The GENIUS. An ODE, written in 1717, on occafion of the Duke of MARLBOROUGH'S Apoplexy. A 1. WEFUL hero, Marlb'rough, rife: Sleepy charms I come to break : Higher turn thy languid eyes: Lo! thy Genius calls: awake! II. Well furvey this faithful plan, Which records thy life's great ftory; 'Tis a fhort, but crowded fpan, Full of triumphs, full of glory. III. One by one thy deeds review, Sieges, battles, thick appear; Former wonders, loft in new, Greatly fill each pompous year. This is Blenheim's crimson field, Wet with gore, with flaughter ftain'd! Here retiring fquadrons yield, And a bloodless wreath is gain'd! V. Ponder in thy godlike mind All the wonders thou haft wrought; Tyrants, from their pride declin'd, Be the subject of thy thought! VI. Reft thee here, while life may laft: Th' utmost blifs, to man allow'd, Is to trace his actions paft, And to own them great and good. Swift the fading fcenes remove Let them pafs with noble scorn, Thine are worlds, which roll above. Poets, prophets, heroes, kings, Pleas'd, thy ripe approach foresee; Foremoft, in the patriot-band, X. Yonder X. Yonder feats and fields of light Let thy ravish'd thought explore; Wishing, panting for thy flight! Half an angel; man no more. TRANSLATIONS from HORACE. By Mr. MARRIOTT, of Trinity-Hall, Cambridge. Book I. Ode XVII. Invitation to his Miftrefs. FT Faunus leaves Arcadia's plain, And to the Sabine hill retreats: He guards my flocks from rufhing rain, Where lurks the thyme, or fhrubs appear, My goats no pois'nous ferpent fear, Safe wand'ring through the woodland way. No hoftile wolf the fold invades ; The gods my verse propitious hear, Refponfive to the Teian string, No rival, here, fhall burft the bands That wreathe my charmer's beauteous hair, Nor feize her weakly struggling hands ; But Love and Horace guard the fair. Book Book II. Ode VI. Imitated. EVIL, that with your friend would roam, BEVILA Far from your England's happier home, Should e'er the Fates that friend detain In gayer France, or graver Spain; Know, all my wish is to retreat, When age fhall quench my youthful heat, But should this pleasing hope be vain, Sweet groves, I love your filent fhades, Here, let our eve of life be fpent; Here, friend fhall live with friend content: And here thy generous tear be paid. U 4 Book |