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ARGUS.

WHEN wise Ulysses, from his native coast
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests toss'd,
Arriv'd at last, poor, old, disguis'd, alone,

To all his friends, and even his Queen unknown:
Chang'd as he was, with age, and toils, and cares,
Furrow'd his reverend face, and white his hairs,
In his own palace forc'd to ask his bread,
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed,
Forgot of all his own domestic crew;

The faithful dog alone his rightful master knew!
Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay,
Like an old servant now cashier'd, he lay;
Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man,
And longing to behold his ancient lord again.
Him when he saw he rose, and crawl'd to meet,
('Twas all he could) and fawn'd and kiss'd his feet,
Seiz'd with dumb joy: then falling by his side,
Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died !

PRAYER OF BRUTUS.

FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH.

GODDESS of woods, tremendous in the chase,
To mountain wolves and all the savage race,
Wide o'er th' aerial vault extend thy sway,
And o'er th' infernal regions void of day.

On thy third reign look down; disclose our fate,
In what new station shall we fix our seat?
When shall we next thy hallow'd altars raise,
And choirs of virgins celebrate thy praise?

AN INSCRIPTION UPON A PUNCHBOWL,

IN THE SOUTH SEA YEAR, FOR A CLUB,

CHASED WITH JUPITER PLACING CALLISTO IN THE
SKIES, AND EUROPA WITH THE BULL.'

COME, fill the South Sea goblet full;
The gods shall of our stock take care;
Europa pleas'd accepts the Bull,

And Jove with joy puts off the Bear.

LINES ON A GROTTO, AT CRUX-EASTON,

HANTS.

HERE shunning idleness at once and praise,
This radiant pile nine rural sisters raise;

1 Now first printed, from the handwriting of Dr. Birch on a fly leaf of the first vol. of Warburton's Pope's Works, formerly belonging to Cracherode, in the British Museum. "This Epigram of Mr. Pope was communicated by the Revd. Dr. Warburton to

Tho. Birch."

2 The Misses Lisle.

The glittering emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,

And such a polish as disgraces art;

But fate dispos'd them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a court.

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ON BENTLEY'S MILTON.

DID Milton's prose, O Charles, thy death defend?

A furious foe unconscious proves a friend.

On Milton's verse did Bentley comment? Know,

A weak officious friend becomes a foe.

While he but sought his author's fame to further, The murderous critic has aveng'd thy murther.

LINES.

ALL hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade, Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours! Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,

And gently press'd my hand, and said, Be ours. Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:

At court thou mayst be lik'd, but nothing gain; Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but always lose;

And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.

TO ERINNA.1

THOUGH sprightly Sappho force our love and praise, A softer wonder my pleas'd soul surveys,

The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays.

So, while the sun's broad beam yet strikes the sight, All mild appears the moon's more sober light; Serene, in virgin majesty she shines,

And, unobserv'd, the glaring sun declines.

ADRIANI MORIENTIS AD ANIMAM,

TRANSLATED.

Ан, fleeting spirit! wandering fire,
That long hast warm'd my tender breast,
Must thou no more this frame inspire;
No more a pleasing cheerful guest?
Whither, ah whither art thou flying,
To what dark undiscover'd shore?
Thou seem'st all trembling, shivering, dying,
And wit and humour are no more!

1 See Memoir prefixed to these volumes, p. lxx.

A DIALOGUE.

SINCE

my

POPE

old friend is grown so great,

As to be Minister of State,

I'm told, but 'tis not true I hope,

That Craggs will be asham'd of Pope.

CRAGGS.

Alas! if I am such a creature,

To grow

the worse for growing greater;
Why, faith, in spite of all my brags,
'Tis Pope must be asham'd of Craggs.

ODE TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN,

THE MAN MOUNTAIN,' BY TITTY TIT, POET LAUREATE TO

HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT.

INTO ENGLISH.

TRANSLATED

IN amaze

Lost I gaze!

Can our eyes
Reach thy size!

May my lays

Swell with praise,

1 This Ode, and the three following pieces, were produced

by Pope on reading Gulliver's Travels.

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