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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.'
To Mr. P Q P E.
TO praise, and still with just respect to praise
A bard triumphant in immortal bays,
O might thy genius in my bosom fhine ;
Horace himself would own thou doft excell
How flame the glories of Belinda's hair,
In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits
In English lays, and all fublimely great,
] 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,
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,
, 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 here I fing, when Pope supplies the theme,,
Mr.' P O P E..
LET vulgar souls triumphal arches raise,
Or speaking marbles, to record their praise;
'Tis thine, on ev'ry heart to grave thý práife,
If ought on earth, when once this breath is fled, 15
Thus when thy draughts), O Raphael !; time invades,
25 Some latent grace, and equals art with art ;
Transported we survey the dubious strife,
How long, untun'd, had Homer's sacred lyre
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,
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;