He anfwer'd with a frown; "I now reveal "A truth that Envy bids me not conceal. "Retiring frequent to this laureat vale, "I warbled to the lyre that fav'rite tale, "Which, unobferv'd, a wand'ring Greek and blind, "Heard me repeat, and treasur'd in his mind; "And, fir'd with thirst of more than mortal praife, "From me, the God of Wit, ufurp'd the bays.
"But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame, "Proud with celeftial fpoils to grace her name; "Yet when my arts fhall triumph in the Weft, "And the white ifle with female power is bleft; "Fame, I forefee, will make repritals there, "and the tranflator's palm to me transfer. "with lefs regret my claim I now decline, "The world will think his English Iliad mine." E. Fenton.
To praife, and ftill with just refpect to praise
A bard triumphant in immortal bays,
The learn'd to fhow, the fenfible commend,
Yet ftill preserve the province of the friend;
What life, what vigour, muft the lines require!
What mufic tune them, what affection fire!
O might thy genius in my bofom shine,
Thou shouldft not fail of numbers worthy thine;
The brightest Ancients might at once agree
To fing within my lays, and fing of thee.
Horace himself would own thou doft excel
In candid arts to play the critic well.
Ovid himself might wish to fing the dame
Whom Windfor Foreft fees a gliding stream
On filver feet, with annual ofier crown'd,
She runs for ever through poetic ground.
How flame the glories of Belinda's hair,
Made by the Muse the envy of the fair!
Lefs fhone the treffes Egypt's princess wore,
Which fweet Callimachus fo fung before.
Here courtly trifles fet the world at odds;
Belles war with beaus, and whims defcend for gods.
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The new machines, in names of ridicule,
Mock the grave frenzy of the chemic fool.
But know, ye Fair, a point conceal'd with art,
The fylphs and gnomes are but a woman's heart.
The graces ftand in fight; a fatyr train
Peeps o'er their head, and laughs behind the scene.
In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits,
Infhrin'd on high, the facred Virgil fits;
And fits in meafures fuch as Virgil's mufe
To place thee near him might be fond to chufe:
How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee !
Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he;
While fome old Damon, o'er the vulgar wife,
Thinks he deferves, and thou deferv it the prize!
Rapt with the thought, my fancy feeks the plains,
And turns me fhepherd while I hear the ftrains.
Indulgent nurfe of ev'ry tender gale,
Parent of flowrets, old Arcadia, hail!
Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread,
Here let thy poplars whisper o`er my head:
Still flide thy waters, foft among the trees
Thy afpins quiver in a breathing breeze!
Smile, all ye vallies, in eternal spring,
Be hufh'd ye winds, while Pope and Virgil fing..
In English lays, and all fublimely great,
Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat;
He fhines in council, thunders in the fight,
And flames with every fenfe of great delight.
Long has that poet reign'd, and long unknown,
Like monarchs fparkling on a diftant throne;
In all the majesty of Greek retir'd;
Himself unknown, his mighty name admir'd;
His language failing, wrapt him round with night;
Thine, rais'd by thee, recals the work to light.
So wealthy mines, that ages long before
Fed the large realms around with golden ore,
When chok'd by finking banks, no more appear,
And Shepherds only fay, "The mines were here;" 60
Should fome rich youth (if Nature warm his heart,
And all his projects fraud inform'd with art)
Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein,
The mines detected flame with gold again.
How vaft, how copious, are thy new designs!
How ev'ry mufic varies in thy lines!
Still, as I read, I feel my bofom beat,
And rife in raptures by another's heat.
Thus in the wood, when fummer drefs'd the days,
While Windfor lent us tuneful hours of eafe,
Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle, bleft,
And Philomela fweeteft, o'er the reft:
The thades refound with fong--- O foftly tread,
While a whole feafon warbles round my head.
This to my friend - - - and when a friend inspires,
My filent harp its mafter's hand requires,
Shakes off the duft, and makes these rocks refound;
For Fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground;
Far from the joys that with my foul agree,
From wit, from learning --- very far from thee.
Here mofs grown trees expand the smalleft leaf;
Here half an acre's corn is half a fheaf;
Here hills with naked heads the tempeft meet,
Rocks at their fides, and torrents at their feet;
Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood,
Whofe dull brown Naïads ever sleep in mud:
Yet here content can dwell, and learned eafe,
A friend delight me, and an author please;
Ev'n here I fing, when Pope fupplies the theme;
Show my own love, though not increase his fame. 90
T. Parnell.
LET vulgar fouls triumphal arches raise,
Or fpeaking 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 raife;
Sure to furvive, when time fhall whelm in duft
The arch, the marble, and the mimic buft:
Nor, till the volumes of th' expanded sky
Blaze in one flame, shalt thou and Homer die :
Then fink together in the world's last fires,
What Heav'n created, and what Heav'n infpires.
If aught on earth, when once this breath is fled, 15
With human transport touch the mighty dead,
Shakespeare rejoice! his hand thy page refines ;
Now ev'ry 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 canvas fades, A rival hand recals from ev'ry part Some latent grace, and equals art with art: Tranfported we furvey the dubious Arife, While each fair image starts 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 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, Towers o'er the field of death; as fierce he turns, Keen flash his arms, and all the hero burns; 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 fhores, Tremble the tow'rs of heav'n, earth rocks her coafts, And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his ghofts. To ev'ry theme responds thy various lay; Here rolls a torrent, there meanders play; Sonorous as the ftorm thy numbers rite, Tofs the wild waves, and thunder in the skies; Or, fofter than a yielding virgin's figh, The gentle breezes breathe away and die. Thus, like the radiant god who fheds the day, You paint the vale, or gild the azure way;
And while with ev'ry theme the verfe 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,
Stripp'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 fmooth 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 fhine in gold:
Touch'd by your hand, his manly frame improves 65
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:
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 paft, of heav'nly iubjects fing,
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 cause,
From thy own life tranfcribe th' unerring laws:
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.
TO MR. POPE.
On the publishing his Works.
He comes, he comes! bid ev'ry bard prepare The fong of triumph, and attend his car.
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