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Nor is it for my solitude unfit,

And with strict discipline instructed right, For I am with my friend alone,

Have learned to use your arms before you fight. As if we were but one;

But since the press, the pulpit, and the stage, 'Tis the polluted love that multiplies,

Conspire to censure and expose our age, But friendship does two souls in one comprise. Provok'd too far, we resolutely must,

To the few virtues that we have, be just, Here in a full and constant tide doth flow

For who have longed, or who have laboured more All blessings men can hope to know;

To search the treasures of the Roman store; Here in a deep recess of thought we find

Or dig in Grecian mines for purer ore? ... Pleasures which entertain and which exalt the

The first great work (a task perform’d by few) mind,

Is, that yourself may to yourself be true: Pleasures which do from friendship and from No mask, no tricks, no favour, no reserve; knowledge rise,

Dissect your mind, examine every nerve. Which make us happy, as they make us wise;

Whoever vainly on his strength depends, Here may I always on this downy grass

Begins like Virgil, but like Mævius ends. Unknown, unseen, my easy minutes pass:

That wretch (in spite of his forgotten rhymes), Till with a gentle force victorious death

Condemned to live to all succeeding times, My solitude invade,

With pompous nonsense and a bellowing sound And, stopping for a while my breath,

Sung lofty Ilium trembling to the ground,
With ease convey me to a better shade.

And (if my Muse can through past ages see),
That noisy, nauseous, gaping fool was he;

Exploded, when with universal scorn, IMITATION OF THE TWENTY-SECOND The mountain labour'd and a mouse was born.

. . Each poet with a different talent writes, ODE OF FIRST BOOK OF HORACE.

One praises, one instructs, another bites. Virtue (dear friend) needs no defence,

Horace did ne'er aspire to epic bays, No arms but its own innocence:

Nor lofty Maro stoop to lyric lays. Quivers and bows, and poison'd darts, Examine how your humour is inclin'd, Are only used by guilty hearts.

And which the ruling passion of your mind;

Then seek a poet who your way does bend, An honest mind safely alone

And choose an author as you choose a friend. May travel through the burning zone;

United by this sympathetic bond, Or through the deepest Scythian snows,

You grow familiar, intimate, and fond; Or where the fam'd Hydaspes flows.

Your thoughts, your words, your styles, your souls While, ruled by a resistless fire,

agree, Our great Orinda I admire.

No longer his interpreter, but he ... The hungry wolves, that see me stray,

Immodest words admit of no defence; Unarm’d and single, run away.

For want of decency is want of sense.

Yet ’tis not all to have a subject good, Set me in the remotest place

It must delight as when 'tis understood. That ever Neptune did embrace;

He that brings fulsome objects to my view When there her image fills my breast,

(As many old have done and many new), Helicon is not half so blest.

With nauseous images my fancy fills, Leave me upon some Libyan plain,

And all goes down like oxymel of squills. So she my fancy entertain,

On sure foundations let your fabric rise, And when the thirsty monsters meet

And with attractive majesty surprise, They'll all pay homage to my feet.

Not by affected meretricious arts,

But strict harmonious symmetry of parts; The magic of Orinda's name,

Which through the whole insensibly must pass, Not only can their fierceness tame,

With vital heat to animate the mass. But, if that mighty word I once rehearse, Pride (of all others the most dangerous fault) They seem submissively to war in verse. Proceeds from want of sense or want of thought.

The men who labour and digest things most,

Will be much apter to despond than boast; ESSAY ON TRANSLATED VERSE.

For if your author be profoundly good,

'Twill cost you dear before he's understood. Happy that author, whose correct essay

How many ages since has Virgil writ! Repairs so well our old Horatian way:

How few there are who understand him yet! And happy you, who (by propitious fate)

... Words in one language elegantly us’d, On great Apollo's sacred standard wait,

Will hardly in another be excus'd.

And some that Rome admir'd in Cæsar's time,
May neither suit our genius nor our clime.
The genuine sense, intelligibly told,
Shows a translator both discreet and bold.

I pity from my soul, unhappy men,
Compell’d by want to prostitute their pen;
Who must, like lawyers, either starve or plead,
And follow, right or wrong, where guineas lead!
But you, Pompilian, wealthy, pamper'd heirs,
Who to your country owe your swords and cares,
Let no vain hope your easy mind seduce,
For rich ill poets are without excuse.

Of many faults rhyme is perhaps the cause;
Too strict to rhyme we slight more useful laws,
For that, in Greece or Rome, was never known,
Till by barbarian deluges o'erflown:
Subdued, undone, they did at last obey,
And change their own for their invaders' way.

.. Oh may I live to hail the glorious day,
And sing loud paans through the crowded way,
When in triumphant state the British Muse,
True to herself, shall barbarous aid refuse,
And in the Roman majesty appear,
Which none know better, and none come so near.

THE HON. ROBERT BOYLE.

BORN 1626 – DIED 1691.

[Robert Boyle, “a most distinguished philo- | where he spent his time in reading Italian sopher and chemist, and an exceedingly good history and acquiring the language. After a man,” was seventh son of Richard, "the great sight of Rome he and his brother visited Earl of Cork," and brother of Roger Boyle, several other places, and in May, 1642, they Earl of Orrery, of whom we have already reached Marseilles. Here they had letters spoken. He was born at Lismore, in the south from their father, telling of the outbreak of of Ireland, on the 25th January, 1626, and the Irish rebellion, and saying how hard put was early committed to the care of a country i to he had been to procure the £250 he sent nurse, with instructions to bring him up as to carry them home.

The money never hardy as if he had been her own son. When reached their hands, and they were forced to about three years old he lost his mother, and accompany their tutor to Geneva, where, after shortly after had a narrow escape from being a time, some money was raised on jewels, by drowned. A little later, while in his fourth means of which they continued their journey year, he was sent to Eton, and placed in charge to England. When they arrived in 1644 they of the provost, Sir Henry Wootton, an old found their father dead. friend and intimate acquaintance of his father. In 1646 Boyle retired to his manor of StalAt Eton he remained for three or four years, bridge, left him by his father, and there apwhen his father took him to his own house at plied himself with great industry to studies of Stalbridge in Dorsetshire, where he had for various kinds, but chiefly to those of chemistry tutor the minister of the place. In 1638 he and natural philosophy. About this time, too, went with his father to London, and at the he formed one of the little band of men who end of October in the same year he and his held weekly meetings for the promotion of brother Francis were sent abroad on their philosophy and science under the title of the travels under the charge of a Mr. Marcombes. Philosophical College, which, on the RestoraAt Geneva, where their tutor had his family, tion, burst into full bloom as the Royal Society. they halted and pursued their studies quietly In 1652 he went over to Ireland to look after for a time, and there Robert renewed and his property, and after a second visit in 1654 made more perfect his acquaintance with he went to live at Oxford, where he stayed mathematics. A writer in the National chiefly till 1668. At Oxford he found most of Encyclopædia says, “At Geneva the occur- the members of the Philosophical College, and rence of an awful thunderstorm awakened while there he invented the air-pump. religious feelings which actuated him greatly After the Restoration he was treated with in after life.”

great respect by the king and those in authorTowards the end of 1641 he quitted Geneva, ity; but he resolutely refused their request and passing through Switzerland visited most that he should enter into holy orders, thinking of the principal cities and towns in Italy. that he could be of more benefit to religion as During the winter he stayed at Florence, a layman. In 1660 he published his New Ex

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