5 The eastern pomp had just bespoke our care, Thy treasures next arriv'd; and now we boast From thy luxuriant Forest we receive The sylvan state that on her border grows, Nor sweeter notes the echoing forests cheer, Than when you sing the greens and op'ning glades, 10 15 20 20 25 25 A Titian's hand might draw the grove, but you 30 Can paint the grove, and add the music too. With vast variety thy pages shine; A new creation starts in ev'ry line. How sudden trees rise to the reader's sight, 40 And make a doubtful scene of shade and light, 35 Thrice happy you! and worthy best to dwell I in a cold and in a barren clime, Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhyme, O joyless flood! O rough tempestuous main ! Snatch me, ye gods! from these Atlantic shores, 46 50 55 The awful dome, the grove's eternal green ; Where sacred Hough long found his fam'd retreat, The golden minutes smoothly danc'd away, 60 65 70 Ev'n I essay'd to touch the trembling string: strain, I rise and wander through the field or plain; 76 On the cold earth the flutt'ring pheasant lie! His gaudy robes in dazzling lines appear, And ev'ry feather shines and varies there. Nor can I pass the gen'rous courser by, 80 Oh could thy Vagil from his orb look down, 85 Who can refuse Lodona's melting tale? 90 The tale be told, when shades forsake her shore; The nymph be sung, when she can flow no more. Nor shall thy song, old Thames! forbear to shine, At once the subject and the song divines Peace, sung by thee, shall please ev'n Britons more Than all their shouts for victory before. 96 Oh! could Britannia imitate thy stream, The world should tremble at her awful name: In diff'rent colours roll a diff'rent tide, 100 At once they murmur, and enrich the isle : There joy to lose their long distinguish'd names, 105 FR. KNAPP. TO MR. POPE. In Imitation of a Greek Epigram on Homer. WHEN Phoebus and the nine harmonious maids Of old assembled in the Thespian shades; What theme, they cry'd, what high immortal air, Befit these harps to sound, and thee to hear? Reply'd the god, "Your loftiest notes employ "To sing young Peleus, and the fall of Troy." The wond'rous song with rapture they rehearse; Then ask who wrought that miracle of verse? He answer'd with a frown, "I now reveal "A truth that envy bids me not conceal. 5 10 46 Which, unobserv'd, a wand'ring Greek and blind, "Heard me repeat, and treasur'd in his mind ; 56 'And, fir'd with thirst of more than mortal praise, "From me, the god of wit, usurp'd the bays. 66 16 "But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame, Proud with celestial spoils to grace her name; "Yet when my arts shall triumph in the west, "And the white isle with female power is blest; 20 66 Fame, I foresee, will make reprisals there, "And the translator's palm to me transfer. |