Or on the mountain's airy height Hear Winter call his howling train, While fmiling Flora binds her zephyrs brows, More potent than the Sybil's gold, That led Æneas' bold emprize; When you, Calliope, unfold Your laurel branch, each phantom flies! Slow Cares with heavy wings beat the dull air, With you Elyfium's happy bow'rs, The manfions of the glorious dead, I vifit oft, and cull the flow'rs That rise spontaneous to your tread: Such active virtue warms that pregnant earth, Here oft I wander thro' the gloom, While pendent fruit the leaves among Whofe notes th' eternal spring unceasing chear, And oft I view along the plain, With flow and folemn fteps proceed, Heroes and chiefs, an awful train! And high exalt the laurell'd head; Submifs I honour every facred name, Deep in the column grav'd of adamantine Fame. But But ceafe, my Mufe, with tender wing May Britain ne'er the weight of flav'ry feel, Lo! yonder, negligently laid Faft by the ftream's impurpled fide, Each facred poet ftrikes his tuneful lyre, And wakes the ravish'd heart, and bids the foul aspire. No more is heard the plaintive ftrain, Or pleasing Melancholy's fong, And joins the love-exulting throng; For Cupid flutters round with golden dart, There ftretch'd at ease Anacreon gay, Now Horace' hand the ftring infpir'd, The Muse unconquerable fir'd,' And heav'nly accents feiz'd my tongue; Then lock'd in admiration fweet, I bow'd,' A Confefs'd his potent art, nor could forbear aloud *: * Milton. ‹ Hail, Hail, glorious bard! whose high command • While joins and mixes to thy hand • At once the bold and tender lay! Nor mighty Homer, down Parnaffus steep, • Rolls the full tide of verfe fo clear and yet fo deep. O could I catch one ray divine • To pour strong luftre on my line, Then fhould the Mufe her choiceft influence fhed, • Then would I fing the fons of Fame, Or tell of Love's celestial flame, Or ope fair Friendship's facred page; • And leave the fullen thought, and struggling groan, To take their watchful stands around the gaudy throne.” W HEN tuneful Orpheus ftrove by moving strains To foothe the furious hate of rugged fwains, The lift'ning multitude was pleas'd; E'en Rapine dropp'd her ravish'd prey, Till by the foft oppreffion feiz'd, Each favage heard his rage away; And now o'ercome, in kind confent they move, Not Not fo, when Greece's chief, by Heav'n infpir'd, But now the trembling foldier fled, Regardless of the glorious prize, And his brave thirft of honour dead, He durft not meet with hoftile eyes; Whilst glittering shields and fwords, war's bright array, Soon as the hero by his martial strains Like flame the brave contagion ran: Till rage in every breaft to fear fucceed; And now they dare, and now they wish to bleed! With different movements fraught, where Maro's lays In Beauty's and in Glory's bloom, Torn from himself, from friends, from fame, He fung, and forrow ftole on all, And fighs began to heave, and tears began to fall! But Rome's high emprefs felt the greatest smart, So well the hero's portraiture he drew, And, in defcription, bleed anew: Then pierc'd, and yielding to the melting lay, Thus numbers once did human breasts controul ! Ah! where dwells now fuch empire o'er the foul? Tranfported by harmonious lays, The mind is melted down, or burns: With joy o'er Windfor Foreft ftrays, Or grieves when Eloifa mourns. Still the fame ardour kindles every line, And our own Pope is now, what Virgil was, divine. END OF THE THIRD VOLUME. |