Fair Nymphs and well-drest Youths around her shone,
But every eye was fix'd on her alone.

On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore,
Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore.
Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
Quick as her eyes, and as unfix'd as those.
Favors to none, to all she smiles extends;
Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike
And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride,
Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide;
If to her share some female errors fall,

Look on her face, and you'll forget them all.

This Nymph, to the destruction of mankind,
Nourish'd two Locks, which graceful hung behind
In equal curls, and well conspired to deck,
With shining ringlets, the smooth ivory neck.
Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,
And mighty hearts are held in slender chains.
With hairy springes we the birds betray;
Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey;
Fair tresses man's imperial race ensnare,
And beauty draws us with a single hair.

Rape of the Lock, 11. 1.

THE BARON OFFERS SACRIFICE FOR SUCCESS.

The adventurous Baron the bright locks admired;
He saw, he wish'd, and to the prize aspired.
Resolved to win, he meditates the way,
By force to ravish, or by fraud betray;
For when success a lover's toil attends,
Few ask if fraud or force attain his ends.

For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implored
Propitious Heaven, and every power adored;
But chiefly Love-to Love an altar built,
Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly gilt.
There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves,
And all the trophies of his former loves;
With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre,

And breathes three amorous sighs to raise the fire.
Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes
Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize;

The powers gave ear, and granted half his prayer,
The rest the winds dispersed in empty air.

Rape of the Lock, il. 29.

THE SYLPHS-THEIR FUNCTIONS AND EMPLOYMENTS.

Some to the sun their insect wings unfold,
Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold;
Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight,
Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light,
Loose to the wind their airy garments flew,
Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew,

Dipp'd in the richest tincture of the skies,

Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes;
While every beam new transient colors flings.
Colors that change whene'er they wave their wings
Amid the circle on the gilded mast,

Superior by the head was Ariel placed;
His purple pinions opening to the sun,
He raised his azure wand, and thus begun :—
Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear!
Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Demons, hear!
Ye know the spheres, and various tasks assign'd
By laws eternal to the aërial kind.

Some in the fields of purest ether play,
And bask and whiten in the blaze of day;
Some guide the course of wandering orbs on high,
Or roll the planets through the boundless sky:
Some, less refined, beneath the moon's pale light
Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night,
Or suck the mists in grosser air below,
Or dip their pinions in the painted bow,
Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main,
Or o'er the glebe distil the kindly rain.
Others on earth o'er human race preside,
Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide:
Of these the chief the care of nations own,
And guard with arms divine the British Throne.

Our humbler province is to tend the Fair,
Not a less pleasing, though less glorious care;
To save the powder from too rude a gale,
Nor let th' imprison'd essences exhale;

To draw fresh colors from the vernal flowers;

To steal from rainbows, ere they drop in showers,
A brighter wash; to curl their waving hairs,
Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs;
Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow,
To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelow.1

This day, black omens threat the brightest Fair
That e'er deserved a watchful spirit's care;

Some dire disaster, or by force or slight;

But what, or where, the fates have wrapp'd in night.
Whether the Nymph shall break Diana's law,

Or some frail China-jar receive a flaw,

Or stain her honor, or her new brocade,

Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade;

Or lose her heart or necklace at a ball;

Or whether Heaven has doom'd that Shock must fall.
Haste, then, ye spirits! to your charge repair:

The fluttering fan be Zephyretta's care;

The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign;

And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine;

1 "The seeming importance given to every part of female dress, each of which is committed to the care and protection of a different sylph, with all the solemnity of a general appointing the several posts in his army, renders this whole passage admirable, on account of its politeness, poignancy, and poetry."-Warton. 2 Her lapdog.

Do thou, Crispissa, tend her favorite Lock;
Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock.

To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special note,
We trust the important charge, the Petticoat:
Oft have we known that sevenfold fence to fail,

Though stiff with hoops, and arm'd with ribs of whale.
Form a strong line about the silver bound,
And guard the wide circumference around.
Whatever spirit, careless of his charge,
His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large,
Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o'ertake his sins,
Be stopp'd in vials, or transfix'd with pins;
Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie,
Or wedged, whole ages, in a bodkin's eye:
Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain,
While clogg'd he beats his silken wings in vain;
Or alum styptics with contracting power
Shrink his thin essence like a rivell'd flower:
Or, as Ixion fix'd, the wretch shall feel
The giddy motion of the whirling mill;
In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow,
And tremble at the sea that froths below!!
He spoke; the spirits from the sails descend:
Some, orb in orb, around the Nymph extend;
Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair,
Some hang upon the pendants of her ear:
With beating hearts the dire event they wait,
Anxious, and trembling for the birth of Fate.

Rape of the Lock, 11. 59.

THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL.

Vital spark of heavenly flame!
Quit, oh quit, this mortal frame!
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying—
Oh the pain, the bliss of dying!
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life!

Hark! they whisper; Angels say,
Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight?
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death?

The world recedes; it disappears!
Heaven opens on my eyes! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring:

Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly!
Oh Grave! where is thy Victory?

Oh Death! where is thy Sting?

1 "Our poet still rises in the delicacy of his satire, where he employs, with the utmost judgment and elegance, all the implements and furniture of the toilet as instruments of punishment to those spirits who shall be careless of their charge:-of punishment such as sylphs alone could undergo."Warton.

It is to be regretted that the prose works cf Pope are so few, for what he has left us are remarkable for great purity and correctness of style, clearness of conception, and soundness of judgment. The chief of them are his Letters, which are among the best specimens of epistolary writing; a Preface to the Iliad; a Postscript to the Odyssey; a Preface to Shakspeare; and Prefaces to his Pastorals and collected works.

LETTER TO STEELE, UPON EARLY DEATH.

You formerly observed to me, that nothing made a more ridiculous figure in a man's life than the disparity we often find in him, sick and well. Thus, one of an unfortunate constitution is perpetually exhibiting a miserable example of the weakness of his mind and of his body, in their turns. I have had frequent oppor tunities of late to consider myself in these different views, and, I hope, have received some advantage by it, if what Waller says be true, that

The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd,

Lets in new light through chinks that time has made.

Then surely sickness, contributing, no less than old age, to the shaking down this scaffolding of the body, may discover the inward structure more plainly. Sickness is a sort of early old age; it teaches us a diffidence in our earthly state, and inspires us with thoughts of a future, better than a thousand volumes of philoso phers and divines. It gives so warning a concussion to those props of our vanity, our strength and youth, that we think of for tifying ourselves within, when there is so little dependence upon our outworks. Youth, at the very best, is but a betrayer of human life in a gentler and smoother manner than age: 'tis like a stream that nourishes a plant upon a bank, and causes it to flourish and blossom to the sight, but at the same time is undermining it at the root in secret. My youth has dealt more fairly and openly with me; it has afforded several prospects of my danger, and given me an advantage, not very common to young men, that the attractions of the world have not dazzled me very much; and I begin, where most people end, with a full conviction of the emptiness of all sorts of ambition, and the unsatisfactory nature of all human pleasures, when a smart fit of sickness tells me this scurvy tenement of my body will fall in a little time; I am even as unconcerned as was that honest Hibernian, who, being in bed in the great storm some years ago, and told the house would tumble over his head, made answer, "What care I for the house? I am only a lodger." When I reflect what an inconsiderable little atom every single man is, with respect to the whole creation, methinks 'tis a shame to be concerned at the removal of such a trivial animal as I am. The norning after my exit, the sun will rise as bright as ever, the

flowers smell as sweet, the plants spring as green, the world will proceed in its old course, people will laugh as heartily and marry as fast as they were used to do. The memory of man (as it is elegantly expressed in the Book of Wisdom) passeth away as the remembrance of a guest that tarrieth but one day. There are reasons enough, in the fourth chapter of the same book, to make any young man contented with the prospect of death. "For honorable age is not that which standeth in length of time, or is measured by number of years. But wisdom is gray hair to men, and an unspotted life is old age. He was taken away speedily, lest wickedness should alter his understanding, or deceit beguile

his soul."

July 15, 1712.

SHAKSPEARE.

If ever any author deserved the name of an original, it was Shakspeare. Homer himself drew not his art so immediately from the fountains of Nature; it proceeded through Egyptian strainers and channels, and came to him not without some tincture of the learning, or some cast of the models, of those before him. The poetry of Shakspeare was inspiration indeed: he is not so much an imitator, as an instrument, of Nature; and it is not so just to say that he speaks from her, as that she speaks through him.

His characters are so much Nature1 herself, that it is a sort of injury to call them by so distant a name as copies of her. Those of other poets have a constant resemblance, which shows that they received them from one another, and were but multipliers of the same image; each picture, like a mock-rainbow, is but the reflection of a reflection. But every single character in Shakspeare is as much an individual as those in life itself: it is as impossible to find any two alike; and such as from their relation or affinity in any respect appear most to be twins, will, upon comparison, be found remarkably distinct. To this life and variety of character we must add the wonderful preservation of it; which is such throughout his plays, that had all the speeches been printed without the very names of the persons, I believe one might have applied them with certainty to every speaker.

Yet all

The power over our passions was never possessed in a more eminent degree, or displayed in so different instances. along there is seen no labor, no pains to raise them; no preparation to guide or guess to the effect, or be perceived to lead toward it: but the heart swells, and the tears burst out, just at the proper places: we are surprised at the moment we weep; and yet, upon

1 See Mrs. Montagu's ingenious Essay on Shakspeare, and her confutations of Voltaire's criticisms.