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Far from the joys that with my foul
From wit, from learning --- very far from thee. 8a
Here mofs-grown trees expand the smallest leaf;
Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf;
Here hills with naked heads the tempeft meet,
Rocks at their fides, and torrents at their feet;
Or lazy lakes unconscious of a flood,
Whose dull brown Naiads ever fleep in mud.
Yet here Content can dwell, and learned Ease,
A Friend delight me, and an Author please;
Ev'n here I fing, when POPE fupplies the theme,
Shew my own love, tho' not increase his fame. 90
To Mr. POPE.
ET vulgar fouls triumphal arches raise, Or speaking marbles, to record their praise; And picture (to the voice of Fame unknown) The mimic Feature on the breathing stone; Mere mortals; fubject to death's total fway, Reptiles of earth, and beings of a day!
'Tis thine, on ev'ry heart to grave thy praise, A monument which Worth alone can raise:
Sure to furvive, when time fhall whelm in duft
The arch, the marble, and the mimic bust:
Nor 'till the volumes of th'expanded sky
Blaze in one flame, fhalt thou and Homer die:
Then fink together in the world's last fires,
What heav'n created, and what heav'n inspires.
If aught on earth, when once this breath is fled,
With human transport touch the mighty dead,
Shakespear, rejoice! his hand thy page
Now ev'ry scene with native brightness fhines;
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
And the bold figure from the canvass fades,
A rival hand recalls from ev'ry part
Some latent grace, and equals art with art;
Transported we furvey the dubious ftrife,
While each fair image starts again to life.
How long, untun'd, had Homer's facred lyre
This you beheld; and taught by heav'n 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,
Tow'rs o'er the field of death; as fierce he turns,
Keen flash his arms, and all the Hero burns; 36
With martial stalk, and more than mortal might,
He ftrides along, and meets the Gods in fight:
Then the pale Titans, chain'd on burning floors,
Start at the din that rends th'infernal shores,
Tremble the tow'rs of Heav'n, earth rocks her coafts,
And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his ghosts.
To ev'ry theme refponds thy various lay;
Here rolls a torrent, there Meanders play;
Sonorous as the storm thy numbers rise, 45
Tofs the wild waves, and thunder in the fkies;
Or fofter than a yielding virgin's figh,
The gentle breezes breathe away and die.
Thus, like the radiant God who sheds the day,
You paint the vale, or gild the azure 'way;
And while with ev'ry theme the verse complies,
Sink without groveling, without rashness rise.
Proceed,great Bard! awake th'harmonious string, Be ours all Homer! ftill Ulyffes fing.
How long that Hero, by unskilful hands,
Strip'd of his robes, a beggar trod our lands?
Such as he wander'd o'er his native coaft,
Shrunk by the wand, and all the warrior loft:
O'er his smooth skin a bark of wrinkles fpread;
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, ev'ry limb infold
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 boaft 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.
To hear from earth fuch heart-felt raptures rife,
As, when they fing, fufpended hold the skies:
Or nobly rifing in fair Virtue's caufe,
From thy own life transcribe th'unerring laws: 80
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.
To Mr. POPE,
On the publishing his WORKS.
E comes, he comes! bid ev'ry Bard prepare The fong of triumph, and attend his Car. Great Sheffield's Mufe the long proceffion heads, And throws a luftre o'er the pomp fhe leads, First gives the Palm fhe fir'd him to obtain, Crowns his gay brow, and shews him how to reign. Thus young Alcides, by old Chiron taught, Was form'd for all the miracles he wrought: Thus Chiron did the youth he taught applaud, Pleas'd to behold the earnest of a God.