Through the soft Silence of the listning Night
So sweetly sung your Joy the Clouds along.
All the Masters of Verse from Chaucer to Milton, and from Milton to this time, were sensible of this Art. Dryden attends to it more than any thing else.
"Beneath the Shade which Beechen Boughs diffuse,
You Tityrus entertain your Sylvan Muse:
Round the wide World in Banishment we roam,
Forc'd from our pleasing Fields and native Home.
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Again,