1, some days before Pope was twelve[112]; so early
must he, therefore, have felt the power of harmony, and the zeal of
genius. Who does not wish that Dryden could have known the value of the
homage that was paid him, and foreseen the greatness of his young
admirer?

The earliest of Pope's productions is his Ode on Solitude, written
before he was twelve, in which there is nothing more than other forward
boys have attained, and which is not equal to Cowley's performances at
the same age.

His time was now wholly spent in reading and writing. As he read the
classicks, he amused himself with translating them; and, at fourteen,
made a version of the first book of the Thebais, which, with some
revision, he afterwards published. He must have been, at this time, if
he had no help, a considerable proficient in the Latin tongue.

By Dryden's Fables, which had then been not long published, and were
much in the hands of poetical readers, he was tempted to try his own
skill in giving Chaucer a more fashionable appearance, and put January
and May, and the Prologue of the Wife of Bath, into modern English. He
translated, likewise, the epistle of Sappho to Phaon, from Ovid, to
complete the version which was before imperfect; and wrote some other
small pieces, which he afterwards printed.

He sometimes imitated the English poets, and professed to have written
at fourteen, his poem upon Silence, after Rochester's Nothing. He had
now formed his versification, and in the smoothness of his numbers
surpassed the original: but this is a small part of his praise; he
discovers such acquaintance both with human life and publick affairs, as
is not easily conceived to have been attainable by a boy of fourteen in
Windsor forest.

Next year he was desirous of opening to himself new sources of
knowledge, by making himself acquainted with modern languages; and
removed, for a time, to London, that he might study French and Italian,
which, as he desired nothing more than to read them, were, by diligent
application, soon despatched. Of Italian learning he does not appear to
have ever made much use in his subsequent studies.

He then returned to Binfield, and delighted himself with his own poetry.
He tried all styles, and many subjects. He wrote a comedy, a tragedy, an
epick poem, with panegyricks on all the princes of Europe; and, as he
confesses, "thought himself the greatest genius that ever was."
Self-confidence is the first requisite to great