Who would not give their crowns to be so blest? Was Helen half so fair, so formed for joy, Well chose the Trojan, and well burned was Troy. But ah! what strange vicissitudes of fate, What chance attends on every worldly state! As when the skies were sacked, the conquered gods, Compelled from heaven, forsook their blessed abodes; Wandering in woods, they hid from den to den, And sought their safety in the shapes of men; As when the winds with kindling flames conspire, The blaze increases as they fan the fire; From roof to roof the burning torrent pours, Nor spares the palace nor the loftiest towers; Or as the stately pine, erecting high Her lofty branches shooting to the sky, If riven by the thunderbolt of Jove, Down falls at once the pride of all the grove; Level with lowest shrubs lies the tall head, That, reared aloft, as to the clouds was spread, So-- But cease, my muse, thy colours are too faint; Shade with a veil those griefs thou can'st not paint. That sun is set!-- _Progress of Beauty._ The beauty, which inspired the romantic and unchanging admiration of Granville, may be allowed to justify some of the flights of Dryden's panegyric. I fear enough will still remain to justify the stricture of Johnson, who observes, that Dryden's dedication is an "attempt to mingle earth and heaven, by praising human excellence in the language of religion." At the date of this address, the Duchess of York was only in her sixteenth year. Footnote: a. He had written verses to the Earl of Peterborough, on the Duke of York's marriage with the Princess of Modena, before he was twelve years old. TO MR DRYDEN, ON HIS POEM OF PARADISE.