IX.

To Sir WILLIAM DAVENANT:

Upon his two firft Books of GONDIBERT, finished before his Voyage to America.

M

ETHINKS, heroic poefy, till now,

Like fome fantastic fairy-land, did fhow;
Gods, devils, nymphs, witches and giants race,
And all, but man, in man's chief work had place.
Thou, like fome worthy knight, with facred arms
Doft drive the monsters thence, and end the charms;
Inftead of those, doft men and manners plant,
The things, which that rich foil did chiefly want.
Yet even thy mortals do their gods excell,
Taught by thy Muse to fight and love fo well.
By fatal hands whilst present empires fall,
Thine from the grave past monarchies recall.
So much more thanks from human kind does merit
The poet's fury, than the zealot's fpirit.

And from the grave thou mak'st this empire rife,
Not, like fome dreadful ghoft, t'affright our eyes,
But with more luftre and triumphant state,
Than when it crown'd at proud Verona fate.
So will our God rebuild man's perish'd frame,
And raise him up much better, yet the fame [ƒ]:

So

[f] So will-yet the fame.] It is pleasant to fee how the wits catch their ideas from each other. Mr. Pope, in a letter of compliment to a friend, who had done much honour to his Essay on Man, expreffes

himfelf

So god-like poets do past things rehearse,

Not change, but heighten, nature by their verfe.
With shame, methinks, great Italy must see
Her conquerors rais'd to life again by thee.
Rais'd by fuch powerful verfe, that ancient Rome
May blush no less to see her wit o'ercome.

Some men their fancies, like their faith, derive [g],
And think all ill but that, which Rome does give.
The marks of old and catholic would find,

To the fame chair would truth and fiction bind.
Thou in those beaten paths difdain'ft to tread,
And scorn'ft to live by robbing of the dead.

Since time does all things change, thou think'st not fit.

This latter age should see all new, but wit.

Thy fancy, like a flame, its way does make,
And leave bright tracks for following pens to take.
Sure 'twas this noble boldnefs of the Muse
Did thy defire to feek new worlds [b] infuse,
And ne'er did heav'n fo much a voyage bless,
If thou canst plant but there, with like fuccefs.

himself in these words- "It is indeed the fame fyf"tem as mine, but illuftrated with a ray of your

་་

own; as they fay our natural body is the fame fill, "when it is glorified." Works, vol. ix. Letter xcvii. [g] Some men their fancies, like their faith, derive,] Thus wit, like faith, by each man is apply'd "To one small fect, and all are damn'd befide." Effay on Crit. ver. 396.

64

[b] -new worlds] This alludes to Sir William's project of a fettlement at Virginia, which, however, had no better fuccefs than the poetical project, which his friend here celebrates.

X. On

X.

On the Death of Mr. CRASH AW.

OET and Saint! to thee alone are given

POET

The two moft facred names of earth and heaven;

The hard and rareft union, which can be,

Next that of Godhead with humanity.

Long did the Muses, banish'd flaves abide,
And built vain pyramids to mortal pride;

Like Mofes thou (though fpells and charms withftand)

Haft brought them nobly home back to their Holy Land.

Ah wretched we, poets of earth! but thou

Wert, living, the fame poet, which thou'rt now.
Whilft angels fing to thee their airs divine,

And joy in an applause so great as thine,
Equal fociety with them to hold,

Thou need'ft not make new fongs, but fay the old.
And they (kind fpirits!) fhall all rejoice to see
How little less than they, exalted man may be.
Still the old heathen gods in numbers dwell,
The heavenlieft thing on earth still keeps up hell.
Nor have we yet quite purg'd the Christian land;
Still idols here, like calves at Bethei, stand.

And though Pan's death. [i] long fince all oracles broke,

Yet ftill in rhyme the fiend Apollo spoke

Nay,

[i]-Pan's death] Alluding to the famous flory in Plutarch's Dialogue concerning the flence of the pa

Nay, with the worft of heathen dotage, we
(Vain men!) the monster woman deify;
Find ftars, and tie our fates there, in a face,
And Paradife in them, by whom we loft it, place.
What different faults corrupt our Muses thus !
Wanton as girls, as old wives, fabulous!

Thy spotless Mufe, like Mary, did contain
The boundless Godhead; fhe did well difdain
That her eternal verfe employ'd should be
On a lefs fubject than eternity;

And for a facred miftrefs fcorn'd to take,

But her, whom God himself scorn'd not his spouse to make.

It (in a kind) her miracle did do;

A fruitful mother was, and virgin too.

How well (bleft fwan) did fate contrive thy death [k];

And made thee render up thy tuneful breath
In thy great mistress' arms! thou most divine
And richest offering of Loretto's fhrine!
Where, like fome holy facrifice, t'expire,
A fever burns thee, and love lights the fire.
Angels (they fay) brought the fam'd chapel there,
And bore the facred load in triumph through the air.

gan oracles, and the use made of that story by Eusebius and others; whence it became the general opinion of the learned, in our author's days, that, by the death of the GREAT PAN, was meant the crucifixion of our Saviour.

[k] Mr. Crafhaw died of a fever at Loretto, being newly chofen canon of that church.

CowLEY.

"Tis

'Tis furer much, they brought thee there; and they,
And thou, their charge, went finging all the way.
Pardon. my mother church, if I confent
That angels led him, when from thee he went ;
For even in error fure no danger is,

When join'd with fo much piety as his.

Ah, mighty God, with shame I speak't, and grief,
Ah that our greatest faults were in belief!
And our weak reafon were ev'n weaker yet,
Rather than thus our wills too ftrong for it.
His faith, perhaps, in fome nice tenets might
Be wrong; his life, I'm fure, was in the right [7].
And I myself a catholic will be,

So far at least, great faint, to pray to thee.

Hail, bard triumphant [m]! and some care bestow

On us, the poets militant below!

Oppos'd by our old enemy, adverse chance,

Attack'd by envy, and by ignorance,
Enchain'd by beauty, tortur'd by defires,

Expos'd by tyrant-love to favage beafts and fires.
Thou from low earth in nobler flames didst rise,
And, like Elija, mount alive to skies.

[] Hence the famous lines of Mr. Pope, which have given fuch fcandal to fome, and triumph to others, only because both parties have been more in hafte to apply than understand them

"For modes of faith let graceless zealots fight, "His can't be wrong, whofe life is in the right." [m] Hail, bard triumphant !] Hence the apoftrophe of Mr. Pope, but not fo happily applied, as here "Hail, bards triumphant, born in happier days!" Effay on Crit. ver. 189.

Elifha