Sonorous as the ftorm thy numbers rife,
Tofs the wild waves, and thunder in the skies;
Or fofter than a yielding virgin's figh,
The gentle breezes breathe away and die.
Thus, like the radiant God who sheds the day,
You paint the vale, or gild the azure way;
And while with ev'ry theme the verse complies,
Sink without groveling, without rashness rife.
Proceed, great Bard! awake th' harmonious string,
Be ours all Homer! ftill Ulyffes fing.
How long that Hero, by unfkilful hands,
Stript of his robes, a Beggar trod 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 difgrac'd the honours of his head;
Nor longer in his heavy eye-ball shin'd
The glance divine, forth-beaming from the mind.
But you, like Pallas, ev'ry limb infold
With royal robes, and bid him shine in gold;
Touch'd by your hand, his manly frame improves 65 With grace divine, and like a God he moves.
Ev'n I, the meaneft of the Muses train;
Inflam'd by thee, attempt a nobler strain;
Advent rous waken the Maolian lyre,
Tun'd by your hand, and fing as you inspire:
So arm'd by great Achilles for the fight,
Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' right:
Like theirs, our Friendship! and I boaft my name
To thine united-for thy Friendship's Fame.
This labour paft, of heav'nly subjects fing,
While hov'ring angels liften on the wing,
To hear from earth fuch heart-felt raptures rise,
As, when they fing, fufpended hold the fkies:
Or nobly rifing in fair Virtue's cause,
From thy own Life transcribe th' unerring laws:
Teach a bad world beneath her sway to bend;
To verse like thine fierce favages attend,
And men more fierce: when Orpheus tunes the lay,
Ev'n fiends relenting hear their rage away.
To Mr. POPE, on the publishing his Works.
E comes, he comes! bid ev'ry Bard prepare
The fong of triumph, and attend his Car.
Great Sheffield's Mufe the long proceffion heads,
And throws a luftre o'er the pomp fhe leads,
First gives the Palm she fir'd him to obtain,
Crowns his gay brow, and fhows him how to reign.
Thus young Alcides, by old Chiron taught,
Was form'd for all the miracles he wrought:
Thus Chiron did the youth he taught applaud,
Pleas'd to behold the earnest of a God.
But hark what shouts, what gath'ring crouds rejoice! Unftain'd their praise by any venal voice, Such as th' Ambitious vainly think their due, When Prostitutes, or needy Flatt'rers fue. And fee the Chief! before him laurels born; Trophies from undeferving temples torn ; Here Rage enchain'd reluctant raves, and there Pale Envy dumb, and fickning with despair, Prone to the earth fhe bends her loathing eye, Weak to support the blaze of majesty.
But what are they that turn the facred
Three lovely Virgins, and of equal age;
Intent they read, and all-enamour'd seem,
As he that met his likenefs in the stream:
The Graces thefe; and fee how they contend,
Who most shall praife, who beft shall recommend?
The Chariot now the painful steep afcends;
The Peans ceafe; thy glorious labour ends.
Here fix'd, the bright eternal Temple ftands,
Its profpect an unbounded view commands:
Say, wond'rous youth, what Column wilt thou chufe,
What laurell'd Arch for thy triumphant Mufe?
Tho' each great Ancient court thee to his fhrine,
Tho' ev'ry Laurel thro' the dome be thine,
(From the proud Epic, down to those that shade
The gentler brow of the foft Lesbian maid)
Go to the Good and Just, an awful train,
Thy foul's delight, and glory of the Fane:
While thro' the earth thy dear remembrance flies,
"Sweet to the World, and grateful to the skies.
Mmortal Bard! for whom each Mufe has wove
The fairest garlands of th' Aonian Grove;
Preferv'd, our drooping Genius to restore,
When Addison and Congreve are no more;
After fo many stars extinct in night,
The darken'd Age's laft remaining light!
To thee from Latian realms this verse is writ,
Infpir'd by memory of antient Wit;
For now no more these climes their influence boast,
Fall'n is their Glory, and their Virtue loft;
From Tyrants, and from Priests, the Mufes fly,
Daughters of Reafon and of Liberty.
Nor Baia now, nor Umbria's plain they love,
Nor on the banks of Nar, or Mincio rove;
To Thames's flow'ry borders they retire,
And kindle in thy breast the Roman fire.
So in the fhades, where chear'd with fummer rays
Melodious linnets warbled fprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy winter's unauspicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful filence faddens all the grove.
Unhappy Italy! whofe alter'd ftate
Has felt the worit severity of Fate:
Not that Barbarian hands her Fafces broke,
And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke;
Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her cities defart, and her fields unfown;
But that her ancient Spirit is decay'd,
That facred Wifdom from her bounds is fled,
That there the fource of Science flows no more,
Whence its rich streams supply'd the world before.
Illuftrious Names! that once in Latium fhin'd,
Born to inftruct, and to command Mankind;
Chiefs, by whofe Virtue mighty Rome was rais'd, 35
And Poets, who thofe chiefs fublimely prais'd!
Qft I the traces you have left explore,
Your ashes vifit, and your urns adore;
Oft' kits, with lips devout, fome mouldring stone,
With ivy's venerable fhade o'ergrown;
Thofe hallow'd ruins better pleas'd to fee,
Than all the Pomp of modern Luxury.
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