III.

Soon as the hero by his martial strains,
Had kindled virtue in their frozen veins :
Afresh the warlike fpirit grows,

Like flame, the brave contagion ran,
See in each sparkling eye it glows,
And catches on from man to man!

Till

rage in every breaft to fear fucceed;

And now they dare, and now they wish to bleed!

IV.

With different movements fraught, were Maro's lays,
Taught flowing grief, and kind concern to raise :
He fung Marcellus' mournful name!

In beauty's, and in glory's bloom,

Torn from himself, from friends, from fame,

And rapt into an early tomb!

He fung, and forrow ftole on all,

And fighs began to heave, and tears began to fall!

V.

But Rome's high empress felt the greatest smart,
Touch'd both by nature, and the poet's art:

For as he fung the mournful strain,

So well the hero's portraiture he drew,
She faw him ficken, fade again,

And in defcription bleed anew.

Then pierc'd, and yielding to the melting lay,
She figh'd, fhe fainted, funk, and died away.

VI. Thus

VI.

Thus numbers once did human breafts controul !
Ah! where dwells now fuch empire o'er the foul?
Transported by harmonious lays,

The mind is melted down, or burns :
With joy o'er Windfor-forest strays,

Or grieves when Eloifa mourns:

Still the fame ardour kindles every line,

And our own POPE is now, what VIRGIL was, divine.

To a Young Lady with FONTENELLE'S Plurality of Worlds.

'N this fmall work, all nature's wonders fee,

IN

The foften'd features of philofophy.

In truth by easy steps you here advance,
Truth as diverting, as the best romance.
Long had these arts to sages been confin'd,
None faw their beauty, till by poring blind;.
By studying spent, like men that cram too full,
From Wisdom's feast they rofe not chear'd, but dull :
The gay and airy fmil'd to see 'em grave,

And fled fuch wifdom like Trophonius' cave.
Juftly they thought they might those arts despise,
Which made men fullen, ere they could be wife.

Brought

Brought down to fight, with eafe you view 'em here;
Tho' deep the bottom, yet the stream is clear.
Your flutt'ring fex, ftill valued fcience lefs;
Careless of any but the arts of drefs.

Their useless time was idly thrown away
On empty novels, or fome new-born play ;
The beit, perhaps, a few loofe hours might fpare
For fome unmeaning thing, mifcall'd a pray'r.
In vain the glitt'ring orbs, each starry night,
With mingling blazes shed a flood of light:
Each nymph with cold indiff'rence faw 'em rife;
And, taught by fops, to them preferr'd her eyes.
None thought the ftars were funs fo widely fown,

None dreamt of other worlds, befides our own.

Well might they boaft their charms, when ev'ry fair
Thought this world all; and her's the brightest here.
Ah! quit not the large thoughts this book infpires,
For those thin trifles which your fex admires;
Affert your claim to fenfe, and fhew mankind,
That reafon is not to themselves confin'd.
The haughty belle, whofe beauty's aweful fhrine,
'Twere facrilege t' imagine not divine,
Who thought fo greatly of her eyes before,

Bid her read this, and then be vain no more.

How poor
If we except the beauties of your

ev'n you, who reign without controu!,
foul!

Shou'd all beholders feel the fame furprize;

Shou'd all who fee you, fee you with my eyes;

Were

Were no fick blafts to make that beauty lefs;
Shou'd you be what I think, what all confefs:
'Tis but a narrow space thofe charms engage;
One ifland only, and not half an age!

1

By age your beauty will decay,
Your mind improves with years;
As when the bloffoms fade away,
The rip'ning fruit appears:

May heav'n and Sylvia grant my suit,
And bless the future hour,

That Damon, who can taste the fruit,
May gather ev'ry flower!

To the Author of the Farmer's Letters, which were written in IRELAND in the Year of the Rebellion, by HENRY BROOKE, Esq; 1745.

O

By the Same.

H thou, whofe artless, free-born genius charms,

Whose ruftick zeal each patriot bosom warms;

Purfue the glorious tafk, the pleafing toil,

Forfake the fields and till a nobler foil;
Extend the Farmer's care to human kind,
Manure the heart, and cultivate the mind;
There plant religion, reason, freedom, truth,

And fow the feeds of virtue in our youth :

Let