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A

POE M S

B Y

THE

EARL OF ROSCOMMON.

P 2

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HAPPY that author, whose correct * effay
Repairs fo well our old Horatian way :

And happy you, who (by propitious fate)
On great Apollo's facred ftandard wait,
And with ftrict difcipline inftructed right,
Have learn'd' to use your arms before you fight..
But fince the prefs, the pulpit, and the stage,
Confpire to censure and expose our age :
Provok'd too far, we refolutely muft,
To the few virtues that we have, be just.

* John Sheffield duke of Buckinghamshire.

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For who have long'd, or who have labour'd more
To fearch the treasures of the Roman ftore;
Or dig in Grecian mines for purer ore?
The nobleft fruits tranfplanted in our isle
With early hope and fragrant bloffoms fmile.
Familiar Ovid tender thoughts inspires,
And nature feconds all his foft defires :
Theocritus does now to us belong;
And Albion's rocks repeat his rural fong.
Who has not heard how Italy was bleft,
Above the Medes, above the wealthy Eaft?
Or Gallus' fong, fo tender and so true,
As ev'n Lycoris might with pity view!

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When mourning nymphs attend their Daphnis' hearfe,
Who does not weep that reads the moving verfe!
But hear, oh hear, in what exalted strains
Sicilian Mufes through these happy plains
Proclaim Saturnian times---our own Apollo reigns
When France had breath'd, after inteftine broils,
And peace and conqueft crown'd her foreign toils,
There (cultivated by a royal hand)

Learning grew fast, and spread, and bleft the land;
The choicest books that Rome or Greece have known,
Her excellent tranflators made her own :

And Europe ftill confiderably gains,

Both by their good example and their pains.
From hence our generous emulation came,
We undertook, and we perform'd the fame.
But now, we fhew the world a nobler way,
And in tranflated verse do more than they ;

Serene

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