with impetuous thought

Read o'er atchievements which another wrought,
And feen his courage and his honour go
Through crowding nations in triumphant show,
His foul, enchanted by the words he reads,
Shines all impregnated with fparkling feeds,
And courage here, and honour there, appears
In brave defign that foars beyond his years;
And this a spear, and that a chariot lends,
And war and triumph he by turns attends;
Thus gallant pleasures are his waking dream,
Till fome fair caufe have call'd him forth te
fame.

Then, form'd to life on what the poet made,
And breathing flaughter, and in arms array'd,
He marches forward on the daring foe,
And emulation acts in every blow.
Great Hector's fhade in fancy stalks along,
From rank to rank amongst the martial throng;
While from his acts he learns a noble rage,
And fhines like Hector in the present age.
Thus verfe will raife him to the victor's bays;
And verfe, that rais'd him, fhall refound his
praise.

Ye tender beauties, be my witness too,
If fong can charm, and if my fong be true.
With sweet experience oft a fair may find
Her paffions mov'd by paffions well defign'd;
And then the longs to meet a gentle swain,
And longs to love, and to be lov'd again.
And if by chance an amorous youth appears,
With pants and blushes the the courtship hears;
And finds a tale that muft with theirs agree,
And he's Septimius, and his Acme she:
Thus loft in thought her melted heart she gives,
And the rais'd lover by the poet lives.