Perhaps fome courfer who difdains the road,
Snuffs up the wind and flings himself abroad.
Contemporaries all furpafs d, fee one,
Short his career, indeed, but ably run.
Churchill, himself unconscious of his pow'rs,
In penury confum'd his idle hours,
And like a scatter'd feed at random fown,
Was left to fpring by vigor of his own.
Lifted at length by dignity of thought,
And dint of genius to an affluent lot,
He laid his head in luxury's foft lap,
And took too often there his eafy nap.
If brighter beams than all he threw not forth,
'Twas negligence in him, not want of worth.
Surly and flovenly and bold and coarse,
Too proud for art, and trufting in mere force,
Spendthrift alike of money and of wit,
Always at speed and never drawing bit,
He ftruck the lyre in fuch a careless mood,
And fo difdain'd the rules he understood,
The laurel feem'd to wait on his command,
He snatch'd it rudely from the mufes hand.
Nature exerting an unwearied pow'r,
Forms, opens and gives fcent to ev'ry flow'r,
Spreads the fresh verdure of the field, and leads
The dancing Naiads through the dewy meads,
She fills profufe ten thousand little throats
With mufic, modulating all their notes,
And charms the woodland fcenes and wilds unknown,
With artless airs and concerts of her own;
But feldom (as if fearful of expence)
Vouchfafes to man a poet's just pretence.
Fervency, freedom, fluency of thought,
Harmony, ftrength, words exquifitely fought,
Fancy that from the bow that spans the sky,
Brings colours dipt in heav'n that never die,
A foul exalted above earth, a mind
Skill'd in the characters that form mankind,
And as the fun in rifing beauty drefs'd,
Looks to the weftward from the dappl'd east,
And marks, whatever clouds may interpofe,
E'er yet his race begins, its glorious close,
An eye like his to catch the distant goal,
Or e'er the wheels of verfe begin to roll,
Like his to fhed illuminating rays
On ev'ry scene and fubject it furveys,
Thus grac'd the man afferts a poet's name,
And the world chearfully admits the claim.
Pity! Religion has so seldom found
A skilful guide into poetic ground,
The flow'rs would fpring where'er fhe deign'd to stray, And ev'ry mufe attend her in her way.
Virtue indeed meets many a rhiming friend,
And many a compliment politely penn'd,
But unattir'd in that becoming veft
Religion weaves for her, and half undress'd,
Stands in the defart fhiv'ring and forlorn,
A wintr'y figure, like a wither'd thorn.
The shelves are full, all other themes are sped,
Hackney'd and worn to the laft flimfy thread,
Satyr has long fince done his beft, and curft
And loathfome ribaldry has done his worst,
Fancy has sported all her pow'rs away
In tales, in trifles, and in children's play,
And 'tis the fad complaint, and almost true,
Whate'er we write, we bring forth nothing new.
Twere new indeed, to see a bard all fire,
Touch'd with a coal from heav'n affume the lyre,
And tell the world, ftill kindling as he fung,
With more than mortal mufic on his tongue,
That he who died below, and reigns above
Infpires the fong, and that his name is love.
For after all, if merely to beguile
By flowing numbers and a flow'ry stile,
The tædium that the lazy rich endure,
Which now and then sweet poetry may cure,
Or if to fee the name of idol felf
Stamp'd on the well-bound quarto, grace the shelf, To float a bubble on the breath of fame,
Prompt his endeavour, and engage his aim,
Debas'd to fervile purposes of pride,
powers of genius mifapplied?
The gift whofe office is the giver's praise,
To trace him in his word, his works, his ways,
Then spread the rich discov'ry, and invite
Mankind to fhare in the divine delight,
Distorted from its use and juft defign,
To make the pitiful poffeffor fhine,
To purchase at the fool-frequented fair
Of vanity, a wreath for self to wear,
Is profanation of the baseft kind,
Proof of a trifling and a worthlefs mind.
A. Hail Sternhold then and Hopkins hail! B. Amen.
If flatt'ry, folly, luft employ the pen,
If acrimony, flander and abuse,
Give it a charge to blacken and traduce;
Though Butler's wit, Pope's numbers, Prior's ease,
With all that fancy can invent to please,
Adorn the polish'd periods as they fall,
One Madrigal of their's is worth them all.
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