"Retiring frequent to this Laureat vale, "I warbled to the Lyre that fav'rite tale, "Which, unobferv'd, a wand'ringGreek and blind, "Heard me repeat, and treafur'd in his mind ; "And fir'd with thirft of more than mortal

praife,

15

"From me, the God of Wit, ufurp'd the bays.

"But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame, "Proud with celeftial spoils to grace her name; "Yet when my Arts shall triumph in the West, "And the white Ifle with female pow'r is bleft; 20

Fame, I forefee, will make reprisals there, "And the Tranflator's Palm to me transfer. "With less regret my claim I now decline, "The World will think his English Iliad mine."

10

To Mr. POPE.

To praife, and still with just respect to praise

A Bard triumphant in immortal bays,

The Learn'd to fhow, the Senfible commend, Yet ftill preserve the province of the Friend; What life, what vigour muft the lines require? 5 What Mufic tune them, what Affection fire?

O might thy Genius in my bosom shine; Thou should'st not fail of numbers worthy thine The brightest Ancients might at once agree To fing within my lays, and fing of thee. ΙΟ

Horace himself would own thou doft excell 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 thro' Poetic ground.

15

How flame the glories of Belinda's Hair, Made by thy Muse the envy of the Fair? Lefs fhone the treffes Ægypt's princess wore, Which sweet Callimachus fo fung before. Here courtly trifles fet the world at odds; Belles war with Beaux, and Whims defcend for Gods.

20

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, 25
The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a Woman's heart.
The graces stand in fight; a Satire-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 3 30

And fits in measures fuch as Virgil's Muse
To place thee near him might be fond to chuse.
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, 35
Thinks he deserves, and thou deserv'ft the Prize?
Rapt with the thought, my fancy feeks the
plains,

And turns me fhepherd while I hear the ftrains..
Indulgent nurse 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, soft among

the trees,

40

45

Thy afpins quiver in a breathing breeze!
Smile, all ye valleys, in eternal spring,
Be hush'd, ye winds, while Pope and Virgil fing.
In English lays, and all fublimely great,
Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat;
He shines in Council, thunders in the Fight,
And flames with ev'ry sense of great delight. 50
Long has that Poet reign'd, and long unknown,
Like Monarchs fparkling on a distant throne;
In all the Majesty of Greek retir'd,

Himself unknown, his mighty namé admir'd;

His language failing, wrapt him round with night;
Thine, rais'd by thee, recalls the work to light.
So wealthy Mines, that ages long before
Fed the large realms around with golden Ore,
When choak'd by finking banks, no more appear,
And shepherds only fay, The mines were here: 60
Should some rich youth (if nature warm his heart,
And all his projects stand 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 defigns!65
How ev'ry Mufic varies in thy lines!
Still, as I read, I feel my bofom beat,
And rise in raptures by another's heat.
Thus in the wood, when fummer drefs'd the days,
While Windfor lent us tuneful hours of ease, 70
Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle bleft,
And Philomela sweetest o'er the rest:
The shades refound with song---O softly tread,
While a whole season warbles round my head.

This to my Friend-and when a friend infpires, My filent harp its master's hand requires; Shakes off the duft, and makes these rocks re

found ;

For fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground;

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85

Far from the joys that with my foul agree,
From wit, from learning---very far from thee. 80
Here mofs-grown trees expand the smallest 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,
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. 99
T. PARNELL,

L

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, 5 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: