The cloven Summits of Parnaffus' Hill,

Chimeras of the Brain.

No more fuch Follies I purfue

Thee, fober-vefted Queen, I woo;
Thy propitious Help imploring,

As by Midnight Taper poring,

With ftudious Care I mark fome faulty Line, Then curfe the Theban Harp, or Homer's Work divine.

III.

Here in my hateful, lonefome Cell,
While Darkness spreads her murky Veil around,
When Pains corode, and stormy Paffions wound,
With thee I wish to dwell,

Tho' Apollo bids defpair,

Nor a Mufe regards my Pray'r;
Still with ever conftant Kindness,

Thou wilt footh my yotive Blindness;

I feel, I feel the maddening Influence reigns, The black Bile rushes on, and revels in my Veins. IV.

Borne on the rapid Wings of Thought, E'en now I feem, in thy extenfive Shade, Where baleful Yews o'ercome the fickening Glade, To quaff the plenteous Draught,

"

And behold thy Realms comprise
Learned, Ignorant, and Wise,

All alike with hot Devotion,

Swal

Swallowing thy embitter'd Potion.

Fearless I take iny felf-commiffion'd Stand,
To wield thy ruthlefs Sword with unrelenting Hand.

V.

Hear then, O hear my fond Request,
Whether in poor Verona's hapless State,
Thou mourn'ft thy Scaliger's neglected Fate,
With Anguish-laden Breast.

Or with Rapture lov't to view
Sourly fmiling each Review;
Quickly hafte to my Embraces,

Come, O come, in all thy Graces,

Where tuneful Oxford hails thy juft Domain, Where at thy Shrine attend her delegated Train.

VI.

How thall I paint thy heavenly Charms! In what high Praise my ardent Suit addrefs ! Or how the glowing Flame fhall I exprefs

Which now my Bofom warms;

How defcribe the mazy Road,
Leading to thy blest Abode !

Where thou fit'ft in state prefiding,

Us ignoble Rhimers guiding

To where the Banks of Lethe's filent Wave, Before our paffive Steps disclose an early Grave.

Yet

VII.

Yet fhall my feeble Lays prefume,
Wrapt in ideal Extacies, to trace

The winning Features of thy lovely Face,
And its primeval Bloom.

Thou, a Silver-flipper'd Nymph,*
Lightly tread'ft the dimply Lymph,
With dank Sedge thy Treffes wreathing,
Modulated Measures breathing;

A Coral Crown thy Bright Braw Binds, I ween,

1

And down devolves thy Sweeping Stole of Gloffy Green.

VIII.

Oft, in nocturnal Serenade,
Anxious I wake my Lyre's discordant Strings,
Till the responsive Echo loudly rings
With thee, immortal Maid!

Ah! perchance my Hopes are vain

Canft thou then with harsh Disdain,

Alluding to the following Lines in Warton's Ţ & I U M ? M FISIS:

And from the Wave arose its guardian Queen,
Known by her fweeping Stole of glossy Green;
While in the Coral Crown that bound her Brow,
Was wove the Delphic Laurel's verdant Bough,
As the fmooth Surface of the dimply Flood,
The Silver-flipper'd Isis lightly trod,
I

Spurn

Spurn my too officious Duty,
Self-enamour'd of thy Beauty;

And close thy ftern, inexorable Heart,
Slighting the Vow fincere, which wants the Glofs of Art.

IX.

Hence, idle Fears-thou ftill art kind; Low at thy Footstool bends her trembling Knee; I fue O Goddess, and I fue to thee,

To thy Behefts refign'd.

No rejected Votary's moans

Taint the Air with feverish Groans.

Where we reft, thy Charms enjoying,

Ever tafted, never cloying,

Widely thou pour'ft thy all-diffufive Rays,

Inftant our kindling Souls with Fire congenial blaze,

X.

In Rhedycina's favour'd Seat,

Where richest Verfe thy finould'ring Altar feeds, With him fome chofen Sage obedient leads,

To give 'Thee Homage meet.

Falfe Surmifes, hidden Flaws,

Old Grammarians crabbed Laws;

At thy Impulfe while elated,

By thy Pleasure he unfated,

With his fell Pen from thy Tribunal bends,

As on the mangled Lines the frequent Blot defcends.

When

XI.

When Autumn brought the lowering Year,

Fair is mingled with Britannia's Woe

;

Meanwhile thou taught'ft her Claffic Plains to flow
O'er George's Grief-ftain'd Bier.

How fhe mourn'd the Monarch dead,
Father of his Country fled,

Ill befits my trite Narration

I in lefs exalted Station,

Stupidly nod o'er Poefy fo fine,

Stretch'd on the lifelefs Couch of Indolence fupine.

XII.

That Part to Thee we confecrate

Of the huge Wreath forfooth, which all the Nine.
With Skill united have confpir'd to twine.*
A Fricaffee of State !

'Twould make a Breakfast for a King;
Or fhould he feast on no fuch Thing
As See-faw Flattery, and his Spirit
Be coolly touch'd with fo much Merit ;
If he endure the Song with Look sinister,
The Plan will fuit at leaft a Patriot-Minifter.

* Alluding to the following Lines in the concluding Copy of the OXFORD VERSES abovementioned, written by the Poetry Profeffor. deign to view

This ample Wreath, which all th' affembled Nine

With Skill united have confpir'd to twine.