FROM THE ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE' On sure foundations let your fabric rise, Which through the whole insensibly must pass, With vital heat to animate the mass; A pure, an active, an auspicious flame, And bright as heaven, from whence the blessing came; But few, few spirits, pre-ordained by fate, The race of gods, have reached that envied height; No rebel Titan's sacrilegious crime, By heaping hills on hills, can thither climb. The grizly ferry-man of hell denied Eneas entrance, till he knew his guide; Whose pride would soar to heaven without a call? The Muse instruct my voice. and thou inspire the Muse! DORSET. [CHARLES SACKVILLE, Earl of Dorset, was born January 24, 1637. Immediately after the Restoration he was elected to represent East Grinstead in parliament, and distinguished himself in the House of Commons. He went as a volunteer to the First Dutch War in 1665, and after this devoted himself to a learned leisure. He succeeded to the earldom in 1677, and again took a part in public business till 1698, when his health failed. He died at Bath, January 29, 1705 6.] It is recorded of Lord Dorset that he refused all offers of political preferment in early life that he might give his mind more thoroughly to study. He was the friend and patron of almost all the poets from Waller to Pope; Dryden adored him in one generation, and Prior in the next: nor was the courtesy that produced this affection mere idle complaisance, for no one was more fierce than he in denouncing mediocrity and literary pretension. Of all the poetical noblemen of the Restoration, Lord Dorset alone reached old age, yet with all these opportunities and all this bias towards the art, the actual verse he has left behind him is miserably small. A splendid piece of society verse, a few songs, some extremely foul and violent satires, these are all that have survived to justify in the eyes of posterity the boundless reputation of Lord Dorset. The famous song was written in 1665, when the author, at the age of twenty-eight, had volunteered under the Duke of York in the first Dutch war. It was composed at sea the night before the critical engagement in which the Dutch admiral Opdam was blown up, and thirty ships destroyed or taken. It may be considered as inaugurating the epoch of vers-de-société, as it has flourished from Prior down to Austin Dobson. EDMUND W. GOSSE SONG WRITTEN AT SEA. To all you Ladies now at land But first would have you understand The Muses now, and Neptune too, For though the Muses should prove kind, Yet if rough Neptune rouse the wind Our paper, pen, and ink, and we, Then if we write not by each post, The King with wonder and surprise Will swear the seas grow bold, Because the tides will higher rise, Than e'er they did of old; But let him know it is our tears Should foggy Opdam chance to know For what resistance can they find From men who 've left their hearts behind} Let wind and weather do its worst, Be you to us but kind, Let Dutchmen vapour, Spaniards curse, 'Tis then no matter how things go, Or who's our friend, or who's our foe. To pass our tedious hours away, But now our fears tempestuous grow Perhaps permit some happier man When any mournful tune you hear, As if it sighed with each man's care, Think then how often love we've made In justice you can not refuse To think of our distress, When we for hopes of honour lose All those designs are but to prove And now we've told you all our loves, SONG. Dorinda's sparkling wit and eyes Pains not the heart, but hurts the sight. Love is a calmer, gentler joy, Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace, Her Cupid is a blackguard boy, That runs his link full in your face. SONG. Phillis, for shame, let us improve A thousand different ways Those few short moments snatched by love From many tedious days. If you want courage to despise The censure of the grave, Though love's a tyrant in your eyes Your heart is but a slave. My love is full of noble pride, To let that fop, Discretion, ride False friends I have, as well as you, Who daily counsel me Fame and ambition to pursue, And leave off loving thee. But when the least regard I show May I be dull enough to grow Most miserably wise. |