To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ,
Infpir'd by memory of ancient Wit;

For now no more these climes their influence boast,
Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue loft;
From Tyrants, and from Priefts, the Mufes fly,
Daughters of Reafon and of Liberty.
Nor Baie now, nor Umbria's plain they love,
Nor on the banks of Nar, or Mincia rove;
To Thames's flow'ry borders they retire,
And kindle in thy breaft the Roman fire.
So in the fhades, where cheer'd with fummer rays
Melodious linnets warbled sprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy Winter's unaufpicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful filence faddens all the grove.
Unhappy Italy! whofe alter'd ftate

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Has felt the worst severity of Fate:
Not that Barbarian hands her Fafces broke,
And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke;
Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her Citics defert, and her fields unfown;
But that her ancient fpirit is decay'd,
That facred Wifdom from her bounds is fled,
That there the fource of Science flows no more,
Whence its rich streams fupply'd the world before.
Illuftrious Names! that once in Latium shin'd,
Born to inftruct, and to command Mankind;
Chiefs, by whofe Virtue mighty Rome was rais'd, 35
And Poets, who thofe Chiefs fublimely prais'd!
Oft i the traces you have left explore,
Your ashes vifit, and your urns adore;
Oft kifs, with lips devout, fome mouldring stone,
With Ivy's venerable fhade o'ergrown;
Those hallow'd ruins better pleas'd to see
Than all the pomp of modern Luxury.

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As late on Virgil's tomb fresh flow'rs I ftrow'd,
While with th' inspiring Muse my bofom glow'd,
Crown'd with eternal bays my ravish'd eyes
Beheld the Poet's awful Form arise:
Stranger, he said, whofe pious hand has paid
These grateful rites to my attentive fhade,
When thou shalt breathe thy happy native air,
To Pope this message from his Master bear :
Great Bard, whose numbers I myself inspire,
To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre,
If high exalted on the Throne of Wit,
Near me and Homer thou afpire to fit,
No more let meaner Satire dim the rays
That flow majestic from thy nobler Bays;
In all the flow'ry paths of Pindus ftray,
But fhun that thorny, that unpleafing way;
Nor, when each soft engaging Muse is thine,
Addrefs the least attractive of the Nine.

4j

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Of thee more worthy were the task, to raise A lafting Column to thy Country's Praise, To fing the land, which yet alone can boast That Liberty corrupted Rome has loft; Where Science in the arms of Peace is laid, And plants her Palm beneath the Olive's fhade. Such was the Theme for which my lyre I ftrung, Such was the People whofe exploits I fung; Brave, yet refin'd, for Arms and Arts renown'd, With diff'rent bays by Mars and Phoebus crown'd, 70 Dauntless oppofers of Tyrannic Sway, But pleas'd, a mild AUGUSTUS to obey.

If thefe commands fubmiffive thou receive, Immortal and unblam'd thy name shall live; Envy to black Cocytus fhall retire, And howl with Furies in tormenting fire; Approving Time fhall confecrate thy Lays, And join the Patriot's to the Poet's Praise. GEORGE LYTTELTON.

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75

PASTORALS,

WITH A

Difcourfe on PASTORAL.'

Written in the Year MDCCIV.

Rura mihi et rigui placeant in vallibus amnes,
Flumina amem, fylvafque, inglorius !

VIRG.

A

DISCOURSE

ΟΝ

3

PASTORAL POETRY'.

HERE are not, I believe, a greater number of

ΤΗ any fort of verfes than of those which are called

Paftorals ; nor a smaller, than of those which are truly fo. It therefore feems neceffary to give fome account of this kind of Poem, and it is my defign to comprize in this short paper the fubftance of those numerous differtations the Critics have made on the subject, without omitting any of their rules in my own favour. You will alfo find fome points reconciled, about which they feem to differ, and a few remarks, which, I think, have escaped their obfervation.

The original of Poetry is afcribed to that Age which fucceeded the creation of the world: and as the keeping of flocks feems to have been the first employment of mankind, the most ancient fort of poetry was probably pastoral. It is natural to imagine, that the leisure of those ancient fhepherds admitting and inviting fome diverfion, none was so proper to that folita y and fedentary life as finging; and that in their fongs they took occafion to celebrate their own felicity. From hence a Poem was invented, and afterwards improved to a perfect image of that happy time; which,

a Written at fixteen years of age.
b Fontenelle's Difc. on Paftorals.