natural Genius, Spirit, Invention, and Fire; in all which perhaps he is not very much inferiour to _Homer_ himself. Whose Fire again does not, I conceive, _burn every where clearly, and irresistibly_: Or if it did, it would be no Commendation. For the small Praise here given to _Virgil_, is, in my Opinion, no true Praise at all: His Fire is not every where equal: and it would be a Fault in him, if it were; as I have above observed. But waving That; Surely such an Account of _Virgil_'s Fire was never given by any Critick before. _It is discerned_: As faint, and lessening an Expression, as could have been thought of. And how is it even _discerned_? Only _through a Glass_: And lest we should imagine That Glass to be a _Burning-Glass_; it is _reflected_, and _rather shining, than warm_. Now I desire to be informed, what truer Idea any one can have of the coldest, and most spiritless Writer in the World; supposing him only to be a good Judge, and a Man of tolerable Parts. If I am my self a little warm upon this Subject, I hope it may be pardoned upon such an Occasion; when so great a Genius as _Virgil_'s is unjustly censured by so great a Genius as Mr. _Pope_'s. However it be; _Homer_, according to this Account, remains the Sun of Poetry: For I know of no other Luminary (to which he may be compared) whose Fire _burns every where clearly, and every where irresistibly_. Whereas, if we must pursue these Similes of Light, and Fire, (tho', like other Similes, they do not answer in every Particular) I should rather say, as I hinted in the Beginning of this Preface, that the Fire of Poetry arose in _Homer_, like Light at the Creation; shining, and burning, it is true, but enshrined in a Cloud: But was afterwards transplanted into _Virgil_, as into the Sun; according to the Account which _Milton_ gives of Both:[16] _Let there be Light, said God; and forthwith Light Ethereal, first of Things, Quintessence pure, Sprang from the Deep; and from her native East To journy thro' the airy Gloom began, Sphear'd in a radiant Cloud: For yet the Sun Was not; She in a cloudy Tabernacle Sojourn'd the while.----_ Afterwards: _Of Light by far the greater Part he took, Transplanted from her cloudy Shrine, and plac'd In the Sun's Orb, made porous to receive And drink the liquid Light; firm to retain Her gather'd Beams, great Palace now of Light._