And yet fo wonderful, fublime a thing,
As the great ILIAD, fcarce could make me fing;
Except I juftly could at once commend

A good Companion, and as firm a Friend.
One moral, or a mere well-natur'd deed
Can all defert in Sciences exceed.

"Tis great delight to laugh at fome mens ways, But a much greater to give Merit praife.

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To Mr. POPE, on his Paftorals.

IN these more dull, as more cenforious days,

I When few dare give, and fewer merit praife,

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A Mufe fincere, that never Flatt'ry knew,'
Pays what to friendship and defert is due.
Young, yet judicious; in your verse are found
Art ftrength'ning Nature, Senfe improv'd by Sound.
Unlike thofe Wits, whofe numbers glide along
So fmooth, no thought e'er interrupts the fong:
Laboriously enervate they appear,

And write not to the head, but to the ear:
Our minds unmov'd and unconcern'd they lull,

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And are at best most mufically dull :

So purling ftreams with even murmurs creep,
And hush the heavy hearers into sleep.

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As fmootheft fpeech is moft deceitful found,
The smoothest numbers oft are empty found.
But Wit and Judgment join at once in you,
Sprightly as Youth, as Age confummate too:
Your trains are regularly bold, and please
With unforc'd care, and unaffected ease,
With proper thoughts, and lively images:
Such as by Nature to the Ancients fhewn,
Fancy improves, and judgment makes your own:
For great mens fashions to be follow'd are,
Altho' difgraceful 'tis their clothes to wear.
Some in a polish'd ftyle write Paftoral,
Arcadia fpeaks the language of the Mall.
Like fome fair Shepherdefs, the Sylvan Muse,
Should wear those flow'rs her native fields produce;
And the true measure of the shepherd's wit
Should, like his garb, be for the Country fit:
Yet muft his pure and unaffected thought
More nicely than the common swain's be wrought.
So, with becoming art, the Players dress

In filks the shepherd, and the shepherdess;
Yet ftill unchang'd the form and mode remain,
Shap'd like the homely ruffet of the swain.
Your rural Muse appears to justify
The long loft graces of Simplicity:
So rural beauties captivate our sense
With Virgin charms, and native excellence.
Yet long her Modesty those charms conceal'd,
"Till by mens Envy to the world reveal'd;

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For Wits induftrious to their trouble feem,
And needs will envy what they must esteem.

Live and enjoy their spite! nor mourn that fate, Which would, if Virgil liv'd, on Virgil wait; Whofe Mufe did once, like thine, in plains delight; Thine fhall, like his, foon take a higher flight; So Larks, which first from lowly fields arise, Mount by degrees, and reach at last the skies. W. WY CHERLEY.

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To Mr. POPE, on his Windfor-Forest.

AIL, facred Bard! a Mufe unknown before

HALL

Salutes thee from the bleak Atlantic shore. To our dark world thy fhining page is shown, And Windfor's gay retreat becomes our own. The Eaftern pomp had just bespoke our care, And India pour'd her gaudy treasures here: A various fpoil adorn'd our naked land, The pride of Perfia glitter'd on our strand, And China's Earth was caft on common fand: Tofs'd up and down the gloffy fragments lay,

ΤΟ

And drefs'd the rocky fhelves, and pav'd the painted

bay.

Thy treasures next arriv'd: and now we boat.
A nobler cargo on our barren coaft:

From thy luxuriant Forest we receive
More lafting glories than the Eaft can give.
Where-e'er we dip in thy delightful page,
What pompous scenes our busy thoughts engage!
The pompous fcenes in all their pride appear,
Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were.
Nor half fo true the fair Lodona shows
The fylvan state that on her border grows,
While fhe the wond'ring fhepherd entertains
With a new Windsor in her wat❜ry plains;
Thy jufter lays the lucid wave surpass,
The living scene is in the Muse's glass.
Nor fweeter notes the echoing Forefts chear,
When Philomela fits and warbles there,

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Than when you fing the greens and op'ning glades, And give us Harmony as well as Shades:

A Titian's hand might draw the

grove, but

Can paint the grove, and add the Music too.

With vast variety thy pages fhine;

you

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A new creation starts in ev'ry line.
How fudden trees rife to the reader's fight,
And make a doubtful scene of fhade and light,35
And give at once the day, at once the night!
And here again what fweet confufion reigns,
In dreary deferts mix'd with painted plains!
And fee! the deferts caft a pleafing gloom,
And fhrubby heaths rejoice in purple bloom:
Whilft fruitful crops rife by their barren fide,
And bearded groves display their annual pride.

I

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Happy the man, who ftrings his tuneful lyre, Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields in

fpire!

Thrice happy you! and worthy best to dwell
Amidst the rural joys you fing fo 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.
O joyless flood! O rough tempeftuous main!
Border'd with weeds, and folitudes obfcene!

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Snatch me, ye Gods! from thefe Atlantic shores,
And shelter me in Windfor's fragrant bow`rs;
Or to my much-lov'd is' walks convey,
And on her flow'ry banks for ever lay.
'Thence let me view the venerable scene,
The awful dome, the groves eternal green:
Where facred Hough long found his fam'd retreat,
And brought the Mufes to the fylvan feat,
Reform'd the wits, unlock'd the Claffic store,
And made that Mufic which was noife before.
'There with illuftrious Bards I fpent my days,
Nor free from cenfure, nor unknown to praife,
Enjoy'd the bleffings that his reign bestow'd,
Nor envy'd Windfor in the foft abode.

The golden minutes fmoothly danc'd away,
And tuneful Bards beguil'd the tedious day:
They fung, nor fung in vain, with numbers fir'd
That Maro taught, or Addison infpir'd.

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