No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring, No birds within the defert region fing: The fhips, unmov'd, the boift'rous winds defy, While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly. The vaft Leviathan wants room to play, And fpout his waters in the face of day; The ftarving wolves along the main fea prowl, And to the moon in icy valleys howl. O'er many a fhining league the level main Here fpreads itself into a glaffy plain : There folid billows of enormous fize, Alps of green ice, in wild diforder rife.

f

And yet but lately have I feen, ev'n here, The winter in a lovely drefs appear. 'E're yet the clouds let fall the treafur'd fnow, Or winds began through hazy skies to blow, At ev'ning a keen eaftern breeze arofe, And the defcending rain unfully'd froze. Soon as the filent fhades of night withdrew, The ruddy morn difclos❜d at once to view The face of nature in a rich difguife, And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes: For ev'ry fhrub, and ev'ry blade of grafs, And ev'ry pointed thorn, feem'd wrought in glass; In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns fhow, While through the ice the crimson berries glow. The thick-fprung reeds, which watry marshes yield, Seem'd polish'd lances in a hoftile field. The flag in limpid currents, with surprise, Sees chrystal branches on his forehead rife: The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine, Glaz'd over, in the freezing æther shine. The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun, Which wave and glitter in the distant fun. When if a fudden guft of wind arise, The brittle foreft into atoms flies,

The crackling woods beneath the tempeft bends,
And in a fpangled shower the profpect ends :
Or, if a fouthern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,
The traveller a miry country fees,
And journies fad beneath the dropping trees

1

Like fome deluded peafant, Merlin leads
Through fragrant bow'rs, and through delicious meads
While here inchanted gardens to him rife,
And airy fabricks there attract his eyes,
His wandring feet the magick paths pursue,
And while he thinks the fair illufion true,
The trackless scenes difperfe in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear,
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the tranfient vision mourns.

We have already obferved that the effential, and indeed the true characteristic of epiftolary writing is eafe; and on this account, as well as others, the following letter from Mr Pope to Mifs Blount is to be admired.

As fome fond virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the town to wholefome country air;
Juft when the learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling fhe must fever,
Yet takes one kifs before the parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew :
Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent,
She figh'd not that they stay'd, but that she went.

She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion'd halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from op'ra, park, affembly, play,
To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a day;
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,
To mufe, and fpill her folitary tea,
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the flow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell ftories to the 'fquire;
Up to her godly garret after feven,
There ftarve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Some 'fquire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whofe game is whifk, whofe treat's a toaft in fack;

From Mr. POPE to Mifs BLOUNT, on her leaving the Torin after the Coronation.

Who vifits with a gun, prefents you birds,
Then gives a fmacking bufs, and cries,-no words!
Or with his hound comes hallowing from the ftable,
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table;
Whofe laughs are hearty, tho' his jefts are coarse,
And loves you best of all things-but his horfe.

In fome fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of triumphs in the rural shade;
In penfive thought recall the fancy'd scene,
See coronations rife on every green;
Before you pass th' imaginary fights

Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and garter'd knights,
While the spread fan, o'er-fhades your clofing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vifion flies.
Thus vanish fcepters, coronets and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls!
So when your flave, at fome dear idle time,
(Not plagu'd with head-achs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the ftree:s, abftracted from the crew,
And while he feems to ftudy, thinks of you;

it when his fancy points your fprightly eyes,
Or fees the blufh of foft Parthenia rife,
Gay pats my fhoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, chairs, and coxcombs rufh upon my fight;
Vex'd to be ftill in town, I knit my brow,
Look four, and hum a tune, as you may now.

CHA P. XIII.

Of Defcriptive POETRY.

Defcripfive Poetry is of univerfal ufe, fince there is

nothing in nature but what may

As

poems of this kind, however, are intended more to delight, than inftruct, great care should be taken to make them agreeable. The error which young people are most likely to run into is that of dwelling too long on minute circumftances; which not only renders the piece tedious, and trifling, but deprives the reader of the pleasure he would have in making little discoveries of his own; for in defcriptions that are intended as ornamental, the poet should never

fay fo much but that the reader may perceive he was capable of faying more, and left fome things unobserved in compliment to his fagacity. Milton's L'Allegro and Il Penferofo are to be admir'd on this account, as well as others, for in these every thing paffes as it were in a review before you, and one thought ftarts a hundred. Defcriptive Poems are made beautiful by fimilies properly introduced, images of feigned perfons, and allufions to ancient fables, or historical facts; as will appear by a perusal of the best of these poems, especially thofe of Milton abovemention'd, Denham's Cooper's Hill, and Pope's Windfor Foreft. The L'Allegro and Il Penferofo we shall introduce as examples, but the others are too long for our purpose.

L'ALLEGRO Or the lively Pleafures of Mirth.

Hence loathed melancholy,

Of Cerberus and blackeft midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mongft horrid shapes, and fhrieks and fights unholy,
Find out fome uncouth cell,

Where brooding darkness fpreads his jealous wings,
And the night raven fings;

There under ebon fhades, and low brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks.

In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell:

But come thou goddess fair and free,
In heav'n ycleap'd Euprofyne,
And by men, heart-eafing mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth,
With two fifter Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ;
Or whether (as fome fages fing)
The frolic wind that breathes the fpring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,

As he met her once a maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And fresh-blown rofes wafh'd in dew,

Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair
Hafte thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jeft and youthful Jollity,

Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods and becks, and wreathed fmiles,

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, And love to live in dimple fleek; Sport that wrinkled care derides, And Laughter holding both his fides. Come, and trip it as you go On the light fantastic toe, And in thy right hand lead with thee, The mountain nymph sweet Liberty; And if I give thee honour due, -Mirth, admit me of thy crew To live with her, and live with thee, In unreproved pleasures free; To hear the lark begin his flight, And fingling ftartle the dull Night, From his watch tow'r in the skies, Till the dapple Dawn doth rise; Then to come in fpite of forrow, And at my window bid good morrow, Through the sweet-briar, or the vine, Or the twisted eglantine: While the cock with lively din Scatters the rear of Darkness thin, And to the ftack, or the barn-door, Stoutly ftruts his dames before: Oft lift'ning how the hounds and horn Chearly roufe the flumb'ring Morn, From the fide of fome hoar hill, Through the high wood echoing fhrill: Sometime walking not unfeen By hedge-row elms, or hillocks green, Right againft the eaftern gate, Where the great Sun begins his ftate, Rob'd in flames and amber light, 'The clouds in thousand liveries dight, While the plow-man near at hand Whiftles o'er the furrow'd land, And the milk-maid fingeth blithe, And the mower whets his fcythe, And every fhepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Strait mine eye hath caught new pleasures Whilft the landskip round it measures,