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Proceed, great Bard! awake th' harmonious string, Be ours all Homer! still Ulysses fing. How long that Hero, by unskilful hands, 55 Stripp'd of his robes, a beggar trod our lands? Such as he wander'd o'er his native coast, Shrunk by the wand, and all the warrior lost: O'er his smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread; Old age disgrac'd the honours of his head; бо Nor longer in his heavy eye-ball shin'd The glance divine, forth-beaming from the mind. But you, like Pallas, ev'ry limb infold With royal robes, and bid him shine in gold; Touch'd by your hand his manly frame improves 65 With grace divine, and like a God he moves.

Ev'n I, the meanest of the Muses' train, Inflam’d by thee, attempt a nobler strain; Advent'rous waken the Maeonian lyre, Tun’d by your hand, and sing as you inspire: 70 So arm’d by great Achilles for the fight, Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' right: Like theirs, our Friendship! and I boast my name To thine united—for thy Friendship's Fame.

This labour past, of heav'nly subjects fing, 75 While hov'ring angels listen on the wing, To hear from earth such heart-felt raptures rise, As, when they fing, suspended hold the Skies: Or nobly rising in fair Virtue's cause, From thy own life transcribe th' unerring laws: 80

* Odyssey, lib. xvi.

Teach

Teach a bad world beneath her sway to bend ;
To verse like thine fierce favages attend,
And men more fierce: when Orpheus tunes the lay
Ev'n fiends relenting hear their rage away.

W. BROOME.

TO MR. POPE,

ON THE PUBLISHING HIS WORKS.

E comes, he comes ! bid ev'ry Bard prepare H Н

The song of triumph, and attend his Car. Great Sheffield's Muse the long proceffion heads, And throws a lustre o'er the pomp she leads, First gives the Palm lhe fir’d him to obtain, 5 Crowns his gay brow, and shews him how to reign. Thus young Alcides, by old Chiron taught, Was form'd for all the miracles he wrought : Thus Chiron did the youth he taught applaud, Pleas'd to behold the earnest of a God. But hark, what shouts, what gath'ring crouds

rejoice! Unstain'd their praise by any venal Voice, Such as th' Ambitious vainly think their due, When Prostitutes, or needy Flatt'rers fue. And see the Chief! before him laurels born; 15 Trophies from undeserving temples torn;

10

Ver. 83.-when Orpheus] These three last verses are trite and feeble enough!

Here

20

Here Rage enchain’d reluctant raves, and there
Pale Envy dumb, and sick’ning with despair,
Prone to the earth she bends her loathing eye,
Weak to support the blaze of majesty.

But what are they that turn the sacred page ?
Three lovely virgins, and of equal age;
Intent they read, and all enamour'd seem,
As he that met his likeness in the stream:
The Graces these; and see how they contend, 25
Who most fhall praise, who best shall recommend.

The Chariot now the painful steep ascends, The Paeans cease; thy glorious labour ends. Here fix'd, the bright eternal Temple stands, Its prospect an unbounded view commands : 30 Say, wond'rous youth, what Column wilt thou chuse, What laureld Arch for thy triumphant Muse? Tho' each great Ancient court thee to his fhrine, Tho' ev'ry Laurel through the dome be thine, (From the proud Epic, down to those that shade 35 The gentler brow of the soft Lesbian maid) Go to the Good and Juft, an awful train, Thy foul's delight, and glory of the Fane: While through the earth thy dear remembrance flies, “ Sweet to the World, and grateful to the skies.” 40

SIMON HARCOURT, TO MR. POPE.

IMM

IO

From Rome, 1730. MMORTAL Bard! for whom each Muse has wove

The fairest garlands of th’ Aonian grove ; Preserv'd, our drooping Genius to restore, When Addison and Congreve are no more; After so many stars extinct in night,

5 The darken'd age's last remaining light! To thee from Latian realms this verse is writ, Inspir'd by memory of ancient Wit : For now no more these climes their influence boast, Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue lost : From Tyrants, and from Priests, the Muses fly, Daughters of Reason and of Liberty. Nor Baiae now, nor Umbria's plain they love, Nor on the banks of Nar, or Mincio rove; To Thames's flow'ry borders they retire, 15 And kindle in thy breast the Roman fire. So in the shades, where chear'd with summer rays Melodious linnets warbled sprightly lays, Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain : Of gloomy winter's unauspicious reign, No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love, But mournful filence faddens all the grove.

Unhappy Italy! whose alter'd state Has felt the worst severity of Fate:

Not

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Not that Barbarian hands her Fasces broke, 25
And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke;
Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her Cities defert, and her fields unsown;
But that her ancient Spirit is decay'd,
That sacred Wisdom from her bounds is filed, 30
That there the source of Science flows no more,
Whence its rich streams fupply'd the world before.

Illustrious Names! that once in Latium shin'd,
Born to instruct, and to command Mankind;
Chiefs, by whose Virtue mighty Rome was rais'd,
And Poets, who those Chiefs sublimely prais'd! 36
Oft I the traces you have left explore,
Your alhes visit, and your urns adore ;
Oft kiss, with lips devout, fome mould'ring stone,
With ivy's venerable shade o'ergrown;

40 Those hallow'd ruins better pleas'd to see Than all the pomp of modern Luxury.

As late on Virgil's tomb fresh flow'rs I strow'd, While with th' inspiring Muse my

bofom glow'd, Crown'd with eternal bays my

ravilh'd

eyes 45 Beheld the Poet's awful Form arise: Stranger, he said, whose pious hand has paid These grateful rites to my attentive shade, When thou shalt breathe thy happy native air, To Pope this message from his Master bear : 50

“ Great Bard! whose numbers I myself inspire, To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre,

If

VOL. I.

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