England, and built London, which is called Troja Nova, or Troynovante, is a ftory which (I think) owes its original, if not to Geoffry of Monmouth, at leaft to the Monkifh writers; yet is not rejected by our great Camden; and is told by Milton, as if (at least) he was pleased with it, though poffibly he does not believe it however, it carries a poetical authority, which is fufficient for our purpose. It is as certain that Brute came into England, as that Æneas went into Italy; and, upon the fuppofition of these facts, Virgil wrote the best poem that the world ever read, and Spenfer paid queen Elizabeth the greatest compliment.

I need not obviate one piece of criticism, that I bring my hero

"From burning Troy, and Xanthus red with blood:.: whereas he was not born when that city was destroyed. Virgil, in the cafe of his own Æneas relating to Dido, will stand as a fufficient proof, that a man in his poetical capacity is not accountable for a little fault in chronology.

My two great examples, Horace and Spenfer, in many things refemble each other: both have a height of imagination, and a majefty of expreffion in describing the fublime; and both know to temper thofe talents, and fweeten the description, so as to make it lovely as well as pompous: both have equally that agreeable manner of mixing morality with their story, and that Curiofa Felicitas in the choice of their dic tion, which every writer aims at, and so very few have reached:

reached both are particularly fine in their images, and knowing in their numbers. Leaving therefore our two masters to the confideration and study of those who defign to excel in poetry, I only beg leave to add, that it is long fince I have (or at leaft ought to have) quitted Parnaffus, and all the flowery roads on that fide the country; though I thought myfelf indifpenfably obliged, upon the present occafion, to take a little journey into thofe parts.

WHEN great Auguftus govern'd ancient Rome,

And fent his conquering bands to foreign wars;

Abroad when dreaded, and belov'd at home,
He faw his fame increafing with his years;
Horace, great bard! (fo Fate ordain'd) arose,
And, bold as were his countrymen in fight,
Snatch'd their fair actions from degrading profe,
And fet their battles in eternal light:

High as their trumpets tune his lyre he ftrung,
And with his prince's arms he moraliz'd his fong.

II.

When bright Eliza rul'd Britannia's ftate, Widely diftributing her high commands, And boldly wife, and fortunately great, Freed the glad nations from tyrannic bands;

An equal genius was in Spenfer found;
To the high theme he match'd his noble lays:
He travell'd England o'er on fairy ground,
In myftic notes to fing his monarch's praise :
Reciting wondrous truths in pleafing dreams,
He deck'd Eliza's head with Gloriana's beams.

III.

But, greatest Anna! while thy arms pursue
Paths of renown, and climb afcents of fame,
Which nor Augustus, nor Eliza knew ;
What poet shall be found to fing thy name?
What numbers shall record, what tongue fhall fay,
Thy wars on land, thy triumphs on the main ?
O faireft model of imperial fway!

What equal pen shall write thy wondrous reign?
Who fhall attempts and feats of arms rehearse,
Nor yet by ftory told, nor parallel'd by verfe?

IV.

Me all too mean for fuch a task I weet: Yet, if the Sovereign Lady deigns to smile, I'll follow Horace with impetuous heat, And clothe the verfe in Spenfer's native style. By thefe examples rightly taught to fing, And fmit with pleasure of my country's praise, Stretching the plumes of an uncommon wing, High as Olympus I my flight will raife; And latest times fhall in my numbers read Anna's immortal fame, and Marlborough's hardy deed.

V.

As the ftrong eagle in the filent wood,
Mindlefs of warlike rage and hostile care,
Plays round the rocky cliff or cryftal flood,
Till by Jove's high behefts call'd out to war,
And charg'd with thunder of his angry king,
His bofom with the vengeful meffage glows;
Upward the noble bird directs his wing,

And, towering round his master's earth-born foes,
Swift he collects his fatal ftock of ire,

Lifts his fierce talon high, and darts the forked fire.

VI.

Sedate and calm thus victor Marlborough fate, Shaded with laurels, in his native land,

Till Anna calls him from his foft retreat,
And gives her fecond thunder to his hand.
Then, leaving fweet repose and gentle eafe,
With ardent speed he seeks the distant foe;
Marching o'er hills and vales, o'er rocks and feas,
He meditates, and strikes the wondrous blow.
Our thought flies flower than our General's fame :
Grafps he the bolt? we afk-when he has hurl'd the
flame.

VII.

When fierce Bavar on Judoign's fpacious plain
Did from afar the British chief behold,
Betwixt defpair, and rage, and hope, and pain,
Something within his warring bofom roll'd:

He

He views that favourite of indulgent Fame,
Whom whilom he had met on Ifter's fhore;
Too well, alas! the man he knows the fame,
Whofe prowess there repell'd the Boyan power,
And sent them trembling through the frighted lands,
Swift as the whirlwind drives Arabia's fcatter'd fands.
VIII.

His former loffes he forgets to grieve:
Abfolves his fate, if with a kinder ray

It now would shine, and only give him leave.
To balance the account of Blenheim's day.
So the fell lion in the lonely glade,

His fide ftill fmarting with the hunter's spear,
Though deeply wounded, no way yet dismay'd,
Roars terrible, and meditates new war;
In fullen fury traverses the plain,

To find the venturous foe, and battle him again.

IX.

Misguided prince, no longer urge thy fate,
Nor tempt the hero to unequal war; .
Fam'd in misfortune, and in ruin great,
Confefs the force of Marlborough's ftronger ftar.
Those laurel groves (the merits of thy youth),
Which thou from Mahomet didft greatly gain,
While, bold affertor of refiftlefs truth,
Thy fword did godlike liberty maintain,

Muft from thy brow their falling honours fhed,
And their tranfplanted wreaths must deck a worthier

head.