55 How long a that Hero, by unfkilful hands, 60 With royal robes, and bid him shine in gold; Touch'd by your hand, his manly frame improves With grace divine, and like a God he moves. Ev'n I, the meaneft of the Mufes' train, Inflam'd by thee, attempt a nobler strain ; Advent'rous waken the Mæonian lyre, Tun'd by your-hand, and fing as you infpire: 70 So arm'd by great Achilles for the fight, Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' right: Like theirs, our Friendship! and I boast my name To thine united for thy Friendship's Fame. This labour past, of heav'nly fubjects fing, 75 While hov'ring angels liften on the wing. * Odyssey, lib. xvi. To hear from earth fuch heart-felt raptures rife, As, when they fing, fufpended hold the skies: Or nobly rifing in fair Virtue's cause, From thy own life transcribe th'unerring laws: 80 Teach a bad world beneath her sway 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. W. BROOME. To Mr. POPE, On the publishing his WORKS. E comes, he comes! bid ev'ry Bard prepare HE The song of triumph, and attend his Car. Great Sheffield's Muse the long proceffion heads, And throws a luftre o'er the pomp The leads, First gives the Palm she fir'd him to obtain, Crowns his gay brow, and fhews him how to reign. Thus young Alcides, by old Chiron taught, Pleas'd to behold the earnest of a God. 5 10 But hark, what shouts, what gath'ring crouds rejoice! Unftain'd their praise by any venal Voice, ? 20 But what are they that turn the facred page Three lovely Virgins, and of equal age; Intent they read, and all enamour'd seem, As he that met his likeness in the stream: The GRACES these; and see how they contend, Who most shall praife, who beft fhall recommend. The Chariot now the painful steep ascends, The Peans cease; thy glorious labour ends. Here fix'd, the bright eternal Temple stands, Its prospect an unbounded view commands: 30 Say, wond'rous youth, what Column wilt thou chufe, What laurel'd Arch for thy triumphant Muse? Tho' each great Ancient court thee to his fhrine, Thy foul's delight, and glory of the Fane: To Mr. POPE. From Rome, 1730. I Mmortal Bard! for whom each Mufe has wove The fairest garlands of th'Aonian grove; Preferv'd, our drooping Genius to restore, When Addison and Congreve are no more; After so many stars extinct in night, The dark'ned ages laft remaining light! To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ, Infpir'd by memory of ancient Wit;` 5 For now no more these climes their influence boast, Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue loft; ΙΟ From Tyrants, and from Priefts, the Mufes fly, Nor Baiæ now, nor Umbria's plain they love, 15 20 So in the fhades, where chear'd with summer rays 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 defert, and her fields unfown ; VOL. I. C |