When fink together in the world's laft fires
What heaven created, and what heaven inspires.
If aught on earth, when once this breath is fled,
With human transport touch the mighty dead;
Shakespeare, rejoice! his hand thy page refines,
Now every scene with native brightness shines;
Juft 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, O Raphael, time invades, And the bold figure from the canvass fades;
A rival hand recalls from every part
Some latent grace, and equals art with art;
Transported we furvey the dubious ftrife,
While the fair image ftarts again to life.
How long untun'd had Homer's facred lyre
Jarr'd grating difcord, all extinct his fire!
This you beheld; and, taught by heaven to fing,
Call'd the loud mufic from the founding ftring.
Now wak'd from flumbers 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;
His plume nods horrible, his helm on high
With cheeks of iron glares against the sky;
With martial stalk, and more than mortal might,
He ftrides along, he meets the God in fight:
Then the pale Titans, chain'd on burning flores,
Start at the din that rends th' infernal shores;
Tremble the towers of heaven; earth rocks her coafts;
And gloomy Pluto fhakes with all his ghofts.
To every theme refponds thy various lay;
Here pours a torrent, there meanders play:
Sonorous as the ftorm thy numbers rise,
Tofs the wild waves, and thunder in the skies;
Or fofter than a yielding virgin's figh,
The gentle breezes breathe away, and die.
How twangs the bow, when with a jarring spring
The whizzing arrows vanish from the string!
When giants strain, fome rock's vast weight to shove,
The flow verse heaves, and the clogg'd words fcarce move;
But when from high it rolls, with many a bound,
Jumping it thundering whirls, and rushes to the ground:
Swift flows the verfe, when winged lightnings fly,
Dart from the dazzled view, and flash along the sky:
Thus, like the radiant God who sheds the day,
'The vale you paint, or gild the azure way;
And, while with every theme the verse complies,
Sink without groveling; without rashness, rise.
Proceed, great bard, awake th' harmonious string,
Be ours all Homer, ftill Ulyffes fing!
Ev'n I, the meaneft of the Muses' train,
Inflam'd by thee, attempt a nobler strain;
Adventrous waken the *Mæonian lyre,
Tun'd by your hand, and fing as you inspire:
*The author tranflated eight books of the Odyffey.
So, arm'd by great Achilles for the fight,
Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' might.
Like theirs our friendship! and I boast my name
To thine united, for thy friendship's fame.
How long Ulyffes, by unfkilful hands
Stript 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 hero loft;
O'er his smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread,
Old-age difgrac'd the honours of his head;
Nor longer in his heavy eye-ball shin'd
The glance divine forth-beaming from the mind:
But
you, like Pallas, every limb infold
With royal robes, and bid him fhine in gold;
Touch'd by your hand, his manly frame improves
With air divine, and like a God he moves.
This labour past, of heavenly subjects fing,
While hovering angels liften on the wing;
To hear from earth fuch heart-felt raptures rife,
As, when they fing, suspended hold the ikies:
Or nobly rifing in fair virtue's caufe,
From thy own life transcribe th' unerring laws;
Teach a bad world beneath her fway to bend,
To verfe like thine fierce favages attend,
And men more fierce! When Orpheus tunes the lay,
Ev'n fiends relenting hear their rage away.
* See the 16th Odyffey, ver. 186, and 476.
Part of the TENTH BOOK of the ILIADS of
In the Style of MILTON.
OW high advanc'd the night, o'er all the hoft. Sleep fhed his fofteft balm; restless alone Atrides lay, and cares revolv'd on cares.
As when with rifing vengeance gloomy Jove
Pours down a watery deluge, or in ftorms
Of hail or fnow commands the goary jaws
Of war to roar; through all the kindling skies,
With flaming wings on lightnings lightnings play:
So while Atrides meditates the war,
Sighs after fighs burst from his manly breast,
And shake his inmoft foul: round o'er the fields
To Troy he turns his eyes, and round beholds
A thousand fires blaze dreadful; through his ears
Paffes the direful fymphony of war,
Of fife, or pipe, and the loud hum of hofts
Strikes him difmay'd: Now o'er the Grecian tents
His eyes he rolls; now from his royal head
Rends the fair curl in facrifice to Jove,
And his brave heart heaves with imperial woes.
Thus groans the thoughtful king; at length refolves To seek the Pylian fage, in wife debate
To ripen high defigns, and from the fword
Preferve his banded legions. Pale and fad
Uprofe the monarch: inflant o'er his breaft
A robe he threw, and on his royal feet
Glitter'd th' embroider'd fandals: o'er his back
A dreadful ornament, a lion's spoils,
With hideous grace down to his ankles hung;
Fierce in his hand he grafp'd a glittering fpear.
With equal care was Menelaus tofs'd:
Sleep from his temples fled, his generous heart
Felt all his people's woes, who in his cause
Stem'd the proud main, and nobly stood in arms
Confronting death: A leopard's fpotted spoils
Terrific clad his limbs, a brazen helm
Beam'd on his head, and in his hand a fpear.
Forth from his tent the royal Spartan ftrode
To wake the king of men; him wak'd he found
Clasping his polish'd arms; with rifing joy
The heroes meet, the Spartan thus begun:
Why thus in arms, my prince? Send'ft thou fome spy
To view the Trojan hoft? Alas! I fear
Left the most dauntlefs fons of glorious war
Shrink at the bold defign! This task demands
A foul refolv'd, to pafs the gloom of night,
And 'midft her legions fearch the powers of Troy.
O prince, he cries, in this difaftrous hour
Greece all our counfel claims, now, now demands
Our deepest cares! the power omnipotent
Frowns on our arms, but fmiles with aspect mild
On Hector's incenfe: Heavens! what fon of fame,
Renown'd in ftory, e'er fuch deeds atchiev'd
In a whole life, as in one glorious day
This favourite of the fkies? and yet a man!
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