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Who can refuse Lodona's melting tale?
90 The tale be told, when shades forsake her thore, The Nymph be sung, when she can fow no more.
Nor shall thy song, old Thames! forbear to thine, At once the subject and the song divine. Peace, sung by thee;. Thall please ev'n Britons more Than all their fhouts for Victory before. Oh! could Britannia imitate thy stream, The world should tremble at her awful name: From various fprings divided waters glide, In diff'rent colours roll a diff'rent tyde, 100 Murmur along their crooked banks awhile, At once they murmur and enrich the Ille, A while distinct tħro' many channels run, But meet at last, and sweetly flow in one; There joy to lose their long-distinguish'd names, 105 And make one glorious and immortal Thamesi
To Mr. P OP E,
maids, Of old assembled in the Thespian shades ; What theme, they cry'd, what high immortal air, Befit these harps to found, and thee to hear ? Reply'd the God; “ Your loftieft notes enploy', 5 “ To fing young Peletes, and the fall of Troy?
The wond'rous song with rapture they rehearse; Then ask who wrought that miracle of verse? He answer'd with a frown; “I now reveal “A truth, that Envy bids me not conceal : IO « Retiring frequent to this Laureat vale,
I warbled to the Lyre that fav’rite tale, “Which, unobserv’d, a wand'ring Greek and blind, “ Heard me repeats and treasur'd in his mind; “ And fir'd with thirst of more than mortal praise, « From me, the God of Wit, usurp'd the bays.
" But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame, « Proud with celestial spoils to grace her name; “ Yet when my Arts shall triumph in the West, " And the white Isle with female pow'r is blest; “ Fame, I foresee, will make reprisals there, 21 « And the Translator's Palm to me transfer, “ With less regret my claim I now decline, « The World will think his English Iliad mine."
To Mr. P O P E.
praise, and still with just respect to praise
A Bard triumphant in immortal bays, The Learn’d to show, the Sensible commend, Yet still preserve the province of the Friend; What life, what vigour must the lines require? 5 What Music tune them, what Affection fire?
O might thy Genius in my bosom shine; Thou hould'st not fail of numbers worthy thine ;
The brightest Ancients might at once agree
Horace himself would own thou doft excell
How flame the glories of Belinda's Hair, Made by thy Muse the Envy of the Fair? Less shone the treffes Ægypt's Princess wore, Which sweet Callimachus so sung before. Here courtly trifles set the world at odds ; Belles war with Beaux, and Whims descend for Gods. The new Machines, in names of ridicule, Mock the grave phrenzy of the Chemic fool. But know, ye Fair, a point conceal'd with art, The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a Woman's heart. The Graces stand in fight; a Satire-train Peeps o'er their head, and laughs behind the scene.
In Fame's fair Temple, o'er the boldest wits Inshrin'd on high the sacred Virgil fits ; 30 And sits in measures such as Virgii's Mufe To place thee near him, might be fond to chuse. How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee, Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he ; While some old Damon, o'er the vulgar wise, 35 Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'ft the Prize. Rapt with the thought, my fancy seeks the plains, And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains. Indulgent nurfe of ev'ry tender gale, Parent of flowrets, old Arcadia, hail!
Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread,
45 Be hush'd, ye winds, while Pope and Virgil fing.
In Englith lays, and all sublimely great, Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat; He shines in Council, thunders in the Fight, And fames with ev'ry sense of great delight. Long has that Poet reign’d, and long unknown, Like Monarchs sparkling on a diftant throne; In all the Majesty of Greek retir’d, Himself unknown, his mighty same admir'd; His language failing, wrapt him round with night; Thine, rais’d by thee, recalls the work to light. So wealthy Mines, that ages long before Fed the large realms around with golden Ore, When choak’d by finking banks, no more appear, And shepherds only say, The mines were here:
60. Should fome rich youth (if nature warm his heart, And all his projects ftand informd with art) Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein ; The mines detected Aame with gold again
How vast, how copious, are thy new designs ! How ev'ry Music varies in thy lines ! 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 case, Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle bleft, And Philomela sweetest o'cr the rest :
The shades resound with song - O softly tread,
This to my Friend-and when a friend inspires,
To Mr. P O P E.
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; subject to death's total fway, 5 Reptiles of earth, and beings of a day! VOL. I.