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No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful silence faddens all the

Unhappy Italy! whose alter'd state
Has felt the worst severity of Fate :
Not that Barbarian hands her Fafces broke, 25
And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke;
Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her cities desart, and her fiel's unfown ;
But that her ancient Spirit is decay'd,
That sacred Wisdom from her bounds is Aled,

30 That there the source of Science flows no more, Whence its rich streams supply'd the world beļore,

Illustrious Names ! that once in Latium thin’d, Born to inttruct, and to command Mankind; Chiefs, by whose Virtue mighty Rome was rais’d, And Poets, who those chiefs fublimely prais'd! Oft I the traces you have left explore, Your afhes visit, and your urns adore; Oft kiss, with lips devout, some mould’ring stone, With ivy's venerable shade o'ergrown ; Those hallow'd ruins better pleas'd to fee Than all the pomp of modern Luxury.

As late on Virgil's tomb fresh flow'rs I strow'd, While with th' inspiring Muse my bofom glow'd, Crown'd with eternal bays my ravish'd eyes 45 Beheld the Poet's awful Form arise : Stranger, he said, whofe pious hand has paid These grateful rites to my attentive shade, When thou shalt breathe thy happy native air, To Pope this message from his Master bear : 50

Great Bard, whose numbers I myself inspire, To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre,



If high exalted on the Throne of Wit,
Near Me and Homer thou aspire to fit,
No more let meaner Satire dim the rays 55
That flow majestic from thy nobler Bays;
In all the flow'ry paths of Pindus stray,
But thun that thorny, that unpleasing way;
Nor, when each soft engaging Muse is thine,
Address the least attractive of the Nine.

Of thee more worthy were the task, to raise
A lasting Column to thy Country's Praise,
To fing the Land, which yet alone can boast
That Liberty corrupted Rome has lost;
Where Science in the arms of Peace is laid, 65
And plants her Palm beneath the Olive's fhede.
Such was the 'Theme for which my lyre I strung,
Such was the People whose exploits I fung;
Brave, yet refin'd, for Arms and Arts renown'd,
With diff'rent bays by Mars and Phoebus crown'd,
Dauntless opposers of Tyrannic Sway,
But pleas’d, a mild AUGUSTUS to obey.

If these commands fubmiflive thou receive, Immortal and unblam'd thy name shall live; Envy to black Cocytus shall retire,

75 And howl with Furies in tormenting fire ; Approving Time shall consecrate thy Lays, And join the Patriot's to the Poet's Praise.




Discourse on PASTOR A L.

Written in the Year M DCC IV.

Rura mihi et rigui placeant in vallibus amnes,
Flumina amem, sylvasque, inglorius ! VIRGE

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färy to give some account of this kind of Poem, and




HERE are not, I believe, a greater num.

ber of any fort of verses than of thofe which

are called Panorals; nor a fmaller, than of those which are thuly ło.< !It therefore seems necefit is my design to comprize in this short paper

, the fúbftance of those numerous differtations the Critics have made on the fubject, without omitting any of theit rules ini day oven favbar. You'will also find diffet, and a few remarks, which, I think, 'have escaped their observation.

The original of Poetry is ascribed to that Age which fucceeded the creation of the world: and as the keeping of Aocks seems to have been the first employment of mankind, the most ancient fort of poetry was probably pastoralt: It is natural to imagine, that the leifare of those ancient shepherds admitting and inviting fome diversion, none was so proper

to that folitary and sedentary life, as singing ; and that in their fongs they took occasion to celebrate their own felicity: From hence a Poem was in

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* Written at fixteen years of age.
Fontenelli i Difc. on Paflorals.

B 2



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