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DEAR SIR,

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.

HIS MAJESTY'S PRINCIPAL SECRETARY OF STAte.

CANNOT wish that any of my writings should last longer than the memory of our friendship; and, therefore, I thus publicly bequeath them to you, in return for the many valuable instances of your affection.

That they may come to you with as little disadvantage as possible, I have left the care of them to one', whom, by the experience of some years, I know well qualified to answer my intentions. He has already the honour and happiness of being under your protection; and, as he will very much stand in need of it, I cannot wish him better, than that he may continue to deserve the favour and countenance of such a patron.

I have no time to lay out in forming such compliments, as would but ill suit that familiarity between us, which was once my greatest pleasure, and will be my greatest honour hereafter. Instead of them, accept of my hearty wishes that the great reputation you have acquired so early may increase more and more: and that you may long serve your country with those excellent talents and unblemished integrity, which have so powerfully recommended you to the most gracious and amiable monarch that ever filled a throne. May the frankness and generosity of your spirit continue to soften and subdue your enemies, and gain you many friends, if possible, as sincere as yourself. When you have found such they cannot wish you more true happiness than I, who am, with the greatest zeal,

dear sir,

your most entirely affectionate friend,

and faithful obedient servant,

June 4, 1719.

'Mr. Tickell.

J. ADDISON.

POEMS

OF

JOSEPH ADDISON.

TO MR. DRYDEN.

HOW long, great poet, shall thy sacred lays

. Provoke our wonder, and transcend our praise? Can neither injuries of time, or age, Damp thy poetic heat, and quench thy rage? Not so thy Ovid in his exile wrote, [thought: Grief child his breast, and check'd his rising Pensive and sad, his drooping Muse betrays The Roman genius in its last decays.

Prevailing warmth has still thy mind possest, And second youth is kindled in thy breast; Thou mak'st the beauties of the Romans known, And England boasts of riches not her own; Thy lines have heighten'd Virgil's majesty, And Horace wonders at himself in thee. Thou teachest Persius to i form our isle In smoother numbers, and a clearer style; And Juvenal, instructed in thy page, Edges his satire, and improves his rage. Thy copy casts a fairer light on all, And still out-shines the bright original.

Now Ovid boasts th' advantage of thy song, And tells his story in the British tongue; Thy charming verse, and fair translations, show How thy own laurel first began to grow: Ho wild Lycaon, chang'd by angry gods, And frighted at himself, ran howling thro' the woods.

O may'st thou still the noble task prolong, Nor age, nor sickness, interrupt thy song: Then may we wondering read, how human limbs Have water'd kingdoms, and dissolv'd in streams; Of those rich fruits that on the fertile mold Turn'd yellow by degrees, and ripen'd into gold: How some in feathers, or a ragged hide, Have liv'd a secondlife, and different natures try'd. Then will thy Ovid, thus transform'd, reveal A nobler change than he himself can tell. Magd. College, Oxon.

June 2, 1693. The author's age 22.

A POEM TO HIS MAJESTY'.
PRESENTED TO THE LORD KEEPER.

TO THE RIGHT HON. SIR JOHN SOMERS, LORD
KEEPER OF THE GREAT SEAL, 1695.
IF yet your thoughts are loose from state affairs,
Nor feel the burden of a kingdom's cares;
If yet your time and actions are your own;
Receive the present of a Muse unknown:
A Muse that in adventurous numbers, sings
The rout of armies, and the fall of kings,
Britain advanc'd, and Europe's peace restor'd,
By Somers' counsels, and by Nassau's sword.
To you, my lord, these daring thoughts belong,
Who help'd to raise the subject of my soug;
Το you the hero of my verse reveals

His great designs, to you in council tells
His inmost thoughts, determining the doom
Of towns unstorm'd, and battles yet to come.
And well could you, in your immortal strains,
Describe his conduct, and reward his pains:
But, since the state has all your cares engross'd,
And poetry in higher thoughts is lost,
Attend to what a lesser Muse indites,
Pardon her faults, and countenance her flights.

On you, my lord, with anxious fear I wait, And from your judgment must expect my fate, Who, free from vulgar passions, are above Degrading envy, or misguided love;

If you, well pleas'd, shall smile upon my lays,
Secure of fame, my voice I'll boldly raise,
For next to what you write, is what you praise.

TO THE KING.

WHEN now the business of the field is o'er, The trumpets sleep, and cannons cease to roar, When every dismal echo is decay'd,

And all the thunder of the battle laid; Attend, auspicious prince; and let the Muse In humble accents milder thoughts infuse.

'King William.

Others, in bold prophetic numbers skill'd, Set thee in arms, and led thee to the field; My Muse expecting on the British strand Waits thy return, and welcomes thee to land: She oft has seen thee pressing on the foe, When Europe was concern'd in every blow; But durst not in heroic strains rejoice; [voice: The trumpets, drums, and cannons, drown'd her She saw the Boyne run thick with human gore, And floating corps lie beating on the shore; She saw thee climb the banks, but try'd in vain To trace her hero through the dusty plain, When thro' the thick embattled lines he broke, Now plung'd amidst the foes, now lost in clouds of smoke.

O that some Muse, renown'd for lofty verse, In daring numbers would thy toils rehearse! Draw thee belov'd in peace, and fear'd in wars, Inur'd to noon-day sweats, and midnight cares! But still the god-like man, by some hard fate, Receives the glory of his toils too late; Too late the verse the mighty act succeeds, One age the hero, one the poet breeds.

A thousand years in full succession ran, Ere Virgil rais'd his voice, and sung the man Who, driven by stress of fate, such dangers bore On stormy seas, and a disastrous shore, Before he settled in the promis'd earth,

And gave the empire of the world its birth.

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They break through all, for William leads the way,
Where fires rage most, and loudest engines play.
Namur's late terrours and destruction show,
What William, warm'd with just revenge, can do:
Where once a thousand turrets rais'd on high
Their gilded spires, and glitter'd in the sky,
An undistinguish'd heap of dust is found,
And all the pile lies smoking on the ground.
His toils, for no ignoble ends design'd,
Promote the common welfare of mankind;
No wild ambition moves, but Europe's fears,
The cries of orphans, and the widow's tears:
Opprest religion gives the first alarms,
And injur'd justice sets him in his arms;
His conquests freedom to the world afford,
And nations bless the labours of his sword.

Thus when the forming Muse would copy forth
A perfect pattern of heroic worth,
She sets a man triumphant in the field,
O'er giants cloven dow, and monsters kill'd,
Reeking in blood, and smear'd with dust and sweat,
Whilst angry gods conspire to make him great.
Thy navy rides on seas before unprest,
And strikes a terrour through the haughty east:
Algiers and Tunis from their sultry shore
With horrour hear the British engines roar;
Fain from the neighbouring dangers would they

run,

And wish themselves still nearer to the sun.

Troy long had found the Grecians bold and The Gallic ships are in their ports confin'd,

fierce,

Ere Homer muster'd up their troops in verse;
Long had Achilles quell'd the Trojans' lust,
And laid the labour of the gods in dust,
Before the towering Muse began her flight,
And drew the hero raging in the fight,
Engag'd in tented fields and rolling floods,
Or slaughtering mortals, or a match for gods.
And here, perhaps, by fate's unei ring doom,
Some mighty bard lies hid in years to come,
That shall in William's god-like acts engage,
And with his battles warm a future age;
Hibernian fields shall here thy conquests show,
And Boyne be sung, when it has ceas'd to flow;
Here Gallic labours shall advance thy fame,
And here Seneffe shall wear another name.
Our late posterity, with secret dread,
Shall view thy battles, and with pleasure read
How, in the bloody field too near advanc'd,
The guiltless bullet on thy shoulder glanc'd.

The race of Nassau was by Heaven design'd
To curb the proud oppresso:s of mankind,
To bind the tyrants of the Earth with laws,
And fight in every injur'd nation's cause,
The world's great patriots; they for justice call;
And, as they favour, king/loms rise or fall.
Our British youth, unus'd to rough alarms,
Careless of fame, and negligent of arms,
Had long forgot to meditate the foe,
And heard unwarm'd the martial trumpet blow;
But now inspir'd by thee, with fresh delight,
Their swords they brandish, and require the fight,
Renew their ancient conquests on the main,
And act their fathers' triumphs o'er again,
Fir'd, when they hear how Agincourt was strow'd
With Gallic corps, and Cressi swam in blood,
With cager warmth they fight, ambitious all
Who first shall storm the breach or mount the wall.
In vain the thronging enemy by force
Would clear the ramparts, and repel their course;

Deny'd the common use of sea and wind,
Nor dare again the British strength engage;
Still they remember that destructive rage
Which lately made their trembling host retire,
Stunn'd with the noise, and wraptin smoke and fire;
The waves with wide unnumber'd wrecks were
strow'd

And planks, and arms, and men, promiscuous

flow'd.

Spain's numerous fleet, that perish'd on our coast,
Could scarce a longer line of battle boast;
The winds could hardly drive them to their fate,
And all the ocean labour'd with the weight.

Where-e'er the waves in restless errours roll,
The sea lies open now to either pole :
Now may we safely use the northern gales,
And in the polar circles spread our sails:
Or, deep in southern climes, secure from wars,
New lands explore, and sail by other stars:
Fetch uncontroll'd each labour of the Sun,
And make the product of the world our own.

At length, proud prince, ambitious Lewis, cease
To plague mankind, and trouble Europe's peace;
Think on the structures which thy pride bas ras'd,
On towns unpeopled, and on fields laid waste;
Think on the heaps of corps and streams of blood,
On every guilty plain and purple flood,
Thy arms have made; and cease an impious

war,

Nor waste the lives entrusted to thy care.
Or, if no milder thought can calm thy mind,
Behold the great avenger of mankind,
See mighty Nassau through the battle ride,
And see thy subjects gasping by his side:
Fain would the pious prince refuse th' alarm,
Fain would he check the fury of his arm;
But, when thy cruelties his thoughts engage,
The hero kindles with becoming rage,
Then countries stol'n, and captives unrestor❜d,
Give strength to every blow, and edge his sword.

Behold with what resistless force he falls

On towns besieg'd, and thunders at thy walls!
Ask Villeroy, (for Villeroy beheld

The town surrender'd, and the treaty seal'd)
With what amazing strength the forts were won,
Whilst the whole power of France stood looking on.
But stop not here: behold where Berkeley
stands,

And executes his injur'd king's commands;
Around thy coast his bursting bombs he pours
On flaming citadels and falling towers;
With hissing streams of fire the air they streak,
And hurl destruction round them where they break;
The skies with long ascending flames are bright,
And all the sea reflects a quivering light.

Thus Etna, when in fierce eruptions broke,
Fills Heaven with ashes, and the Earth with smoke:
Here crags of broken rocks are twirl'd on high,
Here molten stones and scatter'd cinders fly;
Its fury reaches the remotest coast,
And strows the Asiatic shore with dust.

Now does the sailor from the neighbouring main
Look after Gallic towns and forts in vain;
No more his wonted marks he can descry,
But sees a long unmeasur'd ruin lie;
Whilst, pointing to the naked coast, he shows
His wondering mates where towns and steeples rose,
Where crowded citizens he lately view'd, [stood.
And singles out the place where once St. Maloes
Here Russel's actions should my Muse require;
And, would my strength but second my desire,
I'd all his boundless bravery rehearse,

And draw his cannons thundering in my verse;
High on the deck should the great leader stand,
Wrath in his look, and lightning in his hand;
Like Homer's Hector when he flung his fire
Amidst a thousand ships, and made all Greece
retire.

But who can run the British triumphs o'er,
And count the flames disperst on every shore?
Who can describe the scatter'd victory,
And draw the reader on from sea to sea?
Else who could Ormond's god-like acts refuse,
Ormond the theme of every Oxford Muse?
Fain would I here his mighty worth proclaim,
Attend him in the noble chase of fame,
Thro' all the noise and hurry of the fight,
Observe each blow, and keep him still in sight.
Oh, did our British peers thus court renown,
And grace the coats their great fore-fathers won!
Our arms would then triumphantly advance,
Nor Henry be the last that conquer'd France.
What might not England hope, if such abroad
Purchas'd their country's honour with their blood:
When such, detain'd at home, support our state
In William's stead, and bear a kingdom's weight,
The schemes of Gallic policy o'erthrow,
And blast the counsels of the common foe;
Direct our armies, and distribute right,
And render our Maria's loss more light.

But stop my Muse, th' ungrateful sound forbear,
Maria's name still wounds each British ear:
Each British heart Maria stili does wound,
And tears burst out unbidden at the sound;
Maria till our rising mirth destroys,
Darkens our triumphs, and forbids our joys.

But see, at length, the British ships appear!
Our Nassau comes! and as his fleet draws near,
The rising masts advance, the sails grow white,
And all his pompous navy floats in sight.

Come, mighty prince, desir'd of Britain, come!
May Heaven's propitious gales attend thee home!
Come, and let longing crowds behold that look,
Which such confusion and amazement struck
Through Gallic hosts: but, oh! let us descry
Mirth in thy brow, and pleasure in thine eye;
Let nothing dreadful in thy face be found,
But for a while forget the trumpet's sound:
Well-pleas'd, thy people's loyalty approve,
Accept their duty, and enjoy their love.
For as, when lately mov'd with fierce delight,
You plung'd amidst the tumult of the fight,
Whole heaps of death encompass'd you around,
And steeds o'er-turn'd lay foaming on the ground;
So crown'd with laurels now, where-e'er you go,
Around you blooming joys and peaceful blessings
flow.

A TRANSLATION

OF ALL VIRGIL'S FOURTH GEORGIC, EXCEPT THE
STORY OF ARISTEUS.

ETHEREAL Sweets shall next my Muse engage,
And this, Mæcenas, claims your patronage.
Of little creatures wondrous acts I treat,
The ranks and mighty leaders of their state,
Their laws, employments, and their wars relate.
A trifling theme provokes my humble lays:
Trifling the theme, not so the poet's praise,
If great Apollo and the tuneful Nine
Join in the piece, and make the work divine.
First, for your bees a proper station find,
That's fenc'd about and shelter'd from the wind;
For winds divert them in their flight, and drive
The swarms, when loaden homeward, from their
hive.
[stores,
Nor sheep, nor goats, must pasture near their
To trample under foot the springing flowers;
Nor frisking heifers bound about the place,
To spurn the dew-drops off, and bruise the rising
Nor must the lizard's painted brood appear, [grass;
Nor wood-pecks, nor the swallow harbour near.
They waste the swarms, and as they fly along
Convey the tender morsels to their young.

Let purling streams, and fountains edg'd with

moss,

And shallow rills, run trickling through the grass;
Let branching olives o'er the fountain grow,
Or palms shoot up, and shade the streams below;
That when the youth, led by their princes, shun
The crowded hive, and sport it in the sun,
Refreshing springs may tenipt them from the heat,
And shady coverts yield a cool retreat.

Whether the neighbouring water stands or runs,
Lay twigs across, and bridge it o'er with stones;
That if rough storms, or sudden blasts of wind,
Should dip, or scatter those that lag behind,
Here they may settle on the friend'y stone,
Aud dry their reeking pinions at the sun.
Plant all the flowery banks with lavender,
With store of savory scent the fragrant air,
Let running betony the field o'erspread,
And fountains soak the vio et's dewy bed.

Though barks r plaited willows make your hive,
A narrow inlet to their cells contrive;
For colds congeal and freeze the liquors up, [drop:
And, melted down with heat, the waxen buildings
The bees, of both extremes alike afraid,
Their wax around the whistling crannies spread,

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