Rg'd by the warmth of facred friendship's flame, But more by all the wonders of thy fame, By all thofe offsprings of thy learned mind, In judgment folid, as in wit refin'd;
Refolv'd I fing, tho' lab'ring up the way
-O Swift! accept my lay.
Rapt by the force of thought, and rais'd above,
Thro' Contemplation's airy fields I rove,
Where pow'rful Fancy purifies my eye,
And lights the beauties of a brighter sky,
Fresh paints the meadows, bids green fhades afcend,
Clear rivers wind, and op'ning plains extend;
Then fills its landskip thro' the varied parts
With Virtues, Graces, Sciences and Arts,
Superior forms, of more than mortal air,
More large than mortals, more ferenely fair:
And there two chiefs, the guardians of thy name,
Contend to raise thee to the point of fame.
Ye future times!- -I heard the filver found,
I faw the Graces form a circle round;
Each where she fix'd attentive feem'd to root,
And all but Eloquence herself was mute.
High o'er the throng I faw the Goddess rife,
Free to the breeeze her upper garment flies 3
By turns within her eye the paffions burn,
The fofter paffions languish in their turn;
Upon her lips convincing proof refides,
Thro' all her speech Perfuafion melting glides;
A golden crown confefs'd her high command,
And waving Action gently grac'd her hand.
Out of her bofom, where the treasure lay,
She drew thy labours to the blaze of day,
Then gaz'd, and read the charms fhe cou'd inspire,
And taught the lift'ning audience to admire.
How strong thy flight! how large thy grasp of thought!
How just thy schemes! how regularly wrought!
How fure you wound when ironies deride!
Which must be seen, yet feign to turn aside;
How far uncommon, with an air of eafe,
How nicely taking are thy turns of praife!
Fame wants no words to make the patriot shine,
But yet, to chuse the best, must borrow thine:
What public fpirit in thy works appears!
What rolling language fills the ravifh'd ears!
Where Nature all her force of writing shows,
Where Art concealing Art with nature goes.
She ceas'd. Applause attended on the close;
Then Poetry her sister art arose,
Her fairer fifter, born in deepest ease,
Not made fo much for bus'nefs as to please;
Upon her cheeks fits beauty ever young,
The foul of mufic warbles on her tongue,
Bright in her eyes a pleasing ardour glows,
And from her heart the sweetest temper flows;
A laurel-wreath adorns her curling hair,
And binds their order to the dancing air;
She shakes the colours of her radiant wing,
While from the spheres she takes her pitch to fing.
Thrice happy Genius his! whose works have hit
The lucky point of bus'nefs and of wit;
They seem like show'rs which April months prepare
To call the flow'ry glories up to air;
The drops descending make the varied bow,
And while they fall for profit, dress for show.
To me retiring oft he finds relief
From flow confuming care, and pining grief;
From me retreating oft he gives to view
What eases care, and grief in others too.
Ye fondly grave! be wife enough to know,
Life ne'er unbent is but a life of woe.
I'll gently steal you from your toils away,
Where balmy winds, and scents ambrofial play,
Where on the banks, as chrystal rivers flow,
They teach immortal Amaranths to grow;
Then from the wild indulgence of the scene,
Restore your tempers ftrong for toils again.
She ceas'd. Soft Mufic trembl'd in the wind,
And fweet Delight diffus'd, thro' ev'ry mind:
The little Smiles which still the Goddess grace,
Sportive arofe, and run from face to face.
A geutle band their eager joys express:
Here Friendship afks, and Love of merit longs
To hear the Goddeffes renew their fongs;
There great Benevolence to Men is pleas'd;
These own their SWIFT, and grateful hear him prais'd
You gentle band! you well may bear your part,
You reign Superior Graces in his heart.
O SWIFT! if Friendship's warm yet lafting flame,
If Love of merit have to praise a claim;
If just esteem from ev'ry temper flows
To crown a tender sense of human woes ;
These fair returns are thine: nor cou'dft thou lye
Unknown alive, nor wilt unlovely dye.
Or if high fame be life, (and well we know, That Bards and Heroes have esteem'd it fo) Thou can'st not all expire; thy works will shine
To future times, and Life in Fame be thine.
WAS when the night in filent fable fled, When chearful morning sprung with rising red, When dreams and vapours leave to crowd the brain, And beft the Vifion draws its heav'nly scene; 'Twas then, as flumb'ring on my couch I lay, A fudden fplendor feem'd to kindle day, A breeze came breathing in a sweet perfume, Blown from eternal gardens, fill'd the room; And in a void of blue, that clouds invest, Appear'd a daughter of the realms of reft; Her head a ring of golden glory wore, Her honour'd hand the sacred volume bore, Her rayment glitt'ring feem'd a filver white, And all her sweet companions fons of light.
Strait as I gaz'd my fear and wonder grew,
Fear barr'd my voice, and wonder fix'd my view,
When lo! a cherub of the fhining crowd
That fail'd as guardians in her azure cloud,
Fann'd the foft air and downward feem'd to glide,
And to my lips a living coal apply'd;
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