are thofe which were added to enliven the ftillnefs of the scene, the appearance of Father Thames, and the transformation of Lodona. Addifon had in his Campaign derided the Rivers that rife from their oozy beds to tell ftories of heroes, and it is therefore ftrange that Pope fhould adopt a fiction not only unnatural but lately cenfured. The ftory of Lodona is told with fweetnefs; but a new metamorphofis is a ready and puerile expedient; nothing is easier than to tell how a flower was once a blooming virgin, or a rock an obdurate tyrant.

The Temple of Fame has, as Steele warmly declared, a thousand beauties. Every part is fplendid; there is great luxuriance of ornaments; the original vision of Chaucer was never denied to be much improved;. the allegory is very skillfully continued, the imagery is properly felected, and learnedly difplayed: yet, with all this comprehenfion of excellence, as its fcene is laid in remote ages, and its fentiments, if the concluding paragraph be excepted, have little relation to general manners or common life, it never obtained much notice, but is turned filently over, and seldom quoted or mentioned with either praise or blame.

That the Meffiah excels the Pollio is no great praife, if it be confidered from what original the improvements are derived.

The Verfes on the unfortunate Lady have drawn much attention by the illaudable fingularity of treating fuicide with refpect; and they must be allowed to be written in fome parts with vigorous animation, and in others with gentle tenderness; nor has Pope produced any poem in which the sense predominates more over the diction. But the tale is not skillfully told; it is

3

not

nnot eafy to discover the character of either the Lady or her Guardian. Hiftory relates that the was about to difparage herself by a marriage with an inferior; Pope praises her for the dignity of ambition, and yet condemns the unkle to deteftation for his pride; the ambitious love of a niece may be oppofed by the intereft, malice, or envy of an unkle, but never by his pride. On fuch an occafion a poet may be allowed to be obfcure, but inconfiftency never can be right *.

The Ode for St. Cecilia's Day was undertaken at the defire of Steele: in this the author is generally confeffed to have mifcarried, yet he has mifcarried only as compared with Dryden; for he has far outgone other competitors. Dryden's plan is better chofen ;

history

*The account hereinbefore given of this lady and her catastro phe, cited by Johnfon from Ruff head with a kind of acquiefcence in the truth thereof, feems no other than might have been extracted from the verses themselves. I have in my poffeffion a letter to Dr. Johnfon, containing the name of the lady, and a reference to a gen tleman well known in the literary world for her history. Him I have seen; and, from a memorandum of fome particulars to the purpofe communicated to him by a lady of quality, he informs me, that the unfortunate lady's name was Withinbury, corruptly pronounced Winbury; that he was in love with Pope, and would have married him; that her guardian, though she was deformed in her perion, looking upon fuch a match as beneath her, sent her to a convent, and that a noose and not a sword put an end to her life.

This ode was fet to mufic by Mr. Maurice Green, organist of St. Paul's, as an exercise for his doctor's degree, which he took at Cambridge in 1730. Mr. Pope, to anfwer Greene's purpote, condescended to make confiderable alterations in it, and at his request to add to it an entire new stanza, viz. the third. The Ode, with the mufic, may be feen in iny History of Mufic; and I here give the words as a literary curiofity.

history will always take stronger hold of the attention than fable: the paffions excited by Dryden are the pleafures

ODE for St. CECILIA'S DAY:

As altered by Mr. Por for Dr. GREENE.

I.

Defccnd ye Nine! defcend and fing;
The breathing instruments inspire;
Wake into voice each filent string,
And sweep the founding lyre!
In a fadly-pleafing strain

Let the warbling lute complain:

In more lengthen'd notes and flow,
The deep, majeftic, folemn organs blow.
Hark! the numbers foft and clear,
Gently steal upon the ear:

Now louder they found,

'Till the roofs all around

The fhrill echoes rebound:
'Till, by degrees, remote and small,
The ftrains decay,

And melt away,

In a dying, dying fall.

II.

By mufic minds an equal temper know,

Nor fwell too high, nor fink too low.
If in the breaft tumultuous joys arife,
Mufic her foft, affuafive voice applies;

Or when the foul is funk in cares,
Exalts her with enlivening airs.
Warriors fhe fires by fprightly founds;
Pours balm into the lover's wounds:

Paffions no more the foul engage,

Ev'n factions hear away their rage.

III.

Amphion thus bade wild diffenfion ceafe,

And foften'd mortals learn'd the arts of peace.

Amphion taught contending kings,

From

pleasures and pains of real life, the scene of Pope is laid in imaginary exiftence; Pope is read with calm acqui

From various difcords to create

The mufic of a well-tun'd state;
Nor flack nor ftrain the tender strings,
Those useful touches to impart,

That strike the subject's answering heart,

And the foft filent harmony that springs
From facred union and consent of things.

IV.

But when our country's cause provokes to arms,
How martial music every bofom warms!

When the first vessel dar'd the feas,

The Thracian rais'd his strain,

And Argo faw her kindred trees
Defcend from Pelion to the main.
Transported demi-goods flood round,
And men grew heroes at the found,
Inflam'd with glory's charms!
Each chief his fey'nfold fhield difplay'd,
And half unfheath'd the fhining blade:
And feas, and rocks, and fkies rebound,
To arms, to arms, to arms!

ง.

But when thro' all th' infernal bounds,
Which flaming Phlegeton surrounds,
Sad Orpheus fought his confort loft:

The adamantine gates were barr'd,

And nought was feen and nought was heard
Around the dreary coaft;

Fatt

acquiefcence, Dryden with turbulent delight; Pope hangs upon the ear, and Dryden finds the paffes of

the mind.

Both the odes want the effential conftituent of metrical compofitions, the ftated recurrence of fettled numbers. It may be alleged, that Pindar is faid by Horace to have written numeris lege folutis: but as no

But hark! he strikes the golden lyre;
And fee! the tortur'd ghofts refpire,
See, fhady forms advance!

And the pale spectres dance!

The Furies fink upon their iron beds,

And fnakes uncurl'd hang lift'ning round their heads.