PRIOR.
To the close rock the frighted raven flies,
Soon as the rising eagle cuts the air:
The shaggy wolf unseen and trembling lies,
When the hoarse roar proclaims the lion near.
Ill-starr’d did we our forts and lines forsake,
To dare our British foes to open fight:
Our conquest we by stratagem should make:
Our triumph had been founded in our flight.
’Tis ours, by craft and by surprise to gain:
’Tis theirs, to meet in arms, and battle in the plain.
By this new structure of his lines he has avoided difficulties; nor am I sure that he has lost any of the power of pleasing; but he no longer imitates Spenser.
Some of his poems are written without regularity of measures; for, when he commenced poet, he had not recovered from our Pindarick infatuation; but he probably lived to be convinced, that the essence of verse is order and consonance.
His numbers are such as mere diligence may attain; they seldom offend the ear, and seldom sooth it; they commonly want airiness, lightness, and facility: what is smooth,
