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EARLY POEMS

ODE ON SOLITUDE

‘This was a very early production of our Author, written at about twelve years old,’ says Pope in one of his unsigned and unreliable notes. If the statement is true, it was probably written during the year 1700. It is apparently the earliest poem of Pope’s which remains to us, though according to Roscoe, ‘Dodsley, who was honoured with his intimacy, had seen several pieces of an earlier date.’

- Happy the man whose wish and care
- A few paternal acres bound,
- Content to breathe his native air
- In his own ground.
- Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread,
- Whose flocks supply him with attire,
- Whose trees in summer yield him shade,
- In winter fire.
- Bless’d who can unconcern’dly find
- Hours, days, and years slide soft away,
- In health of body, peace of mind,
- Quiet by day;
- Sound sleep by night: study and ease
- Together mix’d; sweet recreation;
- And innocence, which most does please,
- With meditation.
- Thus let me live, unseen, unknown,
- Thus unlamented let me die;
- Steal from the world, and not a stone
- Tell where I lie.

A PARAPHRASE (ON THOMAS À KEMPIS, L. III. C. 2)

Supposed to have been written in 1700; first published from the Caryll Papers in the Athenæum, July 15, 1854.

- Speak, Gracious Lord, oh, speak; thy servant hears:
- For I’m thy servant and I’ll still be so:
- Speak words of comfort in my willing ears;
- And since my tongue is in thy praises slow,
- And since that thine all Rhetoric exceeds:
- Speak thou in words, but let me speak in deeds!
- Nor speak alone, but give me grace to hear
- What thy celestial Sweetness does impart;
- Let it not stop when enter’d at the ear,
- But sink, and take deep rooting in my heart.
- As the parch’d Earth drinks rain (but grace afford)
- With such a gust will I receive thy word.
- Nor with the Israelites shall I desire
- Thy heav’nly word by Moses to receive,
- Lest I should die: but Thou who didst inspire
- Moses himself, speak Thou, that I may live.
- Rather with Samuel I beseech with tears,
- Speak, gracious Lord, oh, speak, thy servant hears.
- Moses, indeed, may say the words, but Thou
- Must give the Spirit, and the Life inspire;
- Our Love to thee his fervent breath may blow,
- But ’t is thyself alone can give the fire:
- Thou without them may’st speak and profit too;
- But without thee what could the Prophets do?
- They preach the Doctrine, but thou mak’st us do’t;
- They teach the myst’ries thou dost open lay;
- The trees they water, but thou giv’st the fruit;
- They to Salvation show the arduous way,
- But none but you can give us strength to walk;
- You give the Practice, they but give the Talk.
- Let them be silent then; and thou alone,
- My God! speak comfort to my ravish’d ears;
- Light of my eyes, my Consolation,
- Speak when thou wilt, for still thy servant hears.
- Whate’er thou speak’st, let this be understood:
- Thy greater Glory, and my greater Good!

TO THE AUTHOR OF A POEM ENTITLED SUCCESSIO[ ]

Elkanah Settle, celebrated as Doeg in Dryden’s Absalom and Achitophel, wrote Successio in honor of the incoming Brunswick dynasty. Warburton (or possibly Pope) in a note on Dunciad, I. 181, says that the poem was ‘written at fourteen years old, and soon after printed.’ A good instance of Pope’s economy of material will be found in the passage upon which that note bears: an adaptation of lines 4, 17 and 18 of this early poem. It was first published in Lintot’s Miscellanies, 1712.

Begone, ye Critics, and restrain your spite,
Codrus writes on, and will forever write.
The heaviest Muse the swiftest course has gone,
As clocks run fastest when most lead is on;
What tho’ no bees around your cradle flew,
Nor on your lips distill’d their golden dew;
Yet have we oft discover’d in their stead
A swarm of drones that buzz’d about your head.
When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre,
Attentive blocks stand round you and admire.
Wit pass’d thro’ thee no longer is the same,
As meat digested takes a diff’rent name;
But sense must sure thy safest plunder be,
Since no reprisals can be made on thee.
Thus thou may’st rise, and in thy daring flight
(Tho’ ne’er so weighty) reach a wondrous height.
So, forc’d from engines, lead itself can fly,
And pond’rous slugs move nimbly thro’ the sky.
Sure Bavius copied to the full,
And taught to be dull;
Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o’er
This needless labour; and contend no more
To prove a dull succession to be true,
Since ’t is enough we find it so in you.

THE FIRST BOOK OF STATIUS’S THEBAIS

TRANSLATED IN THE YEAR 1703

Though Pope ascribes this translation to 1703, there is evidence that part of it was done as early as 1699. It was finally revised and published in 1712, but Courthope asserts that ‘it is fair to assume that the body of the composition is preserved in its original form.’

ARGUMENT

Œdipus, King of Thebes, having, by mistake, slain his father Laius, and married his mother Jocasta, put out his own eyes, and resign’d the realm to his sons Eteocles and Polynices. Being neglected by them, he makes his prayer to the Fury Tisiphone, to sow debate betwixt the brothers. They agree at last to reign singly, each a year by turns, and the first lot is obtain’d by Eteocles. Jupiter, in a council of the gods, declares his resolution of punishing the Thebans, and Argives also, by means of a marriage betwixt Polynices and one of the daughters of Adrastus King of Argos. Juno opposes, but to no effect; and Mercury is sent on a message to the shades, to the ghost of Laius, who is to appear to Eteocles, and provoke him to break the agreement. Polynices, in the mean time, departs from Thebes by night, is overtaken by a storm, and arrives at Argos; where he meets with Tideus, who had fled from Calidon, having kill’d his brother. Adrastus entertains them, having receiv’d an oracle from Apollo that his daughters should be married to a boar and a lion, which he understands to be meant of these strangers, by whom the hides of those beasts were worn, and who arrived at the time when he kept an annual feast in honour of that god. The rise of this solemnity. He relates to his guests the loves of Phœbus and Psamathe, and the story of Chorœbus: he inquires, and is made acquainted, with their descent and quality. The sacrifice is renew’d, and the book concludes with a hymn to Apollo.

IMITATIONS OF ENGLISH POETS

These imitations, with the exception of Silence (Lintot, 1712), were not published till 1727. Pope says, however, that they were ‘done as early as the translations, some of them at fourteen and fifteen years old.’ The Happy Life of a Country Parson must have been written later than the rest, as Pope did not know Swift till 1713.

CHAUCER

- Women ben full of ragerie,
- Yet swinken not sans secresie.
- Thilke Moral shall ye understond,
- From schoole-boy’s Tale of fayre Irelond;
- Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
- To filche the grey Ducke fro the Lake.
- Right then there passen by the way
- His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway.
- Ducke in his trowses hath he hent,
- Not to be spied of ladies gent.10
- ‘But ho! our Nephew,’ crieth one;
- ‘Ho!’ quoth another, ‘Cozen John;’
- And stoppen, and lough, and callen out—
- This sely Clerke full low doth lout:
- They asken that, and talken this,
- ‘Lo, here is Coz, and here is Miss.’
- But, as he glozeth with speeches soote,
- The Ducke sore tickleth his Erse-roote:
- Fore-piece and buttons all-to-brest,
- Forth thrust a white neck and red crest.20
- ‘Te-hee,’ cried ladies; clerke nought spake;
- Miss stared, and grey Ducke crieth ‘quaake.’
- ‘O Moder, Moder!’ quoth the Daughter,
- ‘Be thilke same thing Maids longen a’ter?
- Bette is to pine on coals and chalke,
- Then trust on Mon whose yerde can talke.’

SPENSER [ ]

THE ALLEY

- In ev’ry Town where Thamis rolls his tyde,
- A narrow pass there is, with houses low,
- Where ever and anon the stream is eyed,
- And many a boat soft sliding to and fro:
- There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
- The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and shriller Squall:
- How can ye, Mothers, vex your children so?
- Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall,
- And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
- And on the broken pavement, here and there,
- Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie;
- A brandy and tobacco shop is neare,
- And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by;
- And here a sailor’s jacket hangs to dry.
- At ev’ry door are sunburnt matrons seen,
- Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry;
- Now singing shrill, and scolding eft between;
- Scolds answer foul-mouth’d Scolds; bad neighbourhood I ween.
- The snappish cur (the passengers’ annoy)
- Close at my heel with yelping treble flies;
- The whimp’ring Girl, and hoarser screaming Boy,
- Join to the yelping treble shrilling cries;
- The scolding Quean to louder notes doth rise,
- And her full pipes those shrilling cries confound;
- To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;
- The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
- And Curs, Girls, Boys, and Scolds, in the deep bass are drown’d.
- Hard by a sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
- Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
- Baskets of fish at Billingsgate did watch,
- Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice:
- There learn’d she speech from tongues that never cease.
- Slander beside her like a magpie chatters,
- With Envy (spitting cat), dread foe to peace;
- Like a curs’d cur, Malice before her clatters,
- And vexing ev’ry wight, tears clothes and all to tatters.
- Her dugs were mark’d by ev’ry Collier’s hand,
- Her mouth was black as bull-dogs at the stall:
- She scratchëd, bit, and spared ne lace ne band,
- And bitch and rogue her answer was to all.
- Nay, ev’n the parts of shame by name would call:
- Yea, when she passed by or lane or nook,
- Would greet the man who turn’d him to the wall,
- And by his hand obscene the porter took,
- Nor ever did askance like modest virgin look.
- Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town,
- Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch;
- Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,
- And Twick’nam such, which fairer scenes enrich,
- Grots, statues, urns, and Jo—n’s dog and bitch.
- Ne village is without, on either side,
- All up the silver Thames, or all adown;
- Ne Richmond’s self, from whose tall front are eyed
- Vales, spires, meand’ring streams, and Windsor’s tow’ry pride.

WALLER

ON A LADY SINGING TO HER LUTE

Fair Charmer, cease! nor make your Voice’s prize
A heart resign’d the conquest of your Eyes:
Well might, alas! that threaten’d vessel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once assail.
We were too bless’d with these enchanting lays,
Which must be heav’nly when an Angel plays:
But killing charms your lover’s death contrive,
Lest heav’nly music should be heard alive.
Orpheus could charm the trees; but thus a tree,
Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he;
A poet made the silent wood pursue;
This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.

ON A FAN OF THE AUTHOR’S DESIGN

in which was painted the story of cephalus and procris, with the motto ‘aura veni’

Come, gentle air! th’ Æolian shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade;
Come, gentle air! the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo, the glad gales o’er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play;
In Delia’s hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove;
Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wounds she gives;
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris while her lover dies.

COWLEY

THE GARDEN

Fain would my Muse the flow’ry treasures sing,
And humble glories of the youthful Spring;
Where op’ning roses breathing sweets diffuse,
And soft carnations shower their balmy dews;
Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white,
The thin undress of superficial light;
And varied tulips show so dazzling gay,
Blushing in bright diversities of day.
Each painted flow’ret in the lake below
Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow;10
And pale Narcissus, on the bank in vain
Transformëd, gazes on himself again.
Here aged trees cathedral walks compose,
And mount the hill in venerable rows;
There the green infants in their beds are laid,
The garden’s hope, and its expected shade.
Here orange trees with blooms and pendants shine,
And Vernal honours to their Autumn join;
Exceed their promise in the ripen’d store,
Yet in the rising blossom promise more.20
There in bright drops the crystal fountains play,
By laurels shielded from the piercing day;
Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid,
Still from Apollo vindicates her shade;
Still turns her beauties from th’ invading beam,
Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream.
The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves,
At once a shelter from her boughs receives,
Where summer’s beauty midst of winter stays,
And winter’s coolness spite of summer’s rays.30

WEEPING

- While Celia’s tears make sorrow bright,
- Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes;
- The sun, next those the fairest light,
- Thus from the ocean first did rise:
- And thus thro’ mists we see the sun,
- Which else we durst not gaze upon.
- These silver drops, like morning dew,
- Foretell the fervor of the day:
- So from one cloud soft showers we view,
- And blasting lightnings burst away.
- The stars that fall from Celia’s eye
- Declare our doom is drawing nigh.
- The baby in that sunny sphere
- So like a Phaëton appears,
- That Heav’n, the threaten’d world to spare,
- Thought fit to drown him in her tears;
- Else might th’ ambitions nymph aspire
- To set, like him, Heav’n too on fire.

EARL OF ROCHESTER

ON SILENCE

- Silence! coeval with Eternity,
- Thou wert ere Nature’s self began to be,
- ’T was one vast nothing all, and all slept fast in thee.
- Thine was the sway ere Heav’n was form’d, or earth,
- Ere fruitful thought conceiv’d Creation’s birth,
- Or midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.
- Then various elements against thee join’d,
- In one more various animal combin’d,
- And framed the clam’rous race of busy humankind.
- The tongue mov’d gently first, and speech was low,
- Till wrangling Science taught its noise and show,
- And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe.
- But rebel Wit deserts thee oft in vain;
- Lost in the maze of words he turns again,
- And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.
- Afflicted Sense thou kindly dost set free,
- Oppress’d with argumental tyranny,
- And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.
- With thee in private modest Dulness lies,
- And in thy bosom lurks in thought’s disguise;
- Thou varnisher of fools, and cheat of all the wise!
- Yet thy indulgence is by both confest;
- Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast,
- And ’t is in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest.
- Silence, the knave’s repute, the whore’s good name,
- The only honour of the wishing dame;
- The very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame.
- But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are free,
- How Church and State should be obliged to thee!
- At Senate and at Bar how welcome wouldst thou be!
- Yet speech, ev’n there, submissively withdraws
- From rights of subjects, and the poor man’s cause;
- Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy Laws.
- Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,
- What fav’rites gain, and what the nation owes,
- Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.
- The country wit, religion of the town,
- The courtier’s learning, policy o’ th’ gown,
- Are best by thee express’d, and shine in thee alone.
- The parson’s cant, the lawyer’s sophistry,
- Lord’s quibble, critic’s jest, all end in thee;
- All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.

EARL OF DORSET

ARTEMISIA

- Tho’ Artemisia talks by fits
- Of councils, classics, fathers, wits,
- Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke,
- Yet in some things methinks she fails:
- ’T were well if she would pare her nails,
- And wear a cleaner smock.
- Haughty and huge as High Dutch bride,
- Such nastiness and so much pride
- Are oddly join’d by fate:
- On her large squab you find her spread,
- Like a fat corpse upon a bed,
- That lies and stinks in state.
- She wears no colours (sign of grace)
- On any part except her face;
- All white and black beside:
- Dauntless her look, her gesture proud,
- Her voice theatrically loud,
- And masculine her stride.
- So have I seen, in black and white,
- A prating thing, a magpie hight,
- Majestically stalk;
- A stately worthless animal,
- That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,
- All flutter, pride, and talk.

PHRYNE

- Phryne had talents for mankind;
- Open she was and unconfin’d,
- Like some free port of trade:
- Merchants unloaded here their freight,
- And agents from each foreign state
- Here first their entry made.
- Her learning and good breeding such,
- Whether th’ Italian or the Dutch,
- Spaniards or French, came to her,
- To all obliging she’d appear;
- ’T was Si Signior, ’t was Yaw Mynheer,
- ’T was S’il vous plait, Monsieur.
- Obscure by birth, renown’d by crimes,
- Still changing names, religions, climes,
- At length she turns a bride:
- In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades,
- She shines the first of batter’d jades,
- And flutters in her pride.
- So have I known those insects fair
- (Which curious Germans hold so rare)
- Still vary shapes and dyes;
- Still gain new titles with new forms;
- First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms,
- Then painted butterflies.

DR. SWIFT

THE HAPPY LIFE OF A COUNTRY PARSON

- Parson, these things in thy possessing
- Are better than the bishop’s blessing:
- A wife that makes conserves; a steed
- That carries double when there ’s need;
- October store, and best Virginia,
- Tythe pig, and mortuary guinea;
- Gazettes sent gratis down and frank’d,
- For which thy patron’s weekly thank’d;
- A large Concordance, bound long since;
- Sermons to Charles the First, when prince;
- A Chronicle of ancient standing;
- A Chrysostom to smooth thy band in;
- The Polyglott—three parts—my text,
- Howbeit—likewise—now to my next;
- Lo here the Septuagint—and Paul,
- To sum the whole—the close of all.
- He that has these may pass his life,
- Drink with the ’Squire, and kiss his wife;
- On Sundays preach, and eat his fill,
- And fast on Fridays—if he will;
- Toast Church and Queen, explain the news,
- Talk with Churchwardens about pews,
- Pray heartily for some new gift,
- And shake his head at Doctor S—t.

[Page 2.]To the Author of a Poem entitled Successio.

[Lines 19, 20.] Bavius, Mævius, Chærilus, Codrus. Minor Latin poets. See The Dunciad, Book III. 24; and note.

[Page 15.]Spenser: The Alley.

[Stanza vi., line 5.]Jo—n. Old Mr. Johnston, the retired Scotch Secretary of State, who lived at Twickenham. (Carruthers.)

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