As arts expir'd, refiftless Dulnefs rofe;
Goths, priests, or Vandals,—all were Learning's foes.
Tille Julius first 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 eafe the wanton lyre he 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 boast of time should last fucceed.
The beauteous union must appear at length,
Of Tuscan fancy, and Athenian ftrength:
One greater Muse Eliza's reign adorn,
And ev❜n a Shakespear to her fame be born!

Yet ah! fo bright her morning's op'ning 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 Johnson knew the critic's part;
Nature in him was almoft loft in art.
Of fofter mold the gentle Fletcher came,
The next in order, as the next in name.

With pleas'd attention 'midft his fcenes we find
Each glowing thought, that warms the female mind;

Julius II. the immediate predeceffor of Leo X. ́

Each

Each melting figh, and ev'ry tender tear,
The lover's wishes and the virgin's fear.
His f ev'ry strain the Smiles and Graces own;
But ftronger Shakespear felt for Man alone:
Drawn by his pen, our ruder passions stand
Th' unrival'd picture of his early hand.

g With gradual fteps, and flow, exacter France
Saw Art's fair empire o'er her fshores advance :
By length of toil a bright perfection knew,
Correctly bold, and juft in all fhe drew.

Till late Corneille, with h Lucan's fpirit fir'd,
Breath'd the free ftrain, as Rome and He infpir'd:
And claffic judgment gain'd to fweet Racine
The temp'rate ftrength of Maro's chafter line.
But wilder far the British laurel spread,
And wreaths lefs artful crown our poet's head.
Yet He alone to ev'ry 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 rife.

Their characters are thus diftinguished by Mr. 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 themfelves in general to the correct improvement of the flage, which was almost totally difregarded by thofe of our own country, Johnfon excepted.

The favourite author of the elder Corneille.

'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 i time fhall come, when Glo'fter's heart fhall bleed
In life's laft hours, with horror of the deed:
When dreary vifions 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'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;
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 fongs fupport me, and thy morals heal!

iTempus erit Turno, magno cum optaverit emptum
Intactum pallanta, &c.

There

There ev'ry thought the poet's warmth may raise,
There native mufick 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 design,
Where breathing Nature lives in ev'ry line:
Chafte and fubdu'd the modeft lights decay,
Steal into fhades, and mildly melt away.

And fee, where k Anthony in tears approv'd,
Guards the pale relicks 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.
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 shall not War's infatiate fury fall,

(So heav'n ordains it) on the deftin'd wall.
See the fond mother 'midst the plaintive train

Hung on his knees, and proftrate on the plain!

k See the tragedy of Julius Cæfar.

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

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 rise,

Rage grafps the fword, while Pity melts the eyes.
Thus, gen'rous Critick, as thy Bard inspires,
The fifter Arts fhall nurfe their drooping fires;
Each from his fcenes her ftores 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 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.
Their own Ulyffes fcarce had wander'd more,
By winds and water caft on ev'ry shore:
When rais'd by Fate, fome former HANMER join'd
Each beauteous image of the boundless mind:
And bade, like thee, his Athens ever claim
A fond alliance with the Poet's name.

A SONG