THE

POPE

ANTHOLOGY.

1701-1744 A.D.

ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT. [HENRIETTA HOWARD, COUNTESS OF SUFFOLK.]

I KNOW the thing that 's most uncommon ! (ENVY, be silent; and attend!)

I know a reasonable woman;

Handsome and witty, yet a friend!

Not warped by passion, awed by rumour;
Not grave through pride, or gay through folly;
An equal mixture of good humour

And sensible soft melancholy.

'Has she no faults then,' ENVY says, 'Sir?'
Yes, she has one, I must aver!

When all the World conspires to praise her;
The woman's deaf, and does not hear!

ODE ON SOLITUDE.

[This imitation of HORACE's Ode, Beatus integer, &c., was written in 1700, when young ALEXANDER POPE was not twelve years old. present is his revised text of 1736.]

HAPPY the man! whose wish and care

A few paternal acres bound; Content to breathe his native air

In his own ground:

The

Whose herds, with milk; whose fields, with bread;
Whose flocks supply him with attire:
Whose trees, in Summer yield him shade;
In Winter, fire.

Blest! 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 mixt; 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

THESE, equal syllables alone require;

Though oft, the ear the open vowels tire!
While expletives, their feeble aid do join;
And ten low words oft creep in one dull line;
While they ring round the same unvaried chimes,
With sure returns of still expected rhymes.
Where'er you find the cooling western breeze,
In the next line, it whispers through the trees.
If crystal streams with pleasing murmurs creep,
The Reader's threatened, not in vain, with sleep.
Then, at the last, and only couplet fraught

With some unmeaning thing they call a thought,
A needless Alexandrine ends the Song,

That, like a wounded snake, draws its slow length along.
Leave such to tune their own dull rhymes; and know
What's roundly smooth, or languishingly slow!
And praise the easy vigour of a line,

Where DENHAM's strength and WALLER's sweetness join!
[True ease in writing comes from art, not chance;
As those move easiest who have learned to dance.]
'Tis not enough, no harshness gives offence;
The Sound must seem an echo to the Sense!

Soft is the strain when ZEPHYR gently blows; And the smooth stream, in smoother Numbers flows: But when loud surges lash the sounding shore, The hoarse rough Verse should, like the torrent, roar! When AJAX strives, some rock's vast weight to throw, The line too labours, and the words move slow: Not so, when swift CAMILLA scours the plain; Flies o'er th' unbending corn, and skims along the Main.

POPE wrote but few short Poems that are suitable for this Series. In order, therefore, to do him justice, one of his longer pieces is here given; and The Rape of the Lock for preference, because, as regards its form, it is one of the masterpieces of English Mock Heroic Verse; while its subject matter gives us a charming picture of the Age of Queen ANNE.

This Poem is in English, what BOILEAU's Lutrin is in French. It is based upon an incident in real life; and the characters in it are

BELINDA, Mrs. ARABELLA

FERMOR.

The Baron, Lord PETRE.

THALESTRIS, Mrs. MORLEY.
Sir PLUME, her brother, Sir
George BROWN.

CLARISSA.

While there is much fun and burlesque pomposity in the Poem, it contains not a few exquisitely musical lines; and, in other respects, carries out the principles of writing verse that POPE has laid down on the preceding page. It is also a sufficiently acid banter of the Fair Sex; so that Lady WINCHILSEA, at page III, advises POPE to 'soothe the Ladies!'

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.

AN HEROI-COMICAL POEM

IN FIVE CAntos.

A tonso est hoc nomen adepta capillo.—OVID.
Nolueram, BELINDA [POLYTIMUS] tuos violare capillos :
Sed juvat hoc precibus me tribuisse tuis.-MARTIAL.

CANTO I.

WHAT dire offence, from am'rous causes springs, What mighty quarrels rise from trivial things; I sing! This Verse to CARYL, Muse! is due! This, ev'n BELINDA may vouchsafe to view! Slight is the subject; but not so the praise, If she inspire, and he approve, my Lays!

Say, what strange motive, Goddess! could compel A well-bred Lord t' assault a gentle Belle? O, say, what stranger cause, yet unexplored, Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord? And dwells such rage in softest bosoms then? And lodge such daring souls in little men?

Sol, through white curtains, did his beams display; And oped those eyes, which brighter shine than they. Now Shock had given himself the rousing shake; And Nymphs prepared their chocolate to take. Thrice the wrought slipper knocked against the ground; And striking watches the tenth hour resound. BELINDA still her downy pillow prest:

Her guardian Sylph prolonged the balmy rest.
'Twas he had summoned to her silent bed
The Morning Dream that hovered o'er her head.
A Youth, more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau,
(That ev'n in slumber caused her cheek to glow!)
Seemed to her ear, his winning lips to lay;.
And thus, in whispers said, or seemed to say.
'Fairest of mortals! thou distinguished care
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!

If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought
Of all the Nurse, and all the Priest, have taught
Of airy Elves by moonlight shadows seen,
The silver token, and the circled Green;

Or Virgins visited by Angel Powers,

With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenly flowers;