HOU Child of Nature, Genius ftrong,
Thou Master of the Poet's Song,
Before whofe Light, Art's dim and feeble Ray
Gleams like the Taper in the Blaze of Day:
Thou lov'ft to steal along the fecret Shade,
Where Fancy, bright aërial Maid!
Awaits thee with her thousand Charms,
And revels in thy wanton Arms.
She to thy Bed, in Days of Yore,
The fweetly-warbling Shakespeare bore;
Whom every Mufe endow'd with every Skill,
And dipt him in that facred Rill,
Whofe filver Streams flow mufical along,
Where Phoebus' hallow'd Mount refounds with raptur'd Song.
Forfake not Thou the vocal Choir,
Their Breasts revifit with thy genial Fire,
Elle vain the studied Sounds of mimic Art,
Tickle the Ear, but come not nigh the Heart.
Vain every Phrafe in curious Order fet,
On each Side leaning on the [ftop-gap] Epithet.
Vain the quick Rime ftill tinckling in the Clofe,
While pure Description fhines in meafur'd Profe.
Thou bear'ft a-loof, and look'ft with high Difdain,
Upon the dull mechanic Train;
Whofe nerveless Strains flag on in languid Tone,
Lifelefs and lumpish as the Bag-pipe's drowzy Drone.
No longer now thy Altars blaze,
No Poet offers up his Lays;
Infpir'd with Energy divine,
To worship at thy facred Shrine.
Since TASTE * with abfolute Domain,
Extending wide her leaden Reign,
Kills with her melancholy Shade,
The blooming Scyons of fair Fancy's Tree;
Which erft full wantonly have ftray'd,
In many a Wreath of richest Poefie.
For when the Oak denies her Stay,
The creeping Ivy winds her humble Way;
No more fhe twifts her Branches round,
But drags her feeble Stem along the barren Ground,
IV.
Where then shall exil'd Genius go?
Since only thofe the Laurel claim,
And boaft them of the Poet's Name,
Whose fober Rimes in even Tenour flow;
Who prey on Words, and all their Flowrets cull,
Coldly correct, and regularly dull.
Why fleep the Sons of Genius now?
Why Wartons refts the Lyre unftrung?
And thou, bleft Bard! around whofe facred
Great Pindar's delegated Wreath is hung;
Arife, and fnatch the Majefty of Song,
From Dullness' fervile Tribe, and Arts unhallow'd
Throng.
By TASTE, is here meant the modern Affectation of it.
The fpirited and truly poetical Dr. Akenfide,
UCH is our Pride, our Folly, or our Fate,
That few, but fuch who cannot write, tranf
late.'
So Denham fung, who well the Labour knew;
And an Age past has left the Maxim true.
Wit as of old, a proud imperious Lord,
Difdains the Plenty of another's Board;
And haughty Genius feeks, like Philip's Son,
Paths never trod before, and Worlds unknown.
Unaw'd by thefe, whilft Hands impure difpenfe
The facred Streams of ancient Eloquence,
Pedants affum the Tafk for Scolars fit,
And Blockheads rife Interpreters of Wit.
In the fair Field th vet'ran Armies stand,
A firm, unconquer'd, formidable Band,
When lo! Tranflation comes and levels all;
By vulgar Hands the braveft Heroes fall.
On Eagle's Wings fee lofty Pindar foar ;
Cowley attacks, and Pindar is no more.
LINE 18. Cowley attacks, &c. Nothing can be more contemptible than the Tranflations and Imitations of Pindar done by Cowley, which yet have had their Admirers.
O'er Tibur's Swan the Mufes wept in vain,
And mourn'd their Bard by cruel Dunfter flain.
By Ogilby and Trap great Maro fell,
And Homer dy'd by Chapman and Ozell.
In bleft Arabia's Plains unfading blow
Flow'rs ever fragrant, Fruits immortal grow.
To Northern Climes th' unwilling Guefts convey, 25
The Fruit fhall wither, and the Flow'r decay;
Ev'n fo when here the Sweets of Athens come,
Or the fair Produce of imperial Rome,
They pine and ficken in th’unfriendly Shade,
Their Rofes droop, and all their Laurels fade.
The modern Critic, whofe unletter'd Pride,
Big with itself, contemns the World befide,
If haply told that Terence once could charm,
Each feeling Heart that Sophocles cou'd warm,
Scours ev'ry Stall for Eachard's dirty Page,
Or pores in Adams for th' Athenian Stage;
With Joy he reads the fervile Mimics o'er,
Pleas'd to discover what he guefs'd before;
LINE 20. See Horace's Epiftles, Satires, and Art
of Poetry, done into English by S. Dunfter, D. D.
Prebendary of Sarum.
See their Translations of Homer
LINE 31. The modern Critic, &c. Les belles
traductions (fays Boileau) font des preuves fans re-
plique en faveur des anciens, qu'on leur donne les
Racines pout interpretes, & ils fcauront plaire au-
jourdhui comme autrefois. Certain it is, that the
Contempt, in which the Ancients are held by the
illiterate Wits of the prefent Age, is in a great
Measure owing to the Number of bad Translations.
LINE 36. See Adams's Profe Tranflation of So-
phocles.
Concludes that Attic Wit's extremely low;
And gives up Greece to Wottom and Perrault.
Our fhallow Language, fhallow'r Judges fay,
Can ne'er the Force of ancient Sense convey,
As well might Vanbrugh ev'ry Stone revile
That fwells enormous Blenheim's awkward Pile
;
The guiltless Pen as well might Mauro blame, 45
For writing ill, and fullying Arthur's Fame;
Succefslefs Lovers blaft the Maid they woo'd,
As these a Tongue they never understood;
That Tongue which gave immortal Shakespeare Fame,
Which boasts a Prior's, and a Thomson's Name; 50
Graceful and chafte which flows in Addifon,
With native Charms, and Vigour all its own;
In Bolinbroke and Swift, whofe Beauties shine,
In Rowe's foft Numbers, Jonfon's nervous Line,
Dryden's free Vein, and Milton's Work divine.
But, fuch, alas! difdain to borrow Fame,
Or live like Dulness in another's Name;.
And hence the Task for nobleft Souls defign'd,
Giv'n to the Weak, the Tastelefs, and the Blind;
To fome low Wretch, who, prostitute for Pay,
Lets out to Curll the Labours of the Day,
Careless who hurries o'er th' unblotted Line,
Impatient ftill to finish, and to dine
LINE 39. Extremely low. A favourite Coffeehouse Phrafe.
Wotton and Perrault. See Wotton's Difcourfe on ancient and modern Learning, and Perrault's Defence of his Siecle de Louis XIV.
LINE 46. Arthur's Fame. See Blackmore's King Arthur, an Heroic Poem.
LINE 60. To Curll, &c. Most of the bad Translations, which we have of eminent Authors, were done by Garetteers under the Inspection of this Gentleman, who paid them by the Sheet for their hafty Performances.
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