ks of this great poet, in an order nearly
chronological, he necessarily begins with his pastorals, which,
considered as representations of any kind of life, he very justly
censures; for there is in them a mixture of Grecian and English, of
ancient and modern images. Windsor is coupled with Hybla, and Thames
with Pactolus. He then compares some passages, which Pope has imitated,
or translated, with the imitation, or version, and gives the preference
to the originals, perhaps, not always upon convincing arguments.

Theocritus makes his lover wish to be a bee, that he might creep among
the leaves that form the chaplet of his mistress. Pope's enamoured swain
longs to be made the captive bird that sings in his fair one's bower,
that she might listen to his songs, and reward him with her kisses. The
critick prefers the image of Theocritus, as more wild, more delicate,
and more uncommon.

It is natural for a lover to wish, that he might be any thing that could
come near to his lady. But we more naturally desire to be that which she
fondles and caresses, than that which she would avoid, at least would
neglect. The snperiour delicacy of Theocritus I cannot discover, nor
can, indeed, find, that either in the one or the other image there is
any want of delicacy. Which of the two images was less common in the
time of the poet who used it, for on that consideration the merit of
novelty depends, I think it is now out of any critick's power to decide.

He remarks, I am afraid, with too much justice, that there is not a
single new thought in the pastorals; and, with equal reason, declares,
that their chief beauty consists in their correct and musical
versification, which has so influenced the English ear, as to render
every moderate rhymer harmonious.

In his examination of the Messiah, he justly observes some deviations
from the inspired author, which weaken the imagery, and dispirit the
expression.

On Windsor Forest, he declares, I think without proof, that descriptive
poetry was by no means the excellence of Pope; he draws this inference
from the few images introduced in this poem, which would not equally
belong to any other place. He must inquire, whether Windsor forest has,
in reality, any thing peculiar.

The Stag-chase is not, he says, so full, so animated, and so
circumstantiated, as Somerville's. Barely to say, that one performance
is not so good as another, is to criticise with little exactness. But
Pope has directed,