Ilyffus laurels, though transferr'd with toil,
Droop'd their fair leaves, nor knew th' unfriendly foil.
As arts expir'd, refiftlefs Dulness rofe;

Goths, priefts, or Vandals,—all were Learning's foes. 'Till Julius firft recall'd each exil'd maid,

And Cofmo own'd them in th' Etrurian fhade:
Then deeply skill'd in love's engaging theme,
The foft Provencial pass'd to Arno's stream:
With graceful ease the wanton lyre be ftrung,
Sweet flow'd the lays but love was all he fung.
The gay description could not fail to move;
For, led by nature, all are friends to love.

But heav'n, ftill various in its works, decreed
The perfect boaft of time should laft fucceed.
The beauteous union muft appear at length,
Of Tuscan fancy, and Athenian ftrength:
One greater Mufe Eliza's reign adorn,
And ev❜n a Shakespear to her fame be born!
Yet ah! fo bright her morning's opening ray,
In vain our Britain hop'd an equal day!
No fecond growth the western ifle could bear,
At once exhaufted with too rich a year.
Too nicely Johnfon knew the critic's part;
Nature in him was almoft loft in art.

Julius II. the immediate predeceffor of Leo X.

Of

Of fofter 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 figh, and every tender tear,

The lover's wishes and the virgin's fear.
His f every strain the Smiles and Graces own;
But stronger Shakespear felt for Man alone:
Drawn by his pen, our ruder paffions stand
Th' unrival'd picture of his early hand.

With gradual steps, and flow, exacter France
Saw Art's fair empire o'er her fhores advance:
By length of toil a bright perfection knew,
Correctly bold, and just in all she drew.
'Till late Corneille, with " Lucan's spirit fir'd,
Breath'd the free ftrain, as Rome and He infpir'd:
And claffic judgment gain'd to fweet Racine
The temp❜rate strength of Maro's chafter line.

f Their characters are thus diftinguished by Dryden.

About the time of Shakespear, the poet Hardy was in great repute in France. He wrote, according to Fontenelle, fix hundred plays. The French poets after him applied themselves in general to the correct improvement of the ftage, which was almoft totally difregarded by thofe of our own country, Johnson excepted.

n The favourite author of the elder Corneille.

But

But wilder far the British laurel spread,
And wreaths lefs artful crown our poet's head.
Yet He alone to every scene could give

Th' hiftorian's truth, and bid the manners live.
Wak'd at his call I view, with glad furprize,
Majestic forms of mighty monarchs rise.
There Henry's trumpets spread their loud alarms,
And laurel'd Conqueft waits her hero's arms.
Here gentler Edward claims a pitying figh,
Scarce born to honours, and fo foon to die!
Yet fhall thy throne, unhappy infant, bring
No beam of comfort to the guilty king:

The time' fhall come, when Glo'fter's heart fhall 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 unfeen the secret death shall bear,

Blunt the weak fword, and break th' oppreffive fpear.
Where-e'er we turn, by Fancy charm'd, we find

Some sweet illufion of the cheated mind.

Oft, wild of wing, fhe calls the foul to rove
With humbler nature, in the rural grove;

i Tempus erit Turno, magno cum optaverit emptum
Intactum Pallanta, &c.

Where

Where fwains contented own the quiet scene,
And twilight fairies tread the circled green:
Drefs'd by her hand the Woods and Vallies fmile,
And Spring diffufive decks th' inchanted ifle.

O more than all in pow'rful genius bleft,

Come, take thine empire o'er the willing breast!
Whate'er the wounds this youthful heart fhall feel,
Thy songs fupport me, and thy morals heal!

There every thought the poet's warmth may raise,
There native mufic dwells in all the lays.

O might some verfe with happiest skill perfuade
Expreffive Picture to adopt thine aid!

What wond'rous draughts might rise from ev'ry page!
What other Raphaels charm a diftant age!
Methinks ev'n now I view fome free defign,
Where breathing Nature lives in every line :
Chafte and fubdu'd the modeft lights decay,
Steal into fhades, and mildly melt away.

- And fee, where * Anthony in tears approv❜d, Guards the pale relics of the chief he lov'd: O'er the cold corfe the warrior feems to bend,

Deep funk in grief, and mourns his murder'd friend! Still as they prefs, he calls on all around,

Lifts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound.

* See the tragedy of Julius Cæfar.

But

But who is he, whofe 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.
Yet fhall not War's infatiate fury fall,

(So heav'n ordains it) on the deftin'd wall.
See the fond mother 'midft the plaintive train
Hung on his knees, and proftrate on the plain!
Touch'd to the foul, in vain he strives to hide
The fon's affection, in the Roman's pride:
O'er all the man conflicting paffions rife,
Rage grafps the fword, while Pity melts the eyes.
Thus, gen'rous Critic, as thy Bard inspires,
The fifter Arts fhall nurse their drooping fires;
Each from his scenes her ftores alternate bring,
Blend the fair tints, or wake the vocal string:
Thofe Sibyl-leaves, the sport of every wind,
(For poets ever were a careless kind)

By thee difpos'd, no farther toil demand,
But, juft to Nature, own thy forming hand.

So fpread o'er Greece, th' harmonious whole unknown, Ev'n Homer's numbers charm'd by parts alone.

1 Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's dialogue on the Odyffey.