In ev'ry Town, where Thamis rolls his Tyde, A narrow pass there is, with Houses low; Where ever and anon, the Stream is ey'd, And many a Boat soft sliding to and fro....
1 Generous, gay, and gallant nation, Bold in arms, and bright in arts; Land secure from all invasion, All but Cupid's gentle darts! From your charms, oh! who would run? Who would leave you for the sun?...
Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends. Let Crowds and Critics now my verse assail, Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:...
Muse, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends, Let crowds of critics now my verse assail, Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:...
Descend ye Nine! descend and sing; The breathing instruments inspire, Wake into voice each silent string, And sweep the sounding lyre! In a sadly-pleasing strain...
Come gentle Air! th' AEolian shepherd said, While Procris panted in the secret shade: Come, gentle Air, the fairer Delia cries, While at her feet her swain expiring lies....
Did Milton's prose, O Charles! thy death defend? A furious foe unconscious proves a friend. On Milton's verse did Bentley comment? Know, A weak officious friend becomes a foe....
Thou who shalt stop, where Thames' translucent wave Shines a broad mirror through the shadowy cave; Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distil, And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill,...
So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song, As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus along: But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride, That the beasts must have starved, and the poet have died.
Authors the world and their dull brains have traced To fix the ground where Paradise was placed; Mind not their learned whims and idle talk; Here, here's the place where these bright angels walk.
Thou art my God, sole object of my love; Not for the hope of endless joys above; Nor for the fear of endless pains below, Which they who love thee not must undergo. ...
Grown old in rhyme, 'twere barbarous to discard Your persevering, unexhausted bard; Damnation follows death in other men, But your damn'd poet lives and writes again....
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:...
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art, To raise the genius, and to mend the heart; To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold, Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:...