Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Read online

  ALEXANDER POPE

  (1688-1744)

  Contents

  The Poetry Collections

  EARLY POEMS

  PASTORALS

  WINDSOR FOREST

  AN ESSAY ON CRITICISM

  POEMS, 1708–17

  THE RAPE OF THE LOCK

  ELOISA TO ABELARD

  POEMS: 1718–27

  THE CURLL MISCELLANIES

  POEMS SUGGESTED BY GULLIVER

  LATER POEMS

  EPIGRAMS AND EPITAPHS

  AN ESSAY ON MAN

  MORAL ESSAYS

  SATIRES

  THE DUNCIAD

  THE ILIAD

  THE ODYSSEY

  The Poems

  LIST OF POEMS IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER

  LIST OF POEMS IN ALPHABETICAL ORDER

  The Play

  THREE HOURS AFTER MARRIAGE by John Gay, Alexander Pope and John Arbuthnot

  The Biographies

  ALEXANDER POPE by Leslie Stephen

  THE AGE OF POPE by John Dennis

  BRIEF LIFE OF POPE by Thomas De Quincey

  © Delphi Classics 2013

  Version 1

  ALEXANDER POPE

  By Delphi Classics, 2013

  NOTE

  When reading poetry on an eReader, it is advisable to use a small font size, which will allow the lines of poetry to display correctly.

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  The Poetry Collections

  Plough Court, Lombard Street, London — Pope’s birthplace

  A contemporary drawing of the birthplace. Pope’s father was a linen merchant, who operated his business from Plough Court.

  EARLY POEMS

  Alexander Pope (1646–1717) was the son of a linen merchant with strong Catholic ties, directly affecting his son’s education. Due to the recently enforced Test Acts, upholding the status of the established Church of England, all Catholics were banned from teaching, attending university, voting or holding public office on pain of perpetual imprisonment. Therefore, Pope was taught to read by his aunt, before attending Twyford School, followed by two Catholic schools in London. These schools were technically illegal, though they were tolerated in some areas. Nevertheless, a university education was denied to Pope.

  From an early age, he began suffering numerous health problems, including a form of tuberculosis called Pott’s disease, which affects the bone. This disease deformed his body and stunted his growth, leaving him with a severe hunchback and achieving a height of only 4 ft 6 in. The infection also caused other health problems, including respiratory difficulties, high fevers, inflamed eyes and abdominal pain.

  In 1700, the Pope family moved to a small estate at Popeswood in Binfield, Berkshire, due to a statute preventing Catholics from living within ten miles of London. Pope’s formal education ended at this time, and from then on he mostly educated himself by reading the works of classical writers such as the Roman satirists Horace and Juvenal, the epic poets Homer and Virgil, as well as such English authors as Chaucer, Shakespeare and John Dryden. Pope also studied several languages, reading works by English, French, Italian, Latin and Greek authors. The extensive reading of classics and English masters influenced many of Pope’s early poetic works, demonstrating his natural affinity to handling various metres and rhyme schemes.

  Popes Manor, previously called Whitehill House, where Pope lived as a youngster between 1700 and 1715

  CONTENTS

  Juvenile Poems

  Ode on Solitude

  A Paraphrase (On Thomas à Kempis)

  To the Author of a Poem Entitled Successio

  The First Book of Statius’s Thebais

  Imitations of English Poets

  Chaucer

  Spenser: The Alley

  Waller: On a Lady Singing to Her Lute

  Waller: On a Fan of the Author’s Design

  Cowley: The Garden

  Cowley: Weeping

  Earl of Rochester: On Silence

  Earl of Dorset: Artemisia

  Earl of Dorset: Phryne

  Dr. Swift: The Happy Life of a Country Parson

  Paraphrases from Chaucer

  January and May; or, The Merchant’s Tale

  The Wife of Bath

  The Temple of Fame

  Translations from Ovid

  Sappho to Phaon

  The Fable of Dryope

  Vertumnus and Pomona

  Pope, aged 7

  Juvenile Poems

  Ode on Solitude

  This poem was written when Pope was twelve years old.

  HAPPY the man whose wish and care

  A few paternal acres bound,

  Content to breathe his native air

  In his own ground. 5

  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 10

  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; 15

  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 20

  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: 5

  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 in not stop when enter’d at the ear,

  But sink, and take deep rooting in my heart. 10

  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 15

  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; 20

  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; 25

  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. 30

  Let them be silent then; and thou alon
e,

  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: 35

  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, 5

  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. 10

  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 15

  (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 Mævius to the full,

  And Chærilus taught Codrus to be dull; 20

  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 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.

  FRATERNAL rage, the guilty Thebes’ alarms,

  Th’ alternate reign destroy’d by impious arms

  Demand our song; a sacred fury fires

  My ravish’d breast, and all the Muse inspires.

  O Goddess! say, shall I deduce my rhymes 5

  From the dire nation in its early times,

  Europa’s rape, Agenor’s stern decree,

  And Cadmus searching round the spacious sea?

  How with the serpent’s teeth he sow’d the soil,

  And reap’d an iron harvest of his toil; 10

  Or how from joining stones the city sprung,

  While to his harp divine Amphion sung?

  Or shall I Juno’s hate to Thebes resound,

  Whose fatal rage th’ unhappy monarch found?

  The sire against the son his arrows drew, 15

  O’er the wide fields the furious mother flew,

  And while her arms a second hope contain,

  Sprung from the rocks, and plunged into the main.

  But waive whate’er to Cadmus may belong,

  And fix, O Muse! the barrier of thy song 20

  At Œdipus — from his disasters trace

  The long confusions of his guilty race:

  Nor yet attempt to stretch thy bolder wing,

  And mighty Cæsar’s conquering eagles sing;

  How twice he tamed proud Ister’s rapid flood, 25

  While Dacian mountains stream’d with barb’rous blood:

  Twice taught the Rhine beneath his laws to roll,

  And stretch’d his empire to the frozen pole;

  Or, long before, with early valour strove

  In youthful arms t’ assert the cause of Jove. 30

  And thou, great heir of all thy father’s fame,

  Increase of glory to the Latian name,

  O! bless thy Rome with an eternal reign,

  Nor let desiring worlds entreat in vain!

  What tho’ the stars contract their heav’nly space, 35

  And crowd their shining ranks to yield thee place;

  Tho’ all the skies, ambitious of thy sway,

  Conspire to court thee from our world away;

  Tho’ Phœbus longs to mix his rays with thine,

  And in thy glories more serenely shine; 40

  Tho’ Jove himself no less content would be

  To part his throne, and share his Heav’n with thee?

  Yet stay, great Cæsar! and vouchsafe to reign

  O’er the wide earth, and o’er the wat’ry main;

  Resign to Jove his empire of the skies, 45

  And people Heav’n with Roman deities.

  The time will come when a diviner flame

  Shall warm my breast to sing of Cæsar’s fame;

  Meanwhile permit that my preluding Muse

  In Theban wars an humbler theme may choose. 50

  Of furious hate surviving death she sings,

  A fatal throne to two contending kings,

  And funeral flames that, parting wide in air,

  Express the discord of the souls they bear:

  Of towns dispeopled, and the wand’ring ghosts 55

  Of kings unburied in the wasted coasts;

  When Dirce’s fountain blush’d with Grecian blood,

  And Thetis, near Ismenos’ swelling flood,

  With dread beheld the rolling surges sweep

  In heaps his slaughter’d sons into the deep. 60

  What hero, Clio! wilt thou first relate?

  The rage of Tydeus, or the prophet’s fate?

  Or how, with hills of slain on every side,

  Hippomedon repell’d the hostile tide?

  Or how the youth, with ev’ry grace adorn’d, 65

  Untimely fell, to be forever mourn’d?

  Then to fierce Capaneus thy verse extend,

  And sing with horror his prodigious end.

  Now wretched Œdipus, deprived of sight,

  Led a long death in everlasting night; 70

  But while he dwells where not a cheerful ray

  Can pierce the da
rkness, and abhors the day,

  The clear reflecting mind presents his sin

  In frightful views, and makes it day within;

  Returning thoughts in endless circles roll, 75

  And thousand furies haunt his guilty soul:

  The wretch then lifted to th’ unpitying skies

  Those empty orbs from whence he tore his eyes,

  Whose wounds, yet fresh, with bloody hands he strook,

  While from his breast these dreadful accents broke: — 80

  ‘Ye Gods! that o’er the gloomy regions reign,

  Where guilty spirits feel eternal pain;

  Thou, sable Styx! whose livid streams are roll’d

  Through dreary coasts, which I tho’ blind behold;

  Tisiphone! that oft has heard my prayer, 85

  Assist, if Œdipus deserve thy care.

  If you receiv’d me from Jocasta’s womb,

  And nurs’d the hope of mischiefs yet to come;

  If, leaving Polybus, I took my way

  To Cyrrha’s temple, on that fatal day 90

  When by the son the trembling father died,

  Where the three roads the Phocian fields divide;

  If I the Sphynx’s riddles durst explain,

  Taught by thyself to win the promis’d reign;

  If wretched I, by baleful furies led, 95

  With monstrous mixture stain’d my mother’s bed,

  For Hell and thee begot an impious brood,

  And with full lust those horrid joys renew’d,

  Then, self condemn’d, to shades of endless night,

  Forc’d from these orbs the bleeding balls of sight, 100

  Oh hear! and aid the vengeance I require,

  If worthy thee, and what thou might’st inspire.

  My sons their old unhappy sire despise,

  Spoil’d of his kingdom, and deprived of eyes;

  Guideless I wander, unregarded mourn, 105

  Whilst these exalt their sceptres o’er my urn;

  These sons, ye Gods! who with flagitious pride

  Insult my darkness and my groans deride.

  Art thou a father, unregarding Jove!

  And sleeps thy thunder in the realms above? 110

  Thou Fury! then some lasting curse entail,

  Which o’er their children’s children shall prevail;