Where-e'er we dip in thy delightful page, What pompous scenes our busy thoughts engage! The pompous scenes in all their pride appear, Fresh in the page, as in the grove they were. Nor half fo true the fair Lodona fhows The fylvan ftate that on her border grows, While fhe the wand'ring fhepherd entertains With a new Windfor in her wat❜ry plains; Thy juster lays the lucid wave surpass, The living scene is in the Mufe's glass. 20 25 Nor sweeter notes the echoing forest cheer, When Philomela fits and warbles there, Than when you fing the greens and op'ning glades, A Titian's hand might draw the grove, but you 30 A new creation starts in ev'ry line. How fudden trees rife to the reader's fight, 34 And make a doubtful scene of fhade and light, VER. 16. Where-e'er we dip] There are feveral lines in this copy of verses, which would not be endured in a common monthly magazine. So much is the public ear, and public taste improved! 1 Whilft fruitful crops rife by their barren fide, Happy the man, who ftrings his tuneful lyre, Where woods, and brooks, and breathing fields inspire! Thrice happy thou! and worthy beft to dwell I in a cold, and in a barren clime, Cold as my thought, and barren as my rhime, 44 50 Thence let me view the venerable scene, 55 6. 65 They They fung, nor fung in vain, with numbers fir'd 70 Rouz'd from these 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. 76 On the cold earth the flutt'ring Pheasant lie; His gaudy robes in dazzling lines appear, Nor can I pass the generous courfer by, Who can refuse Lodona's melting tale? 80 85 The foft complaint shall over time prevail; The Tale be told, when fhades forfake her shore, The Nymph be fung, when fhe can flow no more. 90 Nor fhall thy fong, old Thames! forbear to fhine, At once the subject and the fong divine. Peace, fung by thee, shall please ev'n Britons more Oh! could Britannia imitate thy ftream, 96 100 The World should tremble at her awful name: 104 TO MR. POPE. IN IMITATION OF A GREEK EPIGRAM ON HOMER. WE HEN Phoebus, and the nine harmonious maids, Of old affembled in the Thespian shades ; What theme, they cry'd, what high immortal air, Befit these harps to found, and thee to hear? Reply'd the God; "Your loftieft notes employ, 5 "To fing young Peleus, and the fall of Troy." VER. 1. When Phoebus] By far the most elegant and beft turned compliment of all addressed to our Author; happily borrowed from that fine Greek epigram in the Anthologia, p. 30, and most gracefully applied; Ἤειδον μὲν Εγὼν, ἔχάρασσε δὲ θεῖος Ομηρος. Fenton was the best Greek fcholar 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 answer'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 celeftial fpoils to grace her name; "Yet when my Arts shall 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 less regret my claim I now decline, "The World will think his English Iliad mine." E. FENTON. T TO MR. POPE. o praise, and still with just respect to praise C 4 5 O might |