Fields, that cool Iliffus laves, Or where Mæander's amber waves In lingering Lab'rinths creep, How do your tuneful Echos languish Mute, but to the voice of Anguish? Where each old poetic Mountain Infpiration breath'd around: Ev'ry fhade and hallow'd Fountain Murmur'd deep a folemn found: of Petrarch. The Earl of Surrey and Sir Tho. Wyatt had travelled in Italy, and formed their tafte there; Spenfer imitated the Italian writers; Milton improved on them: but this School expired foon after the Restoration, and a new one arofe on the French model, which has fubfifted ever since. Till the fad Nine in Greece's evil hour Left their Parnaffus for the Latian plains. Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant-Power, And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty fpirit loft, They fought, oh Albion! next thy fea-encircled coaft. The living Throne, the faphire-blaze, Where Angels tremble, while they gaze, He faw; but, blafted with excess of light, y Clos'd his eyes in endless night. Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car, Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear z Two Courfers of ethereal race, a With necks in thunder cloath'd, and long-refounding pace. * For the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels-And above the firmament, that was over their heads, was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a faphire-ftone.-This was the appearance of the glory of the Lord. Ezekiel i. 20, 26, 28. • Οφθαλμῶν μὲν ἄμεσε· δίδει δ ̓ ἡδειαν αοιδήν. HOMER. OD. z Meant to exprefs the stately march and founding energy of Dry den's rhimes. Haft thou cloathed his neck with thunder? Job. III. 3. III. 3. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering o'er Scatters from her pictur'd urn b Thoughts, that breathe, and words,that burn. But ah! 'tis heard no more Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit Wakes thee now? tho' he inherit b Words, that weep, and tears, that speak. Cowley. We have had in our language no other odes of the fublime kind, than that of Dryden on St. Cecilia's day: for Cowley (who had his merit) yet wanted judgement, ftyle, and harmony, for fuch a task, That of Pope is not worthy of fo great a man. Mr. Mafon indeed of late days has touched the true chords, and with a masterly hand, in fome of his Chorufes,-above all in the laft of Caractacus, Hark! heard ye not yon footstep dread? &c. Nor |