adus, long, with learned spleen devour'd: Can taste no pleasure since his shield was sour'd: And Curio, restless by the fair one's side, Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.
Theirs is the vanity, the learning thine: Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories shine; Her gods and god-like heroes rise to view, And all her faded garlands bloom anew. Nor blush these studies thy regard engage; These pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage; The verse and sculpture bore an equal part, And art reflected images to art.
Oh when shall Britain, conscious of her claim, Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame? In living medals see her wars enroll'd, And vanquish'd realms supply recording gold? Here, rising bold, the patriot's honest face; There, warriors frowning in historic brafs? Then future ages with delight shall see How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree; Or in fair series laurell'd bards be shown, A Virgil there, and here an Addison. Then shall thy Craggs (and let me call him mine) On the calf ore, another Pollio shine; With aspect open shall erect his head, And round the orb in lasting notes be read, "Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere," "In action faithful, and in honour clear;" "Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end," "Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend;" "Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd," "Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the muse he lov'd."
80. The following letter from Mr Philips to the earl of Dorset is entirely descriptive; but is one of those descriptions which will be ever read with delight.
Copenhagen, March 9. 1709.
From frozen climes, and endless tracts of snow, From streams which northern winds forbid to flow, What present shall the muse to Dorset bring, Or how, so near the pole, attempt to sing? The hoary winter here conceals from sight All pleasing objects which to verse invite. The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, The flow'ry plains, and silver streaming floods, By snow disguis'd, in bright confusion lie, And with one dazzling wate fatigue the eye. No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring, No birds within the desert region sing: The ships, unmov'd, the boist'rous winds defy, While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly. The vast Leviathan wants room to play, And spout his waters in the face of day; The starving wolves along the main sea sprowl, And to the moon in icy valleys howl. O'er many a shining league the level main Here spreads itself into a glaffy plain:
There There solid billows of enormous size, Alps of green ice, in wild disorder rise. And yet but lately have I seen, ev'n here, The winter in a lovely dress appear.
'Ere yet the clouds let fall the treasur'd snow, Or winds begin through hazy skies to blow, At ev'ning a keen easterly breeze arose, And the descending rain unfulily'd froze; Soon as the silent shades of night withdrew, The ruddy morn disclosed at once to view The face of nature in a rich disguise, And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes: For ev'ry shrub, and ev'ry blade of grass, And ev'ry pointed thorn, seem'd wrought in glass; In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns show, While through the ice the crimson berries glow. The thick-fringed reeds, which watery marshes yield, Seem'd polish'd lances in a hostile field. The flag in limpid currents with surprise, Sees crystal branches on his forehead rise: The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine, Glaiz'd over, in the freezing aither shine. The frighted birds the rattling branches shun, Which wave and glitter in the distant sun.
When if a sudden gust of wind arise, The brittle forest into atoms flies, The crackling woods beneath the tempest bends, And in a spangled shower the prospect ends: Or, if a southern gale the region warm, And by degrees unbind the wintry charm, The traveller a miry country sees, And journey fad beneath the dropping trees: Like some deluded peasant Merlin leads Through fragrant bow'rs and through delicious meads, While here enchanted gardens to him rise, And airy fabrics there attract his eyes, His wandering feet the magic paths pursue, And while he thinks the fair illusion true, The trackless scenes disperse in fluid air, And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear, A tedious road the weary wretch returns, And, as he goes, the transient vision mourns.
81. We have already observed that the essential, and indeed the true characteristic of epistolary writing is ease; and on this account, as well as others, the following letter from Mr Pope to Miss Blount is to be admired.
To Miss Blount, on her leaving the Town after the Coronation.
As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care Drags from the town to wholesome country air; Just when she learns to roll a melting eye, And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh; From the dear man unwilling she must fever, Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever: Thus from the world fair Zephyrinda flew,