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Heroes' and Heroins' shouts confus'dly rise,
And base and treble voices strike the skies.
No common weapons in their hands are found;
Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.

So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage,
And heav'nly breasts with human passions rage;
'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms;
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms;

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Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around;

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Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound;

Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way,
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!

While thro' the press enrag'd Thalestris flies,
And scatters death around from both her eyes,
A Beau and Witling perish'd in the throng;
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in song.
"O cruel nymph! a living death I bear,"
Cry'd Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair.
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast:
"Those eyes are made so killing
Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies
Th' expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies.

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was his last.

As bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down,
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown;
She smil'd to see the doughty hero slain,
But at her smile the Beau reviv'd again.

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air,
Weighs the Men's wits against the lady's Hair.
The doubtful beam long nods from side to side;
At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside.

See, fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, With more than usual lightning in her eyes; Nor fear'd the Chief th' unequal fight to try, Who sought no more than on his foe to die.

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But this bold Lord, with manly strength endu'd,

She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd:
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew,

A charge of Snuff the wily Virgin threw;

Sudden with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.

"Now meet thy fate," th' incens'd virago cry'd, And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.

"Boast not my fall," he said, "insulting foe!
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low;
Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind;
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than so, ah let me still survive,
And still burn on in Cupid's flames, — alive."
"Restore the Lock!" she cries; and all around
"Restore the Lock!" the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain

Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But see how oft' ambitious aims are cross'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is sought, but sought in vain :
With such a prize no mortal must be blest,
So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere,
Since all that man e'er lost is treasur'd there.
There Heroes' wits are kept in pondrous vases,
And Beaus' in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases.
There broken vows and death-bed alms are found,
And lovers's hearts with ends of riband bound,
The courtier's promises, and sick man's pray'rs,
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea,

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Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the Muse she saw it upward rise,

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Tho' mark'd by none but quick poetic eyes;

(Thus Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew,

To Proculus alone confess'd in view.)

A sudden Star, it shot thro' liquid air,

And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright,
The skies bespangling with dishevel'd light.

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This the Beau monde shall from the Mall survey,
As through the moonlight shade they nightly stray,
And hail with music its propitious ray;

This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galileo's eyes;

And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom

The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.

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Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair, 325
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!

Not all the tresses that fair head can boast,
Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost :
For after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions slain, your self shall die;
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust,
This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

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2. THE MOVEMENT OF REACTION

Although the mention of eighteenth-century English poetry is generally suggestive of the conventional school of Pope and Johnson, it must be noted that, contemporaneous with this school, almost from the very beginning of the century, there was proceeding another literary movement, destined in time to bring about a revolution in English letters as great as that which had resulted in the ascendency of the Classical school. This movement was fostered by a few poets, who, consciously or unconsciously, could not or would not be bound by the tenets of this school. Some of these poets discarded the heroic couplet and reverted to the verse forms as well as the poetic ideals of earlier English and North-European poetry; some, indeed, to the inspiration of the ancient classics. Others clung to the couplet and no doubt imagined that they were wholly in accord with the conventionalists, although their poetic sympathies were such as could never be satisfied with the ideals of Pope and his disciples. Passion, imagination, love of nature, — all of which had fallen into disrepute,-little by little reasserted themselves in the works of such writers; and thus very slowly, indefinitely, almost imperceptibly at first, the new poetry arose. For a new poetry it was, although, until the time of Burns, it was, to a large degree, held in check by the dominant authority of the other school.

The course of this movement in the history of eighteenth-century letters may be indicated by a brief mention of some of the more important poets concerned. The first to attain to any prominence was a Scotchman, JAMES THOMSON (1700-1748). Of him Saintsbury says in his History of English Poetry: "Thomson's poetical works are among the most important in the history of English poetry, although they cannot be exactly ranked among the best of English poems. Appearing as they did at the very same time with the most perfect and polished work of Pope, they served as an antidote to that great writer's 'town' poetry. Couched as the best of them were in blank verse, or in the Spenserian stanza, they showed a bold front to the insolent domination of the stopped couplet." Thomson's Seasons (1726–1730), although written largely in the formal, rhetorical language of the Classical school, nevertheless differs widely from that school in showing an "honest understanding" and sincere love of nature. Equally important as an influence in the new direction was the work of THOMAS It is true that his poems are by no means free from the coldness and artificiality of the age; yet his gentle sympathy with man and nature, together with his ripe scholarship and intimate acquaintance with the best in the poetry of other lands, contributed to make him an inspirer of the new poetry rather than a confirmer of the old. As Stopford Brooke has said: "He stands clear and bright on the ridge between the old and the new. Having ascended through the old poetry, he saw the new landscape of song below him, felt its fresher air, and sent his own power into the men who arose after him." With Gray closes what may be regarded as the first period of the reactionary movement.

GRAY.

The opening of its second period is marked by three matters of import: first, the comparative barrenness of poetic achievement during the third quarter of the century; second, the renewal of interest in the romance of past ages, as evidenced by the successful publication of Bishop Percy's Reliques of Ancient Poetry; and third, the literary dictatorship of Dr. Johnson, an ardent follower of Pope and a zealous advocate of the ideals of the Classical school. The conservatism of Johnson undoubtedly had much influence over the work of his intimate friend and companion, OLIVER GOLDSMITH. Indeed, Goldsmith is often classed among the conventional poets of the century. No doubt he tried to meet the requirements of the conventional school; no doubt he wrote some poems with a purpose as consciously didactic as was ever that of Pope. But the spirit of the artist was more potent than the purpose of the artificer; and, in spite of his heroic couplets and attempts at moralizing, in spite of Dr. Johnson and of his own adherence to conventional poetic theories, Goldsmith's truer instincts place him among the poets of the newer school.

During the latter years of this period of reaction the last taper of the conventional school flickered and went out. GEORGE CRABBE (1754– 1832) and WILLIAM COWPER (1731-1800), like Goldsmith, both counted themselves of the tribe of Pope. Both used the regulation couplet; both tried to write in the regulation manner. But the sincere and realistic products of the Muse demonstrated the futility of clinging to a style from which the soul had escaped. Finally ROBERT BURNS, in his matchless songs, gave voice to strains such as for simplicity and sweetness had not been heard since the best days of the Elizabethans. Even he, when he exchanged his native dialect for literary English, at times showed curious traces of the earlier school; but, on the whole, the differences between Pope, who opened the century, and Burns, who closed it, were nearly world-wide. The forces of reaction had completed their work, and England was ready for the new Romantic school.

THOMAS GRAY (1716–1771)

The quiet, sober-minded Thomas Gray is frequently classed with Milton among the most scholarly of English poets. Gray's life was given almost entirely to self-culture. Probably no other man of his time in all Europe was so well read in modern literature, while few had a more intimate knowledge of the classics. As a result of this wide range of reading, he had developed a critical insight that might have contributed much to making him a great poet; but in Gray the creative impulse was largely lacking. If, like Pope or Wordsworth or Tennyson, he had resolutely confined himself to writing poetry, his rank as a poet would doubtless have been far higher than it is. His mind was clear and searching, his taste refined—almost fastidious, his power of expression of extraordinary fitness and finish. Though of no great imagination or originality, he was one of the first to achieve at least a partial emancipation from the thraldom of the Classical school. In spite of his talents, however, he is a poet only of the presentative or reflective class; yet one whom the world will never forget as the author of the Elegy a production of sentiment dignified and temperate rather than profound, yet so wide in its appeal and so nearly perfect in expression that it is perhaps the best known and best loved poem in the English language. 1716-1741. His Gray was born in London in December, 1716. father, though a man of some wealth, was extravagant, intemperate, and cruelly indifferent to his family. Hence the nurture and education of the youth were entirely devolved upon the mother. Young Gray became a pupil in Eton, where his mother's brother was a teacher, and thence he proceeded to Cambridge, which he entered at the age of eighteen. Four years later he left the university without taking, a degree, and with

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