APPENDIX;

CONSISTING OF

NOTES, BY GILBERT WAKEFIELD, B, A.

CHIEFLY ILLUSTRATIVE OF

PARALLEL PASSAGES.

NOTES AND OBSERVATIONS.

ON THE PASTORALS.

PASTORAL I. P. 61.

Ver. 1. FIRST in thefe fields I try the fylvan strains,

Nor blufh to fport on Windfor's blifsful plains.

Our Poet seems to have confulted Dryden's verfion of the place imitated here, Virg. Ecl. vi. 1.

I first transferr'd to Rome Sicilian trains :

Nor blufb'd the Doric Muse to dwell on Mantuan plains. Roscommon alfo, a terfe, judicious, unaffected, and moral writer, justly esteemed and celebrated by Pope, may be agreeably compared on this occafion :

I first of Romans stoop'd to rural firains,

Ner blush'd to dwell among Sicilian fwains.

Ver. 5. Let vernal airs through trembling ofiers play.

A beautiful paffage of this kind occurs in Paradise Regain'd, ii. 26. Then on the bank of Jordan, by a creek,

Where winds with reeds and ofiers whisp'ring play—

A paffage in Lucan, viii. 493. is very appofite to this fentiment:

exeat aulâ,

Qui vult effe pius. Virtus et fumma poteftas

Non coëunt.

He, who would fpotlefs live, from courts must go :
No union power fupreme and virtue know.

Ver. 23. Hear how the birds, on ev'ry bloomy spray,
With joyous mufic wake the dawning day!

Surry, in his Sonnet on Spring:

Somer is come, for every spray now fpringes.

Milton,

Milton, Paradife Regain'd, iv. 437. in most delicate strains of the Doric Mufe:

the birds

Clear'd up their choiceft notes in bush and spray,

To gratulate the sweet return of morn.

And in his firft fonnet, which Pope certainly had in view:

O! Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray

Warbleft at eve!

Some lines in Broome's Paraphrafe of Job xxxix. on a congenial fubject, will be acceptable to the reader, who delights in the fragrance of these bloffoms of the Muses:

By thy command does fair Aurora rife,
And gild with purple beams the blushing skies?
The warbling lark falutes her chearful ray,
And welcomes with his fong the rifing day.

Ver. 25. Why fit we mute, when early linnets fing;
When warbling Philomel falutes the spring?

He is indebted here to Waller's Chloris and Hylas; a paffage, pointed out alfo by Mr. White;

Hylas, oh Hylas! why fit we mute,

Now that each bird faluteth the fpring?

Ver. 35.

where wanton ivy twines, And fwelling clusters bend the curling vines, Dryden, in his State of Innocence, A&t iii. Scene 1.

And creeping 'twixt 'em all, the mantling vine
Does round their trunks her purple cluflers tavine.

Ver. 37. Four figures rifing from the work appear.
So Dryden, En. viii. 830.

And Roman triumphs rifing on the gold.

Ver. 62. And trees weep amber on the banks of Po. This sweet line is indebted, perhaps, to Milton, Par. Loft, iv. 248. Groves, whofe rich trees wept odorous gums and balm.

The claffical reader will thank me for producing fome elegant verfes of Marius Vi&or, an author but little known, from his defcription of Paradife :

quod

quod Medus redolet, vel crine foluto
Fragrat Achæmenius, quod molli dives amomo
Affyrius, meffifque rubens Mareotica nardo.
Quod Tarteffiaci frutices, quod virga Sabæi,
Quodque Palæftinus lacero flet vulnere ramus.

Ver. 73. All nature laughs; the groves are fresh and fair.
It stood in the first edition, and, I think, as well :

All nature laughs; the groves fresh honours wear.

It is probable, that our author had in view fome lines of the true
Doric delicacy and most unaffected tenderness in Dryden's State
of Innocence, Act v. Scene 1. where Adam thus addresses Eve;
What joy, without your fight, has earth in ftore?
While you were absent, Eden was no more.

Winds murmur'd through the leaves your long delay,
And fountains o'er the pebbles chid

your stay.

But, with your presence cheer'd, they cease to mourn,
And walks wear fresher green at your return.

PASTORAL II. P. 73

Ver. 45. Oh! were I made, by fome transforming pow'r,
The captive bird that fings within thy bow'r.

Romeo and Juliet :

I would I were thy bird.

A fimilar wifh occurs in Ovid, Met. viii. 51.

O! ego ter felix, fi pennis lapfa per auras
Gnoffiaci poffim caftris infiftere regis.
Oh! had I wings to glide along the air!
To his dear tent l'd fly, and settle there.

Ver. 69. Here bees from bloffoms fip the rofy dew.

Milton, in his Penferofo :

And every herb, that fips the dew.

PASTORAL III. P. 82.

STEEVENS.

CROXALL.

Ver. 30. Say, is not abfence death to those who love?

This whole paffage is imitated from Sir Philip Sydney's Arcadia, Book iii. p. 712. 8vo edition :

Earth, brook, flow'rs, pipe, lamb, dove,

Say all, and I with them,

Abfence is death, or worse, to them that love.