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To Mr. A. POPE, who correctedmy Verses.

It'er my humble Mufe melodious fings,

'Tis when you animate and tune her ftrings; If e'er She mounts, 'tis when you prune her wings. You, like the fun, your glorious beams display, Deal to the darkest orb a friendly ray, And cloathe it with the lustre of the day.

Mean was the piece, unelegantly wrought, The colours faint, irregular the draught; But your commanding touch, your nicer art, Rais'd every stroke, and brighten'd every part. So, when Luke drew the rudiments of man, An angel finish'd what the faint began ; His wondrous pencil, dipt in heavenly dyes, Gave beauty to the face, and lightning to the eyes. Confus'd it lay, a rough unpolish'd mass,

the royal stamp, and made it pass ; Hence ev'n deformity a beauty grew, She pleas'd, the charm'd, but pleas'd and charm'd by

you;
Though like Prometheus I the image frame,
You give the life, and bring the heavenly flame.

Thus when the Nile diffus'd his watery train
In streams of plenty o'er the fruitful plain ;
Unlapen forms, the refuse of the flood,
Ilued imperfect from the teeming mud;

You gave

But the great source and parent of the day,
Fathion'd the creature, and inform’d the clay.*

Weak of herself, my Muse forbears her fight,
Views her own lowness, and Parnassus' height;
But when you aid her song, and deign to nod,
She spreads a bolder wing, and feels the present God.

So the Cumxan prophetess was dumb, Blind to the knowledge of events to come;

ADDITION. To nobler themes thy Muse triumphant foars, Mounts through the tracts of air, and heaven explores. Say, has some seraph tun'd thy sacred lyre? Or deign'd to touch thy hallow'd lips with fire? For sure such sounds exalt th’immortal string, As heaven approves, and raptur'd angels ling. Ah! how I listen, while the mortal lay Lifts me from earth above the solar way! Ah! how I look with scorn on pompous crowns, And pity monarchs on their splendid thrones; While, thou my guide, I trace all nature's laws, By just gradations, to the sovereign cause ! Pleas'a i survey how varying schemes unite, Worlds with the atoms, angels with the mite, And end in God, high thrond above all height, Who sees, as Lord of all, with equal eye, Now a proud tyrant perish, then a fly. Methinks I view the patriarch's ladder rise, Its base on earth, its summit in the skies : Each' wondrous step by glorious angels trod, And heaven unfolding to the throne of God, Be this thy praise! I haunt the lovely bower, Sport by the spring, or paint the blooming flower, Nor dares the Mule attempt an arduous height, &c.

But

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Fa'i Addis ES to po itajes

His lys, and Asia's giary firs.
Tsere round, maje tic shades, and res formas,

Will throng, to learn what pilor guides,
Wa:ctful, Britannia's helm through factieus forme,

And curbs the murmuring rebai tiks.
I te!l bow Townshend treads the glorious path

That leads the great to deathless fame,
And dwell at large on spotlels Englit taith,

While Walpole is the favourite theme,
How, nobly rising in their country's cault

The stedfast arbiters of right
Exalt the just and good, to guard her law,
And call forth merit into lighic.

A loud

1 3

A loud applause around the echoing coast

Of all the pleas’d Elysium flies.-
But, friend, what place had you, replies fome ghoft,

When merit was the way to rise ?
What deanery, or prebend, thine, declare ?

Good heavens ! unable to reply,
How like a stupid idiot I should stare?

An answer, good my lord, supply. •

ON A MISCHIEVOUS WOMAN.
FR
ROM peace, and social joy, Medusa flies,

And loves to hear the storm of anger rise;
Thus hags and witches hate the smiles of day,
Sport in loud thunder, and in tempests play.

THE COQUE TT E. SIILIA, with uncontested fway,

Like Rome's fam'd tyrant reigns ;
Beholds adoring crouds obey,

And heroes proud to wear her chains :
Yet stoops, like him, to every prize,
Busy to murder beaux and fies.
She aims at every trifling heart,

Attends each flatterer's vows;
And, like a picture drawn with art,

A look on all that gaze bestows :

O! may

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