Of softer mold the gentle Fletcher came,
The next in order, as the next in name.
With pleas'd attention midst his scenes we find
Each glowing thought that warms the female mind;
Each melting sigh, and ev'ry tender tear,
The lover's wishes and the virgin's fear.
His ev'ry strain the Smiles and Graces own;1
But stronger Shakespear felt for man alone:
Drawn by his pen, our ruder passions stand
Th' unrivall'd picture of his early hand.
With gradual steps and slow,2 exacter France
Saw Art's fair empire o'er her shores advance :
By length of toil, a bright perfection knew,
Correctly bold, and just in all she drew.
Till late Corneille, with Lucan's3 spirit fir'd,
Breath'd the free strain, as Rome and he inspir'd :
And classic judgment gained to sweet Racine
The temp'rate strength of Maro's chaster line.
But wilder far the British laurel spread,
And wreaths less artful crown our poet's head.
Yet he alone to ev'ry scene could give
Th' historian's truth, and bid the manners live.
Wak'd at his call I view, with glad surprise,
Majestic forms of mighty monarchs rise.
63. His ev'ry strain the Loves and Graces own; 71, 72. Till late Corneille from epick Lucan brought The full expression, and the Roman thought;
1 Their characters are thus distinguished by Mr. Dryden. — C. 2 About the time of Shakespear, the poet Hardy was in great repute in France. He wrote, according to Fontenelle, six hundred plays. The French poets after him applied themselves in general to the correct improvement of the stage, which was almost totally disregarded by those of our own country, Johnson excepted. — C.
8 The favourite author of the elder Corneille. — C.
There Henry's trumpets spread their loud alarms,
And laurell'd Conquest waits her hero's arms.
Here gentler Edward claims a pitying sigh,
Yet shall thy throne, unhappy infant, bring
No beam of comfort to the guilty king:
Scarce born to honours, and so soon to die!
The time shall come1 when Glo'ster's heart shall bleed,
In life's last hours, with horror of the deed:
When dreary visions shall at last present
Thy vengeful image, in the midnight tent:
Thy hand unseen the secret death shall bear,
Blunt the weak sword, and break th' oppressive spear.
Where'er we turn, by Fancy charm'd, we find
Some sweet illusion of the cheated mind.
Oft, wild of wing, she calls the soul to rove
With humbler nature, in the rural grove;
Where swains contented own the quiet scene,
And twilight fairies tread the circled green :
Drest by her hand, the woods and vallies smile,
And Spring diffusive decks th' enchanted isle.
O more than all in pow'rful genius blest,
Come, take thine empire o'er the willing breast!
Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart shall feel,
Thy songs support me, and thy morals heal!
There ev'ry thought the poet's warmth may raise,
There native music dwells in all the lays.
101-110. O blest in all that genius gives to charm,
Whose morals mend us, and whose passions warm!
Oft let my youth attend thy various page,
Where rich invention rules th' unbounded stage.
1 Tempus erit Turno, magno cum optaverit emptum Intactum Pallanta, etc.
O might some verse with happiest skill persuade
Expressive Picture to adopt thine aid,
What wondrous draughts might rise from ev'ry page,
What other Raphaels charm a distant age!
Methinks ev'n now I view some free design,
Where breathing nature lives in ev'ry line :
Chaste and subdu'd the modest lights decay,
Steal into shade, and mildly melt away.
-And see, where Anthony, in tears approv'd,
Guards the pale relicks of the chief he lov'd :
O'er the cold corse the warrior seems to bend,
Deep sunk in grief, and mourns his murther'd friend !
Still as they press, he calls on all around,
Lifts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound.
But who is he,2 whose brows exalted bear
A wrath impatient, and a fiercer air?
Awake to all that injur'd worth can feel,
On his own Rome he turns th' avenging steel.
There ev'ry scene the poet's warmth may raise,
And melting music find the softest lays.
O might the Muse with equal ease persuade
Expressive Picture to adopt thine aid,
Some pow'rful Raphael should again appear,
And Arts consenting fix their empire here.
III. Methinks ev'n now I view some fair design,
113-116. Chaste, and subdu'd, the modest colours lie,
In fair proportion to th' approving eye.
And see, where Antony lamenting stands
In fix'd distress, and spreads his pleading hands!
2 Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's Dialogues on the Odyssey. — C.
Yet shall not War's insatiate fury fall
(So heav'n ordains it) on the destin❜d wall.
See the fond mother, midst the plaintive train,
Hung on his knees, and prostrate on the plain!
Touch'd to the soul, in vain he strives to hide
The son's affection, in the Roman's pride:
O'er all the man conflicting passions rise,
Rage grasps the sword, while Pity melts the eyes.
Thus, gen'rous critic, as thy bard inspires,
The sister Arts shall nurse their drooping fires;
Each from his scenes her stores alternate bring,
Blend the fair tints, or wake the vocal string :
Those sibyl-leaves, the sport of ev'ry wind
(For poets ever were a careless kind),
By thee dispos'd, no farther toil demand,
But, just to nature, own thy forming hand.
So, spread o'er Greece, th' harmonious whole unknown,
Ev'n Homer's numbers charm'd by parts alone.
Their own Ulysses scarce had wander'd more,
By winds and waters1 cast on ev'ry shore:
When, rais'd by fate, some former Hanmer joined
Each beauteous image of the boundless mind:
And bad, like thee, his Athens ever claim
A fond alliance with the poet's name.
125-130. Till, slow-advancing o'er the tented plain,
In sable weeds, appear the kindred-train :
The frantic mother leads their wild despair,
Beats her swoln breast, and rends her silver hair.
And see, he yields ! the tears unbidden start,
And conscious nature claims th' unwilling heart! 1743.
136. Spread the fair tints, or wake the vocal string :
146. Each beauteous image of the tuneful mind;
1 In the edition of 1744, the reading is water; but as this seems like a mere typographical error, the earlier text has been followed.
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