The glittering emblem of each spotless dame, And such a polish as disgraces art; But fate dispos'd them in this humble sort, ON BENTLEY'S MILTON. DID Milton's prose, O Charles, thy death defend ? While he but sought his author's fame to further, LINES. ALL hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade, Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours! Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd, And gently press'd my hand, and said, Be ours. Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse: At court thou mayst be lik'd, but nothing gain; Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but always lose; And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain. TO ERINNA.1 THOUGH sprightly Sappho force our love and praise, A softer wonder my pleas'd soul surveys, The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays. So, while the sun's broad beam yet strikes the sight, All mild appears the moon's more sober light; Serene, in virgin majesty she shines, And, unobserv'd, the glaring sun declines. ADRIANI MORIENTIS AD ANIMAM, TRANSLATED. Ан, fleeting spirit! wandering fire, That long hast warm'd my tender breast, To what dark undiscover'd shore? 1 See Memoir prefixed to these volumes, p. lxx. A DIALOGUE. SINCE MY POPE. old friend is grown so great, As to be Minister of State, I'm told, but 'tis not true I hope, CRAGGS. Alas! if I am such a creature, Το grow the worse for growing greater; ODE TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN, THE MAN MOUNTAIN,' BY TITTY TIT, POET LAUREATE TO HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT. INTO ENGLISH. TRANSLATED IN amaze Can our eyes May my lays Swell with praise, 1 This Ode, and the three following pieces, were produced by Pope on reading Gulliver's Travels. Worthy thee! Of him told, When they said Atlas' head Propp'd the skies: See! and believe your eyes! See him stride Valleys wide, Over floods! When he treads, Groan and shake: Armies quake; Lest his spurn Man and steed: Troops, take heed! Left and right, Speed your flight! Lest an host Beneath his foot be lost! Turn'd aside From his hide Safe from wound, Darts rebound. From his nose Clouds he blows: When he eats, Famine threats! When he drinks, Neptune shrinks! Nigh thy ear In mid air, On thy hand Let me stand; So shall I, Lofty poet! touch the sky. THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG. A PASTORAL. Soon as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care, |