Nor other inmate shall inhabit there, Friendship's great laws, and love's superior powers, Exalted high as virtue can require; With power invested, and with pleasure cheered; oppressor feared; Loaded and blest with all the affluent store, My life subservient only to thy joy; 689 And at my death to bless thy kindness shown While thus the constant pair alternate said, Joyful above them and around them played 700 710 720 Angels and sportive loves, a numerous crowd; 722 Smiling they clapped their wings, and low they bowed: To choose propitious shafts, a precious store; The queen of beauty stopped her bridled doves; Was proud and pleased the mutual vow to hear; 740 Now, Mars, she said, let Fame exalt her voice, Nor let thy conquests only be her choice: But, when she sings great Edward from the field Returned, the hostile spear and captive shield In Concord's temple hung, and Gallia taught to yield; And when, as prudent Saturn shall complete The years designed to perfect Britain's state, The swift-winged power shall take her trump again, To sing her favourite Anna's wondrous reign; To recollect unwearied Marlborough's toils, Old Rufus' hall unequal to his spoils; The British soldier from his high command Glorious, and Gaul thrice vanquished by his hand: Let her at least perform what I desire; With second breath the vocal brass inspire; e And tell the nations, in no vulgar strain, What wars I manage, and what wreaths I gain. And, when thy tumults and thy fights are past, And when thy laurels at my feet are cast, 750 Faithful mayst thou, like British Henry, prove: Renowned for truth, let all thy sons appear; groves, And thou, she smiling said, great god of days 756 770 AN ODE, HUMBLY INSCRIBED TO THE QUEEN, ON THE GLORIOUS WRITTEN IN IMITATION OF SPENSER. 'Te non paventis funera Galliæ, Duræque tellus audit Iberia: Te cæde gaudentes Sicambri Compositis venerantur armis.' HOR. THE PREFACE. MDCCVI. WHEN I first thought of writing upon this occasion, I found the ideas so great and numerous, that I judged them more proper for the warmth of an Ode, than for any other sort of poetry. I, therefore, set Horace before me for a pattern, and particularly his famous ode, the fourth of the fourth book, 'Qualem ministrum fulminis alitem,' &c. which he wrote in praise of Drusus after his expedition into Germany, and of Augustus upon his happy choice of that general. And in the following poem, though I have endeavoured to imitate all the great strokes of that ode, I have taken the liberty to go off from it, and to add variously, as the subject and my own imagination carried me. As to the style, the choice I made of following the ode in Latin determined me in English to the stanza; and herein it was impossible not to have a mind to follow our great countryman Spenser; which I have done (as well at least as I could) in the manner of my expression, and the turn of my number; having only added one verse to his stanza, which I thought made the number more harmonious; and avoided such of his words as I found too obsolete. I have, however, retained some few of them, to make the colouring look more like Spenser's. Behest, command; band, army; prowess, strength; I weet, I know; I ween, I think; whilom, heretofore; and two or three more of that kind, which I hope the ladies will pardon me, and not judge my Muse less handsome, though for once she appears in a farthingale. I have also, in Spenser's manner, used Cesar for the emperor, Boya for Bavaria, Bavar for that prince, Ister for Danube, Iberia for Spain, etc. That noble part of the Ode which I just now mentioned, 'Gens, quæ, cremato fortis ab Ilio Jactata Tuscis æquoribus,' etc. where Horace praises the Romans as being descended from Eneas, I have turned to the honour of the British nation, descended from Brute, likewise a Trojan. That this Brute, fourth or fifth from Æneas, settled in England, and built London, which is called Troja Nova, or Troynovante, is a story which (I think) owes its original, if not to Geoffry of Monmouth, at least to the Monkish writers; yet it is not rejected by our great Camden; and is told by Milton, as if (at least) he was pleased with it; though possibly he does not believe it. However, it carries a poetical authority, which is sufficient for our purpose. It is as certain that Brute came into England, as that Eneas went into Italy; and upon the supposition of these facts, Virgil wrote the best poem that the world ever read, and Spenser paid Queen Elizabeth the greatest compliment. I need not obviate one piece of criticism, that I bring my hero whereas he was not born when that city was destroyed. Virgil, in the case of his own Æneas relating to Dido, will stand as a sufficient proof, that a man in his poetical capacity is not accountable for a little fault in chronology. My two great examples, Horace and Spenser, in many things resemble each other. Both have a height of imagination, and a majesty of expression in describing the sublime; and both know to temper those talents, and sweeten 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 curiosa felicitas in the choice of their diction, which every writer aims at, and so very few have reached. Both are particularly fine in their images, and knowing in their numbers. Leaving therefore our two masters to the consideration and study of those who design to excel in poetry, I only beg leave to add, that it is long since I have (or at least ought to have) quitted Parnassus, and all the flowery roads on that side the country; though I thought myself indispensably obliged, upon the present occasion, to take a little journey into those parts. AN ODE. 1 WHEN great Augustus governed ancient Rome, 2 3 High as their trumpets' tune his lyre he strung, And with his prince's arms he moralized his song. When bright Eliza ruled Britannia's state, But, greatest Anna! while thy arms pursue Paths of renown, and climb ascents of fame, Which nor Augustus, nor Eliza knew; What poet shall be found to sing thy name? What numbers shall record, what tongue shall say, Thy wars on land, thy triumphs on the main ? O fairest model of imperial sway! What equal pen shall write thy wondrous reign ? Who shall attempts and feats of arms rehearse, Not yet by story told, nor paralleled by verse? |