They fung, nor fung in vain, with numbers fir'd 70 Rouz'd from thefe dreams by thy commanding ftrain, I rife and wander through the field or plain; Mark the stretch'd line, or hear the thund'ring gun. On the cold earth the flutt'ring Pheasant lie 76 ; Nor can I pass the generous courfer by, The Tale be told, when fhades forfake her fhore, 80 85 90 Nor fhall thy fong, old Thames! forbear to fhine, At once the subject and the song divine. Peace, fung by thee, fhall please ev'n Britons moré Than all their shouts for Victory before. Oh! could Britannia imitate thy stream, The World fhould tremble at her awful name: 96 100 104 FR. KNAPP. TO MR. POPE. IN IMITATION OF A GREEK EPIGRAM ON HOMER. WHEN HEN Phoebus, and the nine harmonious maids, What theme, they cry'd, what high immortal air, VER. 1. When Phoebus] By far the most elegant and best turned compliment of all addressed to our Author; happily borrowed from that fine Greek epigram in the Anthologia, p. 30, and moft gracefully applied; Ἤειδον μὲν Ἐγὼν, ἔχάρασσε δὲ θεῖος Ὅμηρος. Fenton was the best Greek scholar of all our Author's poetical friends. Boileau alfo imitated this epigram. The 10 The wond'rous fong with rapture they rehearse; Then ask who wrought that miracle of verfe? He anfwer'd with a frown; "I now reveal "A truth, that envy bids me not conceal: "Retiring frequent to this Laureat vale, "I warbled to the Lyre that fav'rite tale, "Which, unobferv'd, a wand'ring Greek and blind, "Heard me repeat, and treasur'd in his mind; "And fir'd with thirst of more than mortal praise, "From me, the God of Wit, ufurp'd the bays. 16 "But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame, "Proud with celestial spoils to grace her name; "Yet when my Arts fhall triumph in the West, "And the white Ifle with female pow'r is bleft; 20 "Fame, I forefee, will make reprisals there, "And the Tranflator's Palm to me transfer. "With lefs regret my claim I now decline, "The World will think his English Iliad mine." E. FENTON. TO MR. POPE. o praise, and still with just respect to praise The Learn'd to show, the Senfible commend, C 4 5 O might O might thy Genius in my bofom shine; Thou should'st not fail of numbers worthy thine; The brightest Ancients might at once agree To fing within my lays, and fing of thee. Horace himself would own thou doft excell In candid arts to play the Critic well. How flame the glories of Belinda's Hair, Belles war with Beaus, and Whims defcend for Gods. The new Machines, in names of ridicule, Mock the grave phrenzy of the Chemic fool. But know, ye Fair, a point conceal'd with art, 25 The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart. The Graces ftand in fight; a Satire-train 30 Peeps o'er their head, and laughs behind the scene. While While fome old Damon, o'er the vulgar wife, Thinks he deferves, and thou deferv'ft the Prize? Rapt with the thought, my fancy feeks the plains, And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains. Indulgent nurse of ev'ry tender gale, Parent of flowrets, old Arcadia, hail! Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread, Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat; Himself unknown, his mighty name admir'd; Fed the large realms around with golden Ore, 35 40 45 50 бо VER. 50. And flames] A very poor and unmeaning line, and unworthy the fenfible and elegant Parnell! Here |