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Oh, source of
What various joys on one attend,
Whether his hoary sire he spies,
What home-felt raptures move !
With reverence, hope, and love.
Hence guilty joys, distastes, surmises,
Fires that scorch, yet dare not shine.
Sacred Hymen! these are thine.
EPISTLE TO ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD AND
PREFIXED TO PARNELLE'S POEMS.
Such were the notes thy önce lov'd poet sung, Till death untimely stopp'd his tuneful tongue. Oh, just beheld and lost ! admir'd and mourn'd! With softest manners, gentlest arts, adorn’d ! Bless'd in each science! bless'd in every
strain ! Dear to the Muse! to Harley dear—in vain !
For him thou oft hast bid the world attend, Fond to forget the statesman in the friend; For Swift and him despis'd the farce of state, The sober follies of the wise and great, Dexterous the craving, fawning crowd to quit, And pleas'd to 'scape from flattery to wit.
Absent or dead, still let a friend be dear, (A sigh the absent claims, the dead a tear) Recall those nights that clos'd thy toilsome days, Still hear thy Parnelle in his living lays; Who, careless now of interest, fame, or fate, Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great; Or deeming meanest what we greatest call, Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall.
And sure if aught below the seats divine Can touch immortals, 'tis a soul like thine;
A soul supreme, in each hard instance tried,
In vain to deserts thy retreat is made,
EPISTLE TO JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.
SECRETARY OF STATE.
A soul, as full of worth as void of pride,
And strikes a blush through frontless flattery:
EPISTLE TO MR. JERVAS,
WITH DRYDEN'S TRANSLATION OF FRESNOY'S ART OF
This verse be thine, my friend, nor thou refuse
See Memoir prefixed to these volumes, p. xxxvii.
Like them to shine through long succeeding age, So just thy skill, so regular my rage.
Smit with the love of sister arts we came, And met congenial, mingling flame with flame; Like friendly colours found them both unite, And each from each contract new strength and
light. How oft in pleasing tasks we wear the day, While summer suns roll unperceiv'd away! How oft our slowly growing works impart, While images reflect from art to art ! How oft review; each finding, like a friend, Something to blame, and something to commend ! What flattering scenes our wandering fancy
wrought, Rome's pompous glories rising to our thought ! Together o'er the Alps methinks we fly, Fir'd with ideas of fair Italy. With thee on Raphael's monument I mourn, Or wait inspiring dreams at Maro's urn: With thee repose where Tully once was laid, Or seek some ruin's formidable shade. While fancy brings the vanish'd piles to view, And builds imaginary Rome anew, Here thy well studied marbles fix our eye; A fading fresco here demands a sigh: Each heavenly piece unwearied we compare, Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air, Carracci's strength, Correggio's softer line, Paulo's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divine.