We shall present the reader with a few lines from the second Book of Lucretius, as a specimen of our author's versification, by which it will be found how much he fell short of Dryden in point of harmony, though he seems to have been equal to any other poet, who preceded Dryden, in that particular.
'Tis pleasant, when the seas are rough, to stand, And view another's danger, safe at land: Not 'cause he's troubled, but 'tis sweet to see Those cares and fears, from which our selves are free. 'Tis also pleasant to behold from far How troops engage, secure ourselves from war. But above all, 'tis pleasantest to get The top of high philosophy, and sit On the calm, peaceful, flourishing head of it: Whence we may view, deep, wondrous deep below, How poor mistaken mortals wand'ring go, Seeking the path to happiness: some aim At learning, wit, nobility, or fame: Others with cares and dangers vex each hour To reach the top of wealth, and sov'reign pow'r: Blind wretched man! in what dark paths of strife We walk this little journey of our life! While frugal nature seeks for only ease; A body free from pains, free from disease; A mind from cares and jealousies at peace. And little too is needful to maintain The body sound in health, and free from pain: Not delicates, but such as may supply Contented nature's thrifty luxury: She asks no more. What tho' no boys of gold Adorn the walls, and sprightly tapers hold, Whose beauteous rays, scatt'ring the gawdy light, Might grace the feast, and revels of the night: What tho' no gold adorns; no music's sound With double sweetness from the roofs rebound; Yet underneath a loving myrtle's shade, Hard by a purling stream supinely laid, When spring with fragrant flow'rs the earth has spread, And sweetest roses grow around our head; Envy'd by wealth and pow'r, with small expence We may enjoy the sweet delights of sense. Who ever heard a fever tamer grown In cloaths embroider'd o'er, and beds of down. Than in coarse rags? Since then such toys as these Contribute nothing to the body's ease, As honour, wealth, and nobleness of blood, 'Tis plain they likewise do the mind no good: If when thy fierce embattell'd troops at land Mock-fights maintain; or when thy navies Hand In graceful ranks, or sweep the yielding seas, If then before such martial fights as these, Disperse not all black jealousies and cares, Vain dread of death, and superstitious fears Not leave thy mind; but if all this be vain, If the same cares, and dread, and fears remain, If Traytor-like they seize thee on the throne, And dance within the circle of a crown; If noise of arms, nor darts can make them fly, Nor the gay sparklings of the purple dye. If they on emperors will rudely seize, What makes us value all such things as these, But folly, and dark ignorance of happiness? For we, as boys at night, by day do fear Shadows as vain, and senseless as those are. Wherefore that darkness, which o'erspreads our fouls, Day can't disperse; but those eternal rules, Which from firm premises true reason draws, And a deep insight into nature's laws.