The glittering emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,

And such a polish as disgraces art;

But fate dispos'd them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a court.

ON BENTLEY'S MILTON.

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.

While he but sought his author's fame to further,
The murderous critic has aveng'd thy murther.

LINES.

ALL hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade, Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours! Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,

And gently press'd my hand, and said, Be ours. Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:

At court thou mayst be lik'd, but nothing gain; Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but always lose;

And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.

TO ERINNA.1

THOUGH sprightly Sappho force our love and praise, A softer wonder my pleas'd soul surveys,

The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays.

So, while the sun's broad beam yet strikes the sight, All mild appears the moon's more sober light; Serene, in virgin majesty she shines,

And, unobserv'd, the glaring sun declines.

ADRIANI MORIENTIS AD ANIMAM,

TRANSLATED.

Ан, fleeting spirit! wandering fire,

That long hast warm'd my tender breast,
Must thou no more this frame inspire;
No more a pleasing cheerful guest?
Whither, ah whither art thou flying,

To what dark undiscover'd shore?
Thou seem'st all trembling, shivering, dying,
And wit and humour are no more!

1 See Memoir prefixed to these volumes, p. lxx.

A DIALOGUE.

SINCE MY

POPE.

old friend is grown so great,

As to be Minister of State,

I'm told, but 'tis not true I hope,
That Craggs will be asham'd of Pope.

CRAGGS.

Alas! if I am such a creature,

Το grow the worse for growing greater;
Why, faith, in spite of all my brags,
'Tis Pope must be asham'd of Craggs.

ODE TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN,

THE MAN MOUNTAIN,' BY TITTY TIT, POET LAUREATE TO

HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT.

INTO ENGLISH.

TRANSLATED

IN amaze
Lost I gaze!

Can our eyes
Reach thy size!

May my lays

Swell with praise,

1 This Ode, and the three following pieces, were produced

by Pope on reading Gulliver's Travels.

Worthy thee!
Worthy me!
Muse, inspire
All thy fire!
Bards of old

Of him told,

When they said

Atlas' head

Propp'd the skies:

See! and believe your eyes! See him stride

Valleys wide,
Over woods,

Over floods!

When he treads,
Mountains' heads

Groan and shake:

Armies quake;

Lest his spurn
Overturn

Man and steed:

Troops, take heed!

Left and right,

Speed your flight!

Lest an host

Beneath his foot be lost!

Turn'd aside

From his hide

Safe from wound,

Darts rebound.

From his nose

Clouds he blows:
When he speaks,
Thunder breaks !

When he eats,

Famine threats!

When he drinks,

Neptune shrinks!

Nigh thy ear

In mid air,

On thy hand

Let me stand;

So shall I,

Lofty poet! touch the sky.

THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH

FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG.

A PASTORAL.

Soon as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care,
She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair;
No British miss sincerer grief has known,
Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown.
She furl'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread,
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then spread her hands, and with a bounce lat fall
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.