TO THE READER.
[v]I Am, by Profeſſion, no Poet, Yet, having a Son, of my own, at this Time, of no ſmall Hope, in one of our famous Univerſities; I cannot, therefore, be ſuppos'd to want Reverence for thoſe Seminaries of the Muſes: Upon this Account partly (for, of Itſelf, I have no great Opinion of Poetry) but, perceiving, at the Head of the Manuſcript, that it had been written by a Fellow of All-Souls; and chiefly, invited by ſome encour⯑aging Expreſſions, in the Beginning, alluding to a Chariot, that could carry a Man up to the Stars, I beſtow'd a ſerious Peruſal on the Ver⯑ſes, which I, herewith, publiſh; and which I found one rainy Day, at the Bottom of a [vi] Hackney-Coach; where, I ſuppoſe, they might have been dropt, by Somebody, who had been in Poſſeſſion of that Coach, before me.
But, I confeſs, the oftner I perus'd the Ma⯑nuſcript, the leſs I was able to comprehend of its Meaning; I had not, indeed, labour'd far in the Matter, before I diſcovered, that the Au⯑thor, notwithſtanding he has been pleaſed to make free with the Stars, is a Novice in our Science;— ſo that what he writes, con⯑cerning the Thinneſs of Heaven's Purlieus;—ſurmounting the Stars in a Chariot of Air, and ſuch like promiſing Conceptions, ought not (I believe) to be taken in the ſtrict Senſe of the Phraſe, but only for a Joke, or a Fancy;—However, ſome of my Profeſſion, to whom I ſhew'd it, agreed, that it was a dark Piece of Work, had more in it, than Satire; and, for any thing They, or I, knew to the contrary, might be Matter of Danger to the Government, and ought to be carried to the Secretary's Office.
By a Mind, laudably filled with a Zeal for his Country's Safety, every Hint, that infers its Danger, ſhould be thought of the utmoſt Importance; To the Secretary's Office, therefore, I went with it, and put it into the Hands of one, who appear'd to think Himſelf more conſi⯑derable, than any Body, I cou'd ſee about him; I begg'd the Favour, that he would look it over, and give me his Opinion, whether it was a treaſonable Libel: I would not, willingly, do [vii] Injuſtice to the Characters of Perſons, above my Station, (tho' it is well known, Phyſick, and Aſtrology, are conſider'd with Reſpect, among Liberal Sciences.) But, truly, be ſeem'd to me, to peruſe it, with leſs Seriouſneſs, than, I ſuppoſe, with all due Reverence to his Office, became the Truſt, that was lodg'd in him: For he laugh'd out, once, or twice; and, lifting his Eyes from the Paper, took upon him, to remark me, with a Countenance, which I thought too merry for the Occaſion: He was pleas'd, when he came to the following Lines, to read them aloud, to a Young Spark, in Red, and ask'd him, what He thought of the Mat⯑ter?—I confeſs, I was almoſt in a Paſſion, when this Feather-Brain made anſwer, that it was the livelieſt Satire in the World, upon a Bawdy-Houſe, of his Acquaintance, by the Bank Side, over the Water!—I cite the very Verſes, for the Reader's more effectual Amazement, at the Unaccountableneſs of the Young Fellows of this forward Generation!
Caught, by the gulphy Void, that gloom'd, below,
Crowds, from the Current's fair-deſcending Flow,
Indrawn, at once, by Darkneſs ſwallow'd o'er,
Sunk, from their ſunny Scene, and roſe no more;
Still gap'd th'uncloſing Deep, o'er Millions gone,
Yet, ſtill inſatiate, hourly, ſwallow'd on.
I could not forbear telling this Story, with due Gravity, and Reſentment, to a certain [viii] Lawyer, of my Acquaintance, whom I met, juſt landed, at White-Hall Stairs: we walk'd together, a few Turns, in the Privy-Garden, and he open'd the Manuſcript, where it ſpeaks of Shapeleſs Bodies,
Whoſe breathing Bulks; to Life, and Motion, blown,
Shot into human Forms, compleatly grown;
Mix'd Rank, and Sex, ſprung thro' the liquid Jett,
But pouring outward, clear Diſtinction met:
He read it, once and again, and was clear in his Opinion it meant the Maſquerade, in the Hay-market: He own'd, indeed, that, under proper Hands, it might be explain'd into ſomething more conſiderable—But we wave it, cry'd he, after reading it a little farther, we will wave the Point of Treaſon, in Exchange for Scandalum Magnatum! It follows here, as clear, as Sunſhine, upon a Miniſter of State, and a Privy-Counſellor: Then he read to me this ſlanderous Inuendo, of People, who coming within Reach of a dark, buſtling, Power, obſcurely ſeen,
From the blind Bounty of his haſty Hand,
Buoyant, in Boats, rode o'er the ſhining Sand;
Of different Form, theſe Boats—A ſingle Oar
Diſtinguiſh'd ſome—ſome wing'd their Sides with more;
Others, with Oars, and Sails, conjoyn'd, made way,
And mow'd the murm'ring Surge, with ſweepy Sway;
[ix] While ſome ſlow Pole-men, o'er their Toil reclin'd,
Puſh'd their check'd Barks, and, labouring, lagg'd, behind:
Some waded, naked, &c.—
He ask'd me, whether I did not plainly diſcern, what great Man, in a certain Aſſem⯑bly, was pointed at, under this Image of a dark, buſtling, Power, obſcurely ſeen; upon which, recollecting myſelf, as became me, and pondering the Words, to the beſt of my Capa⯑city, I reply'd, I thought it was the Devil.— He ſhook his Head, and inform'd me, civilly, that I was, a little, miſtaken; but perceiving me, in ſome meaſure abaſh'd, he aſſur'd me, it was ſo natural an Error, that any Body might have fallen into it, as well as I: Then proceeded to convince me, that ſhining Sand was a Cant-Word for Mo⯑ney Bags; that by the Boats ſaid to be diſtri⯑buted, at Random, by the Bounty of the blind Power, that was ſo buſy in Darkneſs, was to be underſtood, thoſe Gratifications, impudently call'd Penſions, by Perſons diſaffected to the Miniſtry; That, for Example, the largeſt of ſuch pretended Penſions were repreſented, under the Similitude of Boats which had Sails, and Oars, together:— Middling Penſions, were Boats with many Oars:— Smaller ſtill, were One-Oar'd Barks:— The leaſt of all, were Pole-men:— And as for the naked Waders, it was, by this Time, become [x] clear to my own unaſſiſted Capacity, that they could mean nothing, but thoſe poor Souls, who were neglected by the black Buſtler, and had no Penſions at all to take Boat with.
My ingenious Friend the Lawyer, advis'd me to write a Letter, to the Great Man, who had made ſo light of a good Subject's Informa⯑tion, and put him in Mind of the Fate of Philotas.— He added, that the Fears of Stateſmen would be more awake, for their Maſters, if leſs watchful for Themſelves: He was ſorry, he was, then, in Haſte, but invi⯑ted me next Morning to his Chambers, where he aſſured me, no Aſſiſtance, in his Power, ſhould be wanting, to make ſomething of the Matter, we had been conferring on.
How admirable is the Penetration of ſome Men's Spirits! and how powerful the good Influence of their Example!—I, who, before I had received this Light, could ſee no Tendency to ſuch ſeditious Purpoſe, in the Ma⯑nuſcript, ſo providentially decypher'd, could, now, in every Page of it, diſcover the cleareſt, and moſt viſible, Diſaffection: Nay, I have, ſince that Time, upon frequent Reviſal of the Libel, under Help of better Eyes, than my own, found Popery in it, as well as Jacobitiſm. Not to mention, that the Pope's Name, Itſelf, in great Letters, ſtands audaciouſly written at the End of it.
I ſent a Copy, with a Recital of all the foregoing Particulars, to my Boy, before-men⯑tion'd, [xi] who is, now, of three Years ſtanding, at the College; where, I fear, his Political Principles have been new-modell'd, ſince I ſaw him; for he ſeems a little Malepert, in a Let⯑ter, he return'd me, for Anſwer: which, however, in Juſtice to the good Parts of the Youth, I take Pleaſure in Publiſhing; not ſup⯑poſing, the Childiſh Miſtake, it turns upon, capable of making any Impreſſion, upon Readers, who know the World, and are acquainted with Men and Buſineſs.
I Am ſorry to ſay, I was aſham'd of your Account, concerning the Manuſcript, you demand my Thoughts of; It is no other, than a Satire, written, by One Poet, on the Miſapplication of Another's Genius;—You apprehended it to mean more, than the Author deſign'd, by finding it ſay leſs, than the Reader expected; But Scurrility, and Groſsneſs, are ſo far from being Requiſites in Satire, that it can be no true Satire, in which they are to be met with. The Force of theſe Writings conſiſts, in their Smiling; and whenever they grow angry, they bring a Storm over their own Sunſhine; which, like the Frown of incens'd Beauty, loſes more, by Abatement of Influence, than is gain'd, from Acceſſion of Rigour.
[xii] The Pope, at the End of the Poem, ought to give you no Jealouſy: He is none of his Holyneſs, at Rome, but an Engliſh, (I had almoſt ſaid, Proteſtant) Pope, of this Nation's own Breeding; He wears, indeed, a Triple Crown, like the other, but it is of Muſick, Painting, and Poetry.
Nothing is more eaſily perceived, than, that this Satire is the Conſequence of ſome Pieces, lately publiſh'd, which ſavour, to ſay Truth, of a Senſibility, too like Levity, in a Mind, ſo rich, as His, who is reputed their Author; But I cannot, without Plea⯑ſure, obſerve the Influence of acknowledg'd Merit confining Satire to his Folly, without allowing it to attack his Wit; which is not weaker, tho' leſs lovely, when it ſtains itſelf upon a dirty Subject, than, when it orna⯑ments Beauty itſelf, and adds Magnificence to Palaces.
It is an Art to trifle, importantly; and even to trifle, agreeably, has its Attra⯑ction: But to trifle, unſeaſonably, indecently or improperly, let who will be the Trifler, muſt be, either, inhumane, or unguarded—Either wrong Judgment, or Ill-breeding.
What Pity, that the warmeſt of a certain Gentleman's Admirers are, lately, forc'd to confeſs, there are Groſsneſſes, in ſome of his Sallies, obſcene enough to blot out any Wit, but their Author's! Inſults, low enough to be⯑come the moſt vulgar-ſpirited among his Ene⯑mies: [xiii] And Malice, animated enough to be beautiful, in any of his Friends, but Himſelf!
It gives, however, a Kind of ill-natur'd Comfort to us, who are his diſtant Cotem⯑poraries, that among Virtues, which we muſt deſpair of equalling, we diſcover Er⯑rors, which we diſdain to imitate.—So, pray, Sir, commit the Poem to the Preſs, and let it travel, in Search of its Author, who will, hardly, look for it in Your Hands, and, by that Means, it may be loſt to the Publick.
THE PROGRESS of WIT: A CAVEAT.
[15]TUNEFUL ALEXIS, on the Thame's fair Side,
The Ladies Play-thing, and the Muſes Pride,
With Merit, popular, with Wit, polite,
Eaſy, tho' vain, and elegant, tho' light:
Deſiring, and deſerving, others Praiſe,
Poorly accepts a Fame, he ne'er repays;
Unborn to cheriſh, ſneakingly approves,
And wants the Soul to ſpread the Worth, he loves:
This to the Juniors of his Tribe gave Pain,
For mean Minds praiſe, but to be prais'd again;
[16] Henceforth, renouncing an ungracious BAAL,
His Altars ſmoak not, and their Off'rings fail:
The Heat, his Scorn had rais'd, his Pride inflam'd,
'Till what they worſhipp'd firſt, they next defam'd;
Depos'd, at length, from PINDUS' Top, he roll'd,
While Inſect Witlings, pleas'd, his Fall behold,
And each cold-croaking Heliconian Frog
Leaps, ſcornful, and beſtrides th' unreigning Log.
Far-fall'n ALEXIS, who ſo ill aſpir'd,
Sick of ſucceſsleſs War, from Wounds retir'd,
Where, while, in Sleep, his Sorrows ebb'd away,
And, huſh'd in Darkneſs, Indignation lay;
Fancy, fair Miſtreſs of the Poet's Mind,
For ever changing, yet, for ever kind;
Soft, o'er his Dreams, her formful Radiance ſhed,
And his rapt Soul thro' Heaven's thin Purlieus led;
Seated beſide the Star-invading Dame,
Whoſe Steeds, Wind-footed, paw'd the lambent Flame,
[17] High, as a Widow'd Lover's Grief can climb,
Her Air-built Chariot roſe, and hung ſublime.
Unveiling, thence, the World's bleak Waſtes, below,
They ſaw the Stream of Life beneath 'em flow;
Dim, from the ſable Sea of Birth it roſe,
In a ſlow, ſilent, ſullen, dread Repoſe:
For, round th'emerging Source, that glimmer'd pale,
Mountains of Midnight Darkneſs roll'd a Veil:
But, as the evolving Surge ſwell'd into Day,
Quick'ning, it mov'd, and roar'd, and ruſh'd away.
Broad, on the Left, from low Oblivion's Shore,
Quickſands, and Rocks, reach'd half the Current o'er:
Lucid, like Truth, the treach'rous Water ſhone,
And, o'er gay gilded Shoals, ran, tuneful, on;
Pebbles, of Gem-like Hue, with painted Pride,
Glow'd thro' the Wave, and burnt, amid the Tide:
Wantonly kind, the Sun's enliv'ning Beams
Shower'd, in light Spangles, on the dancing Streams:
[18] While Inſect Nations, Gnats, and Waſps, and Flies,
Ting'd in the Rainbow's ever-changing Dyes,
Sheathing their Stings, and, ſmiling, like the Fair,
Peopled the Sunſhine, and adorn'd the Air.
Leſs lively, on the Right, the Stream's deep Flow,
There, no falſe Colours mix'd their varied Glow;
No gawdy Bottom catch'd the downcaſt Eye:
Above, no flutt'ring Inſects wing'd the Sky:
Serenely ſolemn, All!—One equal Whole
Flaſh'd not upon the Senſe, but touch'd the Soul:
Inſtead of Rocks, green Iſlands flouriſh'd, here,
Silent, and fruitful, as the full-grown Year;
In Place of Flies, grave Swans, of Snow-like Hue,
Sweetly majeſtick, in ſlow Circles, flew:
But, tho' theſe Iſles the diſtant Proſpect chear'd,
No Bay, no Port, no Landing-Place appear'd;
Kind Birds, alone, gave Entrance o'er the Mound,
Nor, from the Stream, below, was Inlet found.
[19]Then Fancy, thus—FAME'S future Regions, Theſe,
Where nothing ſurfeits, yet, where all Things pleaſe.
Here, Memory ſtands fix'd, while Time runs on,
And worth blooms freſh, when Life itſelf is gone;
Danger keeps Diſtance, ſoften'd Spleen grows kind,
Ambition temperate, and Love refin'd:
Nor Pride, nor Jealouſy, can, here, annoy,
Nothing is Ecſtacy, tho' all is Joy:
Peace without Languor, Labour, void of Pain,
Glory unenvied, and unſlander'd Gain.
Tho' differing, thus, the Stream's unſocial Sides,
Yet, one broad Gulph abſorb'd the double Tides;
From Birth devolving, Death's blind Sea, below,
Boundleſs, and formleſs, ſnatch'd the mingled Flow;
Both rounding Oceans, backward, ſeem'd to tend,
And vaſt, beneath, their ſable Surges blend:
But far moſt frightful This!—whoſe dark Profound,
A Depth Eternal! Life wants Line to ſound:
[20] Unbottom'd Shade roll'd looſe o'er ſwallow'd Light—
Fancy grew giddy, nor ſuſtain'd the Sight:
But, ſtarting into Fear, tranſpos'd Remark,
And ſought the Source, leſs dreadful, tho' as dark.
Thick, on the riſing Stream's emitted Tide,
Millions of ſhapeleſs Bodies ſeem'd to glide;
Whoſe breathing Bulks, to Life, and Motion, blown,
Shot into human Forms, compleatly grown;
Mix'd Rank, and Sex, ſprung thro' the liquid Jet,
But, pouring outward, clear Diſtinction met;
Some, wading, naked, trod the ſlipp'ry Plain,
Some cut the fluent Wave—Some, tir'd with Pain,
Failing to float, or wade, neglected fell,
And ſunk, unſnatch'd at, in the troubled Swell:
To others, riſing happier, and ſerene,
Fortune, dark, buſtling, Power, obſcurely ſeen,
Reach'd, with blind Bounty, and with haſty Hand,
Thin Boats—and buoy'd 'em o'er the ſhining Sand:
[21] Of diff'rent Form, theſe Boats—A ſingle Oar
Diſtinguiſh'd ſome:—Some wing'd their Sides with more;
Others, with Oars, and Sails, conjoin'd, made Way,
And mow'd the murm'ring Surge, with ſweepy Sway:
While ſome, ſlow Pole-men, o'er their Toil reclin'd,
Puſh'd their check'd Barks, and, labouring, lagg'd behind.
While Some eſſay'd to croſs, and veering wide,
Would, with ſtrong Stem, the ſtubborn Stream divide,
And ſlowly ſlanting, ſought the ſilent Side;
Swift, to the ſhelvy Shore light Gallies flew,
As the fierce Channel's rapid Current drew,
'Twixt Rocks, and Whirlpools, driven, obliquely gay,
And, thro' the ſhoaly Sunſhine, danc'd away.
Caught, by the gulphy Void, that gloom'd, below,
Theſe, from the Current's fair-deſcending Flow,
Indrawn, at once, by Darkneſs ſwallow'd o'er,
Sunk, from their Sunny Scene, and roſe no more;
[22] Still gap'd th' uncloſing Deep; o'er Millions gone,
Yet, ſtill inſatiate, hourly ſwallow'd on!
Titles, Diſtinctions, Forms, ruſh mingled down,
Not Levity itſelf wants Weight to drown:
Gameſters, Beaux, Caſuiſts, Jinglers, Jeſters, Drinkers,
Fox-hunters, Politicians, and Free-thinkers,
Prudes, Devotees, Coquets, Grave, Light, Young, Old,
In one mixt Night the covering Waves infold:
Swept from the Noiſe they ſought, to reſt they ſhun'd,
They plunge, for ever, into Death's Profund:
While abler Pilots, who, reſolv'd, ſtood o'er,
And, edging broad, gain'd, ſlow, the ſafer Shore;
Snatch'd, from their ſinking Seats, were born to Land,
By watchful Swans, whoſe Wings the Surface fann'd:
There, on green Iſlands, reign'd, eſcap'd from Cares,
Lords of a blooming World, for ever, Theirs,
Wide, o'er the Scene, ALEXIS winds his Eye,
Swift, as the Progreſs of the Gliders by;
[23] A ſtrange Confuſion roſe!—of all who paſt,
With earneſt Emptyneſs, and barren Haſte,
Few, croſs the Flood, repugnant, ſtrove to ſteer,
Fewer had Strength of Oars to hold them, near!
Tir'd by the Current's ill-reſiſted Force,
Or, bulg'd by envious Prows, which croſs'd their Courſe,
The boldeſt Keels, purſuing, or purſu'd,
Entangling, and perplex'd, were loſt in Feud:
While others, heedleſs of their ſleeping Oars,
Drove, in light Negligence, nor ſhun'd the Shores;
But, pendent o'er the Helm, each Shoal explor'd,
And ſnatch'd, in Tranſport, Shells, and Stones, on board:
Or, leaping wanton, catch'd the glittering Prey,
That buzz'd, and gambol'd, in their ſportive Way.
Mean-while, moſt mournful, of the motley Scene!
Cheriſh'd Effect of Pride, and Food of Spleen!
Boat, over Boat, deſtructive Paſſage made,
And weeping Pity mourn'd defective Aid:
[24] Sailing Preſumers, preſſing, proudly, on,
Bore down each envied Rower, who, neareſt, ſhone;
The Oar-wing'd Veſſel ey'd, with dumb Diſdain,
The creeping Pole-man's ſlow-availing Pain;
And, lordly wanton, with invaſive Beak,
Sunk the faint Struggler, criminally, weak!
He, too, in Concert with ſuperior Hate,
Loth to exert leſs Guilt, than match'd his State,
Triumphant, in his Turn, ſought equal Prey,
And, o'er the naked Wader, forc'd his Way:
ALEXIS, pondering in ſuſpended Thought,
What Meaning all theſe mazy Mixtures taught,
Sudden, a Shout, from every diſtant Side,
Eddied the Air, and broke the back'ning Tide;
Acclamatory Thouſands roſe, alarm'd,
All Eyes attracted, and each Hearing charm'd;
Pointing in Tranſport, All their Helms forſook,
And, on one Object, hung their length'ning Look.
[25]Down, from the gloomy Source, in ſidelong Float,
Proudly deſcending, mov'd a glittering Boat;
Her ſilken Sails a colour'd Radiance threw,
And ting'd the Sunny Beams, thro' which they flew;
While Oars, of Silver, daſh'd the watry Spray,
That rain'd in gemmy Showers, and dazled Day:
High, on the painted Stern, a Youth appear'd,
Who, rather happily, than ſtrongly, ſteer'd;
Faint, and unſtriking was his anguiſh'd Mien,
Sadden'd by Sickneſs, and o'ercaſt with Spleen;
Yet, from his Eyes, there beam'd a living Light,
Keen, and intent, as a fir'd Eagle's Sight:
And, from his Voice, (for, as he ſail'd, he ſung)
Such magick Sounds of melting Muſick ſprung,
That the huſh'd Heaven all downward ſeem'd to bend,
And, againſt Nature, the charm'd Earth aſcend.
Careleſs, he look'd, yet, heedful of his Way,
Broke the kind Current's unobſtructing Sway,
That kiſs'd his Oars, and haſten'd to obey:
[26] Scarce was his Courſe oblique, for each glad Boat,
That, envious, ſtem'd all other's rival Float,
Fix'd, and enchanted, when this Youth drew nigh,
Hung on his paſſing Notes, and help'd him by:
The Muſes row'd him, and the Graces' Care
Trim'd his light Sails, and ſpread them to the Air;
In his Boat's Bottom green-ey'd Envy lay,
And ſerv'd, as Ballaſt, while ſhe clog'd his way:
Down from her Chariot light-wing'd Fancy flew,
And o'er him, looſe, her Starry Mantle threw;
Pleaſure, Praiſe, Beauty, 'twixt his Shrowds trod gay,
And danc'd the meaſur'd Moments ſoft away:
Sportful as ZEPHYRS, in his Smiles, they ſtrove,
And the Young Loves forſook their Mother's Grove.
Thus fortunate, thus favour'd, and thus bright,
Luckily negligent, and aptly light,
He touch'd no Shoal, ſafe rounded every Rock,
Deſpis'd all Danger, and ſuſtain'd no Shock;
[27] 'Till to that calmer Coaſt approaching nigh,
And gliding, 'twixt green Iſlands, ſafely high,
Circles of hovering Swans, with joyful Note,
Clapp'd their broad Wings, in Triumph, o'er his Boat,
Charm'd, that, ſo ſoon, he reach'd their ſolemn Side,
Ere yet one Third of the Stream's Length was try'd.
Steering, from Iſle to Iſle, with joyleſs Awe,
Thin, o'er each Height, their white-rob'd Lords he ſaw,
Pleas'd, without Tranſport, bow the Palms, they bore,
To hail his Paſſage near their ſilent Shore;
Cold, and uncharm'd, he ſought his favourite Croud,
Immenſely diſtant, now, tho', late, ſo loud:
All was ſerene, the Air was huſh'd around,
The Waters calm!—Loſt even His Muſick's Sound!
Back to the Left impatient Looks he caſt
And long'd for every ſhining Inſect paſt;
Diſtant he ſaw them, Wings o'er Wings, diſplay,
And, in light Chaſes, thread the colour'd Ray:
[28] Eager, for theſe, contending Pilots ſtrove,
And catch'd them, careleſs how their Veſſels drove;
Then, with their Trophies, dreſs'd each gaudy Sail,
While humming Drones, in Swarms, their Fortune hail:
Record paſt Leaps, foretel their next Eſſays,
And buzz, melodious, in the Fly-men's Praiſe.
Warm'd, and miſled, by this falſe Fire of Fame,
His beaming Eyes with Emulation flame;
And have I, Recreant, thus, renounc'd a Field,
Where baffled Danger can ſuch Glory yield?
Lives there a Catch-Fly, of yon venturous Preſs,
More brave than I am?—Or, who fears them leſs?
Shew me the warring Waſp, whoſe threatning Wing
I dare not ſtrike at, and provoke his Sting!
Swans! give me Way—your ſhoreleſs Iſlands keep,
Too ſafe your Clime is, and too calm your Deep;
I chuſe a rapid Glory, not a ſlow,
Shoals are ſought Harbours, where theſe Jewels grow:
[29]He ſaid, and riſing, puſh'd, with liquid Sweep,
Th' inverted Helm, and goar'd the groaning Deep:
Flaming erect, reſought the ſurgy Side,
And bounded, threatning, o'er the foaming Tide:
Sailing athwart the Swarms, and skipping high,
He ſnatch'd, triumphant, every tempting Fly:
Gave his loos'd Rudder to the Current's Claim,
And drove, diſdainful, thro' his Rival's Game;
Preſs'd by invaded Waſp's excited Stings,
He warr'd, revengeful, on their falling Wings:
Thro' Duſt of ſlaughter'd Gnats he fought, in Shade,
And ſqueez'd them, deathful, on the Wounds, they made:
Fleets of cold Oppoſites, from all Sides, join,
And, wedg'd, againſt this general Foe, combine:
Vainly indignant, they reſiſt his Sway,
Yet block his Paſſage, and obſtruct his Way:
Still, tho' he ſtagnates, he the Fight maintains,
While Drones, applauſive, with their ductile Strains,
Homage the riſing Hero's new Renown,
And Prince of Fly-Catchers the Champion crown.
[30]The Swans, mean-while, which, from the calmer Side,
Forſaken, ſaw him truſt the fatal Tide;
Mournful, with pendent Wing, his Triumph griev'd,
And wiſh'd his waſted Vigour leſs deceiv'd:
Trembling, they mark'd his Veſſel, downward bent,
Hang o'er th' engulphing Ocean's dark Deſcent,
While he, regardleſs, ſtill, new Trophies won,
And, bent to conquer, ſaw not what to ſhun.
Fancy, ſtill buſied, ſtill enamour'd, ſtaid,
And, ſtill concurring, lent his Raſhneſs Aid;
To Her, far diſtant, touch'd ALEXIS cry'd,
And, with ſtrain'd Voice, to reach her Notice, try'd:
"O! ſave him, warn him, bid him turn, and think,—
"Let not his Bark in yon black Ocean ſink!
"Teach me to call him, by his powerful Name,
"Point out his Danger, quench his devious Flame;
"Raſh Spleen of Heart, that could ſuch War adviſe!
"Blind Rage! to loſe Himſelf, and catch but Flies!
[31] "Oh teach my Tongue his Name"—Then Fancy hear
And, ſmiling, at her Chariot's Side appear'd:
"Why doſt thou ask, ſhe cry'd, what Nations know,
"Even All, whom Wit, or Worth, inſpire, below?
"His is a Name, that dwells on every Mind,
"Tunes every Tongue, and ſails with every Wind!
"Not ſurer is that River Life's Extent,
"Or, by thoſe Oceans, Birth, and Death, are meant;
"Not ſurer Fortune is That dark Power's Name,
"That Left, Oblivion, and That Right Side, Fame,
"Than, that no Son of Wit dares, juſtly, hope,
"Fame dwells in Folly's Paths, but thou, O POPE!
ALEXIS, ſtarting, heard his own lov'd Name,
Felt his Pride ſhrink, and bluſh'd with conſcious Shame!
Pitch'd from the Chariot, loſt to Fancy's Call;
And, had not waiting Judgment broke his Fall,
Contempt's cold Vale had caught him, wak'd, and ſtunn'd,
And deep intomb'd him, in his own PROFUND.
FINIS.