Printed for I. and R. TONSON, in the Strand.
ET others boaft the nine Aonian maids,
L Infpiring streams, and sweet refounding fhades;
Where Phoebus heard the rival bards rehearse,
And bade the Laurels learn the lofty verse.
In vain! Nor Phoebus, nor the boasted Nine,
Inflame the raptur❜d foul with rays divine
None but the Fair infuse the facred fire,
And love with vocal art informs the lyre.
When WALLER, kindling with cœleftial rage, View'd the bright HARLEY of that wond'ring age, His pleafing pain he taught the lute to breath; The Graces fung, and wove his myrtle wreath. In youth, of patrimonial wealth possest, The praise of science faintly warm'd his breast: But, fir'd to fame by SIDNEY's rofy fmile, Swift o'er the laureat realm he urg'd his toil.
His Mufe, by nature form'd to please the Fair,
Or fing of Heroes with majestic air,
To melting strains attun'd her voice, and ftrove
To waken all the tender Pow'rs, of love:
More sweetly soft her awful beauty shone,
Than Juno grac'd with Cytherea's zone.
As Angels love, congenial fouls unite
Their radiance, and refine each other's light:
The florid, and fublime, the grave, and gay,
From WALLER's beams imbibe a purer ray :
Illumin'd thence in equal Lays to bound
Their copious fenfe, and harmonize the found;
With varied Notes the curious ear to please,
And turn a nervous thought with artful ease.
Maker, and model, of melodious verfe!
Accept these votive honors at thy herse.
While I with filial awe attempt thy praise,
Infuse thy Genius, and my fancy raise!
So, warbling o'er his urn, the woodland choirs
To Orpheus pay the song his Shade inspires.
In WALLER'S fame, O fairest HARLEY! view
What verdant palms shall owe their birth to You.
To You what deathless charms are thence decreed,
In Sachariffa's fate vouchsafe to read.
Secure beneath the wing of with'ring Time,
Her beauties flourish in Ambrosial prime:
Still kindling rapture, fee! she moves in state;
Gods, Nymphs, and Heroes, on her triumph wait.
Nor think the lover's praise of love's delight
In pureft minds may stain the virgin-white:
How bright, and chafte, the Poet and his Theme
So Cynthia shines on Arethufa's stream.
A fainted Virtue to the spheres may fing
Those ftrains, that ravish'd here the Martyr-King.
Plenteous of native wit, in letter'd ease
Politely form'd, to profit and to please,
To Fame whate'er was due he gave to Fame;
And, what he could not praise, forgot to name :
Thus Eden's rofe without a thorn display'd
Her bloom, and in a fragrant blush decay'd.
Such foul-attracting airs were fung of old,
When blissful years in golden circles roll'd:
Pure from deceit, devoid of fear and ftrife,
While love was all the penfive care of life,
The swains in green retreats, with flourets crown'd,
Taught the young groves their paffion to refound:
Fancy perfu'd the paths where beauty led,
To please the living, or deplore the dead.
While to their warbled woe the rocks reply'd,
The rills remurmur'd, and the Zephyrs figh'd;
From death redeem'd by verfe, the vanish'd Fair
Breath'd in a flow'r, or fparkled in a star.
A 3
|