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Poets are bound a loud applause to pay ; 15
so wonderful, sublime a thing,
'Tis great delight to laugh at some mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praise.
To Mr. POPE, on his Pastorals.'
N these more dull, as more cenforious days,
When few dare give, and fewer merit praise, A Muse sincere, that never Flatt'ry knew, Pays what to friendship and desert is due. Young, yet judicious; in
verse are found 5 Art strength’ning Nature, Sense improv'd bySound, Unlike those Wits, whose numbers glide along So sinooth, no thought e'er interrupts the song: Laboriously enervate they appear, And write not to the head, but to the ear :
Our minds unmov'd and unconcern’d they lull,
Yet still unchang'd the form and mode remain,
Live and enjoy their spite! normourn that fate,
To Mr. POPE, on his Windsor-Forest.
AIL, facred Bard! a Muse unknown before
Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore. To our dark world thy shining page is shown, And Windsor's gay retreat becomes our own.
The Eastern pomp had just bespoke our care, 5
and down the glossy fragments lay, 10 And dressid the rocky shelves, and pav'd the
painted bay. Thy treasures next arriv'd : and now we boast A nobler cargo on our barren coast: From thy luxuriant Foreit we receive More lasting glories than the East can give. 15 Where-c'er we dip in thy delightful page,
pompous scenes our busy thoughts engage! The
pompous scenes in all their pride appear, Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were. Nor half so true the fair Lodona shows The sylvan state that on her border grows, While the the wond'ring shepherd entertains With a new Windsor in her wat’ry plains ; Thy juster lays the lucid wave surpass, The living scene is in the Muse’s glass. 25 Nor sweeter notes the echoing Forests chear, When Philomela fits and warbles there,
Than when you sing the greens aud op’ning glades, ,
you Can paint the grove, and add the Music too.
31 With vast variety thy pages shine ; A new creation starts in ev'ry line. How sudden trees rise to the reader's fight, And make a doubtful scene of shade and light, And give at once the day, at once the night! And here again what sweet confusion reigns, In dreary deserts mix'd with painted plains ! And see! the deserts cast a pleasing gloom, And Ihrubby heaths rejoice in purple bloom : 40 Whilst fruitful
crops rise by their barren fide, And bearded groves display their annual pride.
Happy the man, who strings his tuneful lyre, Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields
inspire ! Thrice happy you! and worthy best to dwell 45 Amidst the rural joys you sing so well. I in a cold, and in a barren clime, Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhyme, Here on the Western beach attempt to chime.