But lo! the fatal Victor of Mankind, Swoln Luxury! - pale Ruin stalks behind!» As countless Infects from the north-eaft pour, 395 To blast the Spring, and ravage ev'ry flow'r: So barb❜rous Millions fpread contagious death: The fick'ning Laurel wither'd at their breath. Deep Superftition's night the fkies o'erhung, Beneath whose baleful dews the Poppy sprung. 400 No longer Genius woo'd the Nine to love, But Dulness nodded in the Mufe's grove:: Wit, Spirit, Freedom, were the fole offence, Nor aught was held fo dangerous as Senfe.

405

At length, again fair Science shot her ray, Dawn'd in the skies, and spoke returning day. Now, SATIRE, triumph o'er thy flying foe, Now load thy quiver, ftring thy flacken'd bow! 'Tis done-See, great ERASMUS breaks the spell, And wounds triumphant Folly in her Cell! 410 (In vain the folemn Cowl furrounds her face, Vain all her bigot cant, her four grimace) With fhame compell'd her leaden throne to quit, And own the force of Reafon urg'd by Wit.

414

'Twas then plain DONNE in honeft vengeance rose, His Wit harmonious, tho' his Rhyme was profe:

He 'midft an Age of Puns and Pedants wrote

།

With genuine fenfe, and Roman ftrength of thought.

421

425

Yet fcarce had SATIRE well refum'd her flame, (With grief the Muse records her Country's fhame) Ere Britain faw the foul revolt commence, And treach'rous Wit began her war with Sense. Then rofe a fhameless mercenary train, Whom latest Time fhall view with juft difdain: A race fantastick, in whose gaudy line Untutor❜d thought, and tinfel beauty shine; Wit's fhatter'd Mirror lies in fragments bright, Reflects not Nature, but confounds the fight. Dry Morals the Court-Poet blush'd to fing: Twas all his praife to fay," the oddeft thing." Proud for a jeft obfcene, a Patron's nod, To martyr Virtue, or blafpheme his God.

430

Ill-fated DRYDEN! who unmov'd can fee Th' extremes of wit and meannefs join'd in Thee. Flames that could mount, and gain their kindred skies, Low-creeping in the putrid fink of vice:

436 A Mufe whom Wisdom woo'd, but woo'd in vain, The Pimp of Pow'r, the Proftitute to Gain: Wreaths, that should deck fair Virtue's form alone, To Strumpets, Traitors, Tyrants, vilely thrown: 440

Unrival'd Parts, the scorn of honeft fame;
And Genius rife, a Monument of shame!

More happy France: immortal BoILEAU there Supported Genius with a Sage's care:

Him with her love propitious SATIRE bleft,
And breath'd her airs divine into his breast:
Fancy and Senfe to form his line confpire,
And faultlefs Judgment guides the pureft Fire.

445

But fee, at length, the British Genius fmile,
And show'r her bounties o'er her favour'd Ifle: 450
Behold for POPE fhe twines the laurel crown,

And centers ev'ry Poet's pow'r in one:
Each Roman's force adorns his various page;
Gay fmiles, collected ftrength, and manly rage.
Defpairing Guilt and Dulness loath the fight, 455
As Spectres vanish at approaching light:

In this clear Mirror with delight we view

Each image justly fine, and boldly true:

Here Vice, dragg'd forth by Truth's fupreme decree, Beholds and hates her own deformity:

460

While felf-feen Virtue in the faithful line
With modeft joy furveys her form divine.

But oh, what thoughts, what numbers fhall I find,
But faintly to exprefs the Poet's mind!

Who yonder Star's effulgence can display,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray?

465

475

Who paint a God, unless the God inspire?
What catch the Lightning, but the speed of fire?
So, mighty POPE, to make thy Genius known,
All pow'r is weak, all numbers but thy own. ' 470
Each Mufe for thee with kind contention ftrove,
For thee the Graces left th' IDALIAN grove;
With watchful fondness o'er thy cradle hung,
Attun'd thy voice, and form'd thy infant tongue.
Next, to her Bard majeftic Wisdom came;
The Bard enraptur'd caught the heav'nly flame:
With Tafte fuperior scorn'd the venal tribe,
Whom fear can fway, or guilty Greatness bribe;
At Fancy's call who rear the wanton fail,
Sport with the ftream, and trifle in the gale: 480
Sublimer views thy daring Spirit bound;
Thy mighty Voyage was Creation's round;
Intent new Worlds of Wisdom to explore,
And blefs Mankind with Virtue's facred ftore;
A nobler joy than Wit can give, impart;
And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic Wit fhoots momentary fires,

485

And, like a Meteor, while we gaze, expires: Wit kindled by the fulph'rous breath of Vice, Like the blue lightning, while it fhines, destroys:

491

But Genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,
Burns clear and conftant, like the fource of day:
Like this, its beam prolifick and refin'd
Feeds, warms, infpirits, and exalts the mind;
Mildly difpels each wint'ry Paffion's gloom,
And opens all the Virtues into bloom.

495

This Praife, immortal POPE, to thee be giv'n:
Thy Genius was indeed a Gift from Heav'n.
Hail, Bard unequal'd, in whofe deathlefs line
Reason and Wit with strength collected shine; 500
Where matchless Wit but wins the fecond praife,
Loft, nobly loft, in Truth's fuperior blaze.
Did FRIENDSHIP e'er mislead thy wand'ring Mufe?
That Friendship sure may plead the great excuse :
That facred Friendship which inspir'd thy Song, 505
Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.

Error like this ev'n Truth can scarce reprove;
'Tis almoft Virtue when it flows from Love.

Ye deathlefs Names, ye Sons of endless praise, By Virtue crown'd with never-fading bays ! 510 Say, fhall an artlefs Mufe, if you inspire, Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire ? Or if, O WARBURTON, infpir'd by You, The daring Muse a nobler path pursue,