Unless, to please our nice corrupted sense,
Art be call'd in, and join'd with vast expence ;
Then rivers wander through the vale no more,
But boil in pipes, or spout through figur❜d ore;
The neighbouring brooks their empty channel mourn,
That now enrich some artificial urn.

Thus ever suit your numbers to your theme, And tune their cadence to the falling stream; Or should the falling stream incline to love, Let the words slide, and like its murmurs move: Poor were the praise to paint a purling rill, To make it music is the Muse's skill; Without her voice the spring runs silent by, Dumb are the waters, and the verses dry; While chill'd with ice the cool waves creep along, And all the fountain freezes in the song.

But if a storm must rattle through the strain, Then let your lines grow black with gathering rain; Through Jove's aerial hall loud thunders sound, And the big bolt roars through the dark profound: But should the welkin brighten to the view, The sun breaks out, and gilds the style anew ; Color your clouds with a vermilion dye, And let warm blushes streak the western sky; Till evening shuts in sober suited gray,

And draws her dappled curtains o'er the day.

Let Vesper then pursue the purple light, And lead the twinkling glories of the night; The moon must rise in silver o'er the shades,

Stream through your pen, and glance along the meads:

While Zephyr softly whispers in the lines,

And pearly dew in bright description shines;
The little warblers to the trees repair,

Sing in their sleep, and dream away their care;
While closing flowrets nod their painted heads,
And fold themselves to rest upon their rosy beds.

But if Aurora's fingers stain the lay,
Let fancy waken with the rising day;
Let Sol's fierce coursers whirl the fiery team,
And from their nostrils blow a flood of flame :
Be sultry noon in brighter yellow drest,
And bend a rainbow on her burning breast;
Let the rich dyes in changing colors flow,
And lose themselves in one poetic glow.

So the fair Indian crown its gloss assumes, Dispos'd in tufts of party-color'd plumes; The transient tincture drinks the neighbouring hue, As if from each th' alternate colors grew, Where every beauty's by a former made, And lends a lustre to the following shade.

Thus may a simile come in with grace,
And add new splendors to the showery piece;

Paint the proud arch so lively to the sight,
That every line reflects a watery light.

Hence to the garden should your fancy fly, Let the tall tulip with your Iris vie;

With a mix'd glory crown its radiant head,
The brightest yellow ting'd with streams of red;
Next let the lily in your numbers blow,
And o'er its sweetness shake the downy snow,
In the white garb of virtue let it rise,
And wave in verse before the virgin's eyes;
On tuneful feet let languid ivy crawl,

And in poetic measure scale the wall,

While the sharp sheers return a clipping sound, And the green leaves fall quivering to the ground.

Here in the bower of beauty newly shorn, Let Fancy sit, and sing how Love was born; Wrapt up in roses, Zephyr found the child, In Flora's cheek when first the Goddess smil'd: Nurs'd on the bosom of the beauteous spring, O'er her white breast he spread his purple wing, On kisses fed, and silver drops of dew,

The little wanton into Cupid grew ;

Then arm'd his hand with glittering sparks of fire,
And tipt his shining arrows with desire :
Hence joy arose upon the wings of wind,
And hope presents the lover always kind;
Despair creates a rival for our fears,
And tender pity softens into tears.

Observe, how Sappho paints the lover's pain,
What various passions animate her strain!
Her color fades, she faints in tender lays,
Her pulse beats languid, and her sense decays;
Then in a rapid tide of passions tost,

Her weak tongue faulters, and her voice is lost;
Again her soul revives, her breath returns,
Again she shivers, and again she burns:
Each reader's bosom feels her various care,
Warm'd by her flame, or chill'd by her despair.

Tost, as the sea, by passions, let the soul Like the brine sparkle, like the billows roll; Then anger kindles in the warrior's eyes, And earth usurps the thunder of the skies: See how they mount upon the groaning car, Shake the long lance, and overtake the war; Aloft in air resounds the whirling thong, The horses fly, the chariot smokes along; The foaming coursers press upon their heels, Back run the lines beneath the whirling wheels: Fleeter than light they flash along the fields, And suns by thousands blaze upon their shields: The twisted serpents, round their helmets roll'd, Must hiss in verse, and bite in burnish'd gold: The wars break in-now millions are no more, And a long groan pursues the gushing gore; Spears, darts, and javelins, launch along the sky, Plunge into blood, or into shivers fly : Thus let your heroes rage, by Mars possest,

And feel an Iliad rising in your breast;

But soon cement those wounds, let discord cease, And warring worlds unite in friendly peace.

Hence sounds in softer notes must learn to move, And melting music rise the voice of love! Let Tubal's lute in skilful hands appear, And pour new numbers on the listening ear; With the full organ let them sweetly swell, With the loud trumpet languishingly shrill; Or in soft concord let the concert suit, The sprightly clarion with the Dorian flute : Then wake to vocal airs the warbling wire, Let the strings run beneath the poet's fire; While sorrow sighs, ah! never let them cool, But melt melodious on the soften'd soul: So may the passions wait upon your hand, Move as you move, and act as you command.

And here Arion's harp may swell the strain, Or smooth your numbers as it smooth'd the main When wondering Sirens to its sounds advanc'd, And bounding dolphins o'er the billows danc'd; Admiring Tritons round the music play, And angry seas in measure roll away:

A tide of rapture rose as he requir'd,

White work'd the waves, and foam'd as he inspir'd; The billows beat upon the sounding string,

And through the hollow harp the waters ring.