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The wondrous fong with rapture they rehearse;
« But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame,
To Mr. P O P E.
10 praise, and still with just respect to praise
A Bard triumphant in immortal bays, The Learn'd to show, the Sensible commend, Yet still preserve the province of the Friend ; What life, what vigour must the lines require ?
5 What Music tune them, what Affection fire?
O might thy Genius in my bosom shine ;
The brightest Ancients might at once agree
Horace himself would own thou doft excell
How flame the glories of Belinda's Hair, Made by thy Muse the Envy of the Fair? Less shone the tresses Ægypt's Princess wore, Which sweet Callimachus so sung before. 20 Here courtly trifles set the world at odds ; Belles war with Beaux, and Whims descend for Gods. The new Machines, in names of ridicule, Mock the grave phrenzy of the Chemic fool. But know, ye Fair, a point conceal'd with art, The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a Woman's heart. The Graces stand in sight; a Satire-train Peeps o'er their head, and laughs behind the scene.
In Fame's fair Temple, o'er the boldest wits Inshrin'd on high the sacred Virgil fits; And fits in measures such as Virgil's Muse To place thee near him, might be fond to chuse. How might he tune th' alternate reed with thec, Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he; While some old Damon, o'er the vulgar wife, 35 Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'st the Prize, Rapt with the thought, my fancy seeks the plains, And turns me shepherd while I hear the strains. Indulgent nurse of ev'ry tender gale, Parent of flowrets, old Arcadia, hail !
Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread,
45 Be hulh’d, ye winds, while Pope and Virgil sing.
In English lays, and all sublimely great,
How vaft, how copious, are thy new designs !
The shades resound with song - softly tread,
This to my Friend--and when a friend inspires,
To Mr. POPE.
ET vulgar souls triumphal arches raife,
Or speaking marbles, to record their praise ; And picture (to the voice of Fame unknown) The mimic Feature on the breathing stone; Mere mortals; subject to death's total sway, 5 Reptiles of earth, and beings of a day! VOL. I. b
'Tis thine, on ev'ry heart to grave thy praile, A monument which Worth alone can raise; Sure to survive, when time fhall whelm in dust The arch, the marble, and the mimic bust: IO Nor 'till the volumes of th' expanded sky Blaze in one fiame, shalt thou and Homer die : Then sink 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 refines; Now ev'ry scene with native brightnefs thines; Just 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 in
vades, And the bold figure from the canvass fades, A rival hand recalls from ev'ry part
25 Some latent grace, and equals art with art; Transported we survey the dubious strife, While each fair image starts again to life.
How long, untun'd, had Homer's sacred lyre Jarr'd grating discord, all extinct his fire?
30 This you beheld; and taught by heav'n to fing, Call’d the loud music from the founding string. Now wak'd from slumbers of three thousand years, Once more Achilles in dread pomp appears, Tow'rs o'er the field of death; as fierce he turns, Keen flath his arms, and all the Hero burns ; 36.