Conſidered as a poet, Daniel De Foe is not ſo eminent, as in a political light: he has taken no pains in verſification; his ideas are maſculine, his expreſſions coarſe, and his numbers generally rough. He ſeems rather to have ſtudied to ſpeak truth, by probing wounds to the bottom, than, by embelliſhing his verſification, to give it a more elegant keenneſs. This, however, ſeems to have proceeded more from careleſſneſs in that particular, than want of ability: for the following lines in his True Born Engliſhman, in which he makes Britannia rehearſe the praiſes of her hero, King William, are harmoniouſly beautiful, and elegantly poliſhed.
BRITANNIA.
The fame of virtue ’tis for which I ſound,
And heroes with immortal triumphs crown’d.
Fame built on ſolid virtue ſwifter flies,
Than morning light can ſpread my eaſtern ſkies.
The gathering air returns the doubling ſound,
And long repeating thunders force it round:
Ecchoes return from caverns of the deep;
Old Chaos dreamt on’t in eternal ſleep,
Time helps it forward to its lateſt urn,
From whence it never, never ſhall return;
Nothing is heard ſo far, or laſts ſo long;
’Tis heard by ev’ry ear, and ſpoke by ev’ry tongue.
My hero, with the ſails of honour furl’d,
Riſes like the great genius of the world.
By fate, and fame, wiſely prepared to be
The ſoul of war, and life of victory.
He ſpreads the wings of virtue on the throne,
And every wind of glory fans them on.
Immortal trophies dwell upon his brow,
Freſh as the garlands he has won but now.
