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« Which, unobsery'd,' a wand'ring Greek and blind, « Heard me repeat, and treasur'd in his mind; “ And fir'd with thirft of more than mortal praise, 15 « From me, the God of Wit, usurp'd the bays.

" But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame, - Proud with celestial spoils to grace her name; “ Yet when my arts shall triumph in the Weft, " And the white ifle with female pow'r is bleft; 66 Fame, I foresee, will make reprisals there, " And the translator's palm to me transfer. “ With less regret my claim I now decline, “ The world will think his English Iliad mine.'

E. FENTON.

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To Mr. P Q P E.

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TO praise, and still with just respect to praise

A bard triumphant in immortal bays,
The learn'd to show, the fenfible commend,
Yet still preserve the province of the friend;
What life, what vigour, muft the lines require ?
What music tune them, what affection fire ?

O might thy genius in my bosom fhine ;
Thou should'ft not fail of numbers worthy thine;
The brightest ancients might at once agree
To sing within my lays, and sing of thee.

Horace himself would own thou doft excell
In candid arts to play the critic well,
Ovid himself might wish to sing the dame
Whom Windsor-Forest fees a gliding stream :
On silver fect with annual ofier crown'd,
She runs for ever thro’ poetic ground.

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How flame the glories of Belinda's hair,
Made by the Muse the envy of the fair ?
Less shone the treffes Ægypt's princes wore,
Which sweet Callimachus so sung before.
Here courtly trifles fet the world at odds;
Bells war with beaux, and whims descend for gods.
The new machines, in names of ridicule,
Mock the grave phrenzy of the chemic fool.
But know, ye fair, a point conceald with art,
The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart.
The graces stand in fight; a satire-train
Peeps o'er their head, and laughs behind the scene.

In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits
Inshrin'd on high the sacred Virgil fits;
And sits in measures such as Virgil's muse
To place thee near him might be fond to chufe.
How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee,
Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he;
While some old Damon, o'er the vulgar wise,
Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'it the prize ?
Rapt with the thought, my fancy seeks the plains,
And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains.
Indulgent Durse of ev'ry tender gale,
Parent of flow'rets, old Arcadia, hail !
Here in the cool my limbs at eafe I spread,
Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head :
Still llide thy waters, soft among
Thy aspins quiver in a breathing breeze!
Smile, all ye vallies, in eternal spring,
Be hush'd, yé winds, while Pope and Virgil fing.

In English lays, and all fublimely great,
Thy Homer warms with all his 'ancient heat;
He shines in 'council, thunders in the fight,
And flames with ev'ry sense of great delight.
Long has that poet reign'd, and long unknown,
Like monarchs sparkling on a distant throne;

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] In all the majesty, of Greek, retir'd, Himself unknown, his mighty name admir'd; His language failing, wrapt him round with night; 55 Thine, rais'd hy thee, recalls the work to light. So wealthy mines, that ages long before Fed the targe reatins around with golden ore, When choak’d by sinking banks, no more appear, And shepherds only say, The mines were here: 60 Should fome rich youth (if nature warm his heart, And all his projects stand inform’d with art) Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein; The mines detected flame with gold again. '

Horv. vaft, how copious, are thy new designs ! 65 How ev'ry music varies in thy lines ! Still, as I read, I feel my bosom beat, And rise in raptures by another's heat. Thus in the wood, when fummer dress’d the days, While Windfor lent us tuneful hours of ease, 70 Our ears the lark, the thrufh; the turtle bleft, And Philomela sweetest o'er the reft : The shades resound with fong-Ofoftly tread, While a whole season warbles round my head. This to my friend and wlien a friend inspires,

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75 My filent harp its master's hand requires, Skakes off the dust, and makes these rocks resound; For fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground: Far from the joys that with 'my soul agree, From wit, from learning--very far from thee. 80 Here mofs grown trees expand the smallest leaf; Here half an acre's corn is half a theaf; Here hills with naked heads the tempeft meet,

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, Rocks at their fides, and torrents at their feet; Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood,

85 Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud. Yet here content can dwell, and learned eafe, A friend delight me, and an author please ; VOL. I.

Ev'n

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Ev'n here I fing, when Pope supplies the theme,,
Shew my own tove, tho' not increase his faine.

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T: PARNELL.

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LET vulgar souls triumphal arches raise,

Or speaking marbles, to record their praise;
And pi&ture (to the voice of fame unknown)
The mimic feature on the breathing stone;i: ?!!
Mere mortals; subject to death's total sway; 5
Reptiles of earth, and beings of a day !

'Tis thine, on ev'ry heart to grave thý práife,
A monument which worth alone can raise :
Sure to survive, when time shall.whelm'in duft - )
The arch, the marble, and the mimic buft soli
Nor 'till the volumes of th’ expanded sky
Blaze in one flame, shalt thou and Homer die:
Then sink together in the world's last fires, van:
What heav'n created, and what heav'n inspires.wii

If ought on earth, when once this breath is fled, 15
With human transport touch the mighty dead,
Shakespear rejoice! his hand thy page refines;
Now ev'ry scene with native brightness shines in
Just to thy fame, he gives thy genuine thought;
So Tully publish'd what Lucretius wrote ;
Prun'd by his care, thy laurels loftier grow,
And bloom afreíh on thy immortal brow. .

Thus when thy draughts), O Raphael !; time invades,
And the bold figure from the canvass fades, i Luis
A rival hand recalls from ev'ry part

25 Some latent grace, and equals art with art ;

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Transported we survey the dubious strife,
While each fair image starts again to life.

How long, untun'd, had Homer's sacred lyre
Jarr'd grating discord, all extinct his fire ?
This you beheld : and, taught by heav'n to fing,
Call’d the loud music from the founding string.
Now wak'd from slumbers of three thousand years,
Once more Achilles in dread pomp appears,
Tours o'er the field of death; as fierce he turns, 35
Keen flash his arms, and all the hero burns;
With martial ftalk, and more than mortal might,
He strides along, and meets the gods in fight :
Then the pale Titans, chain'd on burning floors,
Start at the din that rends th' infernal shores,

40 Tremble the tow'rs of heav'n, earth rocks her coasts, And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his ghofts. To ev'ry theme responds thy various lay; Here rolls a torreąt, there meanders play; Sonorous as the storm thy numbers rise,

45 Toss the wild waves, and thunder in the skies; Or fofter than a yielding virgin's figh, The gentle breezes breath away and die. Thus, like the radiant god who sheds the day, You paint the vale, or gild the azure way;

50 And while with ev'ry theme the verse complies, Sink without groveling, without rashness rise.

Proceed, great bard! awake th' harmonious string,
Be ours all Homer ! still Ulysses sing.
How long that hero, by unskilful hands,

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Strip'd of his robes, a beggar trad our lands?
Such as he wander'd o'er his native coast,
Shrunk by the wand, and all the warrior. loft :
O’er his smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread;
Old age disgrac'd the honours of his head;

60 Nor longer in his heavy, eye-ball.ihind:! The glance divine, forth-beaming, froin the mind. But you, like Pallas, ev'ry limb, infold : With royal robes, and bid him sine in gold;

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