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Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein,
How valt, how copious, are thy new designs ! 65
70 Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle, blest, And Philomela sweetest, o'er the rest: The thades resound with song ---O softly tread, While a whole season warbles round my head.
This to my friend --- and when a friend inspires, My filent harp its master's hand requires,
76 Shakes off the duit, 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. 80 Here moss-grown trees expand the smallest leaf; Here half an acre's corn is half a fheaf; Here hills with naked heads the tempelt meet, Rocks at their fides, and torrents at their feet; Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a floud, Whose dull brown Naïads ever sleep in mud: Yet here content can dwell, and learned ease, A friend delight me, and an author please ; Ev’n here I fing, when Pope supplies the theme; Show my own love, though not increase his fame. 90
T. Parnell.. Let 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 itone; Mere mortals, subject to death's total sway,
5 Reptiles of earth, and beings of a day!
'Tis thine, on ev'ry heart to grave thy praise,
TO MR. POPE.
Nor, till the volumes of th' expanded sky
Ifaught on earth, when once this breath is fled, 15
Thus when thy draughts, 0 Raphael! time invades,
Transported we survey the dubious strife,
How long, untun'd, had Homer's sacred lyre
And while with ev'ry theme the verse complies,
Proceed, great Bard! awake th' harmonious ftring;
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 hy 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 I boast my name To thine united--for thy friend hip’s fame.
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, fufpended hold the kies : Or, nobly rising in fair Virtue's cause, From thy own life transcribe th’unerring laws : 80 Teach a bad world beneath her (way to bend; To verse like thine fierce savages attend, And men, more fierce: when Orpheus tunes the lay, Ev'n fiends relenting hear their rage away.
W. Broome. TO MR. POPE.
On the publishing his Works. He comes,
he comes! bid ev'ry bard prepare The song of triumph, and attend his car.
Great * Odyssey, lib, 16.
Great Sheffield's muse the long procession heads,
But hark! what shouts, what gath'ring crowds re-
But what are they that turn the sacred page?
The chariot now the painful steep ascends ;
TO MR. POPE.
From Rome, 1730. IMMORTAL Bard! for whom each muse has wove The faireft garlands of th' Aonian grove ; Preterv'd, our drooping genius to restore, When Addison and Congreve are no more; After so many itars extinct in night,
5 The darken d age's last remaining light! To thee from Latian realıns this verie is writ, Inspir’d by memory of ancient wit: For now no more thele climes their influence boast, Fall’n is their glory, and their virtue loit: From tyrants, and from priests, the Muies fly, Daughters of Reason and of Liberty. Nor Baiæ now, Umbria's plain they love, Nor on the banks of Nar or Mincia rove; To Thames's flow'ry borders they retire,
Unhappy Italy! whole alter'd itate
30 That there the fource of science flows no more, Whence its rich Itreams fupply'd the world before.
Illustrious names ! that once in Latium thin'd, Born to instruct, and to command mankind; Chiefs, by whole virtue mighty Rome was rais'd, 35 And poets, who those chiefs fublimely prais’d! Oft I the traces you have left explore, Your alhes visit, and your urns adore;