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Still, as I read, I feel

my

bosom beat, And rise in raptures by another's heat. Thus in the wood, when summer dress’d the days, While Windsor lent us tuneful hours of ease, 7® Our ears the lark, the thruh, the turtle bleit, And Philomela sweetest o'er the rest : The Mades resound with song- foftly tread, While a whole season warbles round my head

This to my Friend - and when a friend inspires, 75
My filent harp its master's hand requires.
Shakes 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.
Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf;
Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf;
Here hills with naked heads the tempeft meet,
Rocks at their fides, and torrents at their feet;
Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood,
Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud.
Yet here Content can dwell, and learned Ease,
A Friend delight me, and an Author please ;
Ey'n here I fing, when Pope supplies the theme,
Shew my own love, tho' not increase his fame.

90 T.PARNELL.

85

To Mr. P O P E.

L

ET vulgar souls triumphal arches raise,

Or speaking marbles, to record their praise ;
And picture (to the voice of Fame unknown)
The mimic Feature on the breathing stone;
Mere mortals ; fubject to death's total sway,
Reptiles of earth, and beings of a day!

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'Tis thine, on ev'ry heart to grave thy praise,
A monument which Worth alone can raise :
Sure to survive, when time shall whelm in duft

The arch, the marble, and the mimic bust:
Nor till the volumes of th' expanded ky
Ilaze in one fame, thalt thou and Homer die:
Then sink together in the world's last fires,
What heav'n created, and what heav'n inspires.

If aught on earth, when once this breath is fled, 15
With human transport touch the mighty dead,
Shakespear rejoice! his hand thy page resines;
Now ev'ry scene with native brightness shines ;
Juft to thy fame, he gives thy genuine thought ;
So Tully publish'd what Lucretius wrote ;
Prun'd by his care, thy laurels loftier

grow, And bloom afresh on thy immortal brow.

Thus when thy draughts, O Raphael! time invades, And the bold figure from the canvass fades, A rival hand recalls from ev'ry part

25 Some latent grace, and equals art with art; Transported we survey the dubious strife, While each fair image starts again to life.

How long, untun'd, had Homer's facred lyre Jarr'd grating discord, all extinct his fire ?

30 This you beheld; and, taught by heav'n to fing, Call’d the loud music from the founding string. Now wak'd from flumbers of three thousand years, Once more Achilles in dread pomp appears, Tours o'er the field of death ; as fierce he turns, 35 Keen flash his arms, and all the Hero burns ; With martial stalk, and more than mortal might, He strides along, and meets the Gods in fight : Then the pale Titans, chain'd on burning floors, , Start at the din that rends th’infernal shores,

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Tremble the tow'rs of Heav'n, earth rocks her coasts,
And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his ghosts.
To ev'ry theme responds thy various lay;
Here rolls a torrent, there Meanders play ;
Sonorous as the storm thy numbers rise,

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Toss the wild waves, and thunder in the skies;
Or softer 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 vate, or gild the azure way;
And while with ev'ry theme the verse complies,
Sink without groveling, without rashness rise.

Proceed, great Bard ! awake th' harmonious string, Be ours all Homer ! ftill Ulysses sing. How long that Hero*, by unskilful hands, 55 Strip'd 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 lost: O’er his smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread; Old age disgrac'd the honours of his head; 60 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 meanest of the Muses' train, Inflam’d by thee, attempt a nobler strain ; Advent'rous waken the Mæonian lyre, Tun'd by your hand, and sing as you inspire : 70 So arm’d by great Achilles for the fight, Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' right: Like theirs, our Friendship! and l-boast my name To thine united — for thy Friead ship's Fame.

* Odyssey, lib. xvi.

This labour past, of heav'nly subjects sing, 75 While hov'ring angels listen on the wing. To hear from earth such heart-felt raptures rife, As, when they fing, suspended hold the kies : Or nobly rising 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 savages attend, And men, more fierce: when Orpheus gunes the lay, Ev'n fiends relenting hear their rage away.

W. BROO ME.

To Mr. P O P E,

On the publishing his WORKS. He comes, he comes! bid ev'ry Bard prepare

The song of triumph, and attend his Car. Great Sheffield's Muse the long procession heads, And throws a lustre o'er the pomp she leads, First gives the Palm The fir'd him to obtain,

5 Crowns his gay brow, and shews 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 earneft of a God.

But hark, what shoots, what gath’ring crouds rejoice! Unstain'd their praise by any venal voice, Such as the Ambitious vainly think their due, When Prostitutes, or needy Flatt'rers sue. And see the Chief! before him laurels born ;

15 Trophies from undeserving temples torn; Here Rage enchain'd reluctant raves, and there Pale Envy dumb, and sick’ning with despair,

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Prone to the earth she bends her loathing eye,
Weak to support the blaze of majesty.

But what are they that turn the facred page!
Three lovely Virgins, and of equal age ;
Intent they read, and all enamour'd seem,
As he that met his likeness in the stream:
The Graces these ; and see how they contend, 25
Who most shall praise, who best shall recommend.

The Chariot now the painful steep afcends, The Pæans cease; thy glorious labour ends. Here fix'd, the bright eternal Temple stands, Its prospect an unbounded view commands: 30 'Say, wond'rous youth, what Column wilt thou chuse, What laurel'd Arch for thy triumphant Muse? Tho' each great Ancient court thee to his shrine, Tho' ev'ry Laurel thro' the dome be thine, (From the proud Epic, down to those that shade 35 The gentler brow of the soft Lesbian maid) Go to the Good and Juft, an awful train, Thy soul's delight, and glory of the Fane: While thro' the earth thy dear remembrance flies, “ Sweet to the world, and grateful to the kies.” 40

SIMON HARCOURT.

To Mr. P O P E.

From Rome, 1732. I Mmortal Bard! for whom each Muse has wove

The fairest garlands of th' Aonian grove; Preserv'd, our drooping Genius to restore, When Addison and Congreve are no more ; After so many stars extinct in night,

5 The dark’ned ages lait remaining light!

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