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Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein,
The mines detected fiame with gold again.

How valt, how copious, are thy new designs ! 65
How ev'ry music varies in thy lines !
Still, as I read, I feel my bolom beat,
And rise in raptures by another's heat.
Thus in the wood, when summer dress’d the days,
While Windfor lent us tuneful hours of ease,

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,
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,

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TO MR. POPE.

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Nor, till the volumes of th' expanded sky
Blaze in one flame, shalt thou and Homer die :
Then sink together in the world's last fires,
What Heav'n created, and what Heav'n inspires.

Ifaught on earth, when once this breath is fled, 15
With human transport touch the mighty dead,
Shakespeare rejoice! his hand thy page refines;
Now ev'ry scene with native brightness shines;
Just 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, 0 Raphael! time invades,
And the bold figure from the canvas fades,
A rival hand recals from ev'ry part

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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 sacred lyre
Jarr'd grating discord, all extinct his fire ?

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This you beheld; and, taught by Heav'n to sing,
Callid the loud music from the sounding string.
Now wak'd from fluinbers of three thousand years,
Once more Achilles in dread pomp appears,
Towers o'er the field of death; as fierce he turns,
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, 40
Tremble the tow'rs of heav'n, earth rocks her coafts,
And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his ghosts.
To ev'ry theme responds thy various lay;
Here rolls a torrent, there ineanders play;
Sonorous as the storm thy numbers rile,

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Tots the wild waves, and thunder in the skies;
Or, fofter 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 vale, or gild the azure way;

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And while with ev'ry theme the verse complies,
Sink without groveling, without rashness rise.

Proceed, great Bard! awake th' harmonious ftring;
Be ours all Homer! ftill Ulysses sing.
How long that hero *, by unskilful hands, 55
Stripp'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 loft:
O’er his finooth 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 thine 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 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.

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Great Sheffield's muse the long procession heads,
And throws a lustre o'er the

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she leads;
First gives the palm the fir'd him to obtain,

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Crowns his gay brow, and shews hiin 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 earnest of a god.

But hark! what shouts, what gath'ring crowds re-
Unstain'd their praise by any venal voice, [joice!
Such as th' ambitious vainly think their due;
When prostitutes or needy flatt'rers fue.
And see the chief! before him laurels borne,

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Trophies from undeserving temples torn:
Here rage enchain'd reluctant raves and there
Pale Envy dumb, and sick’ning with despair,
Prone to the earth she bends her loathing eye,
Weak to support the blaze of majesty.

But what are they that turn the sacred 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 ascends ;
The pæans cease; thy glorious labour ends.
Here fix'd, the bright eternal temple itands,
Its prospect an unbounded view commands.

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Say, wond'rous youth, what column wilt thou chuse,
What laurellid arch for thy triumphant muse?
Though each great Ancient court thee to his shrine,
Though ev'ry laurel through the dome be thine,
(From the proud epic, down to those that hade

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The gentler brow of the soft Lesbian maid,)
Go to the good and just, an awful train,
Thy soul's delight, and glory of the fane:
While through the earth thy dear remembrance flies,
“ Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies.”

Simon Harcourt,

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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,

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And kindle in thy breast the Roman fire.
So in the shades, where, cheer'd with summer rays,
Melodious linnets warbled sprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy Winter's inauspicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful silence faddens all the grove.

Unhappy Italy! whole alter'd itate
Has felt the worst severity of fate :
Not that barbarian hands her faíces broke,

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And how'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke;
Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her cities deiert, and her fields unsown;
But that her ancient spirit is decay'd,
That facred wisdom froin her bounds is fled,

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;

Oft

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