To hear from earth fuch heart-felt raptures rise, As, when they fing, fufpended hold the Skies: Or nobly rifing in fair Virtue's caufc, From thy own life tranfcribe th' unerringlaws: 80 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. W. BROO ME. To Mr. P O PE, On the publishing his WORK s. E comes, he comes! bid ev'ry Bard prepare HE 5 The fong of triumph, and attend his Car. Great Sheffield's Muse the long proceffion heads, And throws a luftre o'er the pomp fhe leads, First gives the Palm she fir'd him to obtain, Crowns his gay brow, and fhews him how to reign. Thus young Alcides, by old Chiron taught, Was form'd for all the miracles he wrought: Thus Chiron did the youth he taught applaud, Pleas'd to behold the earneft of a God. 3 ΙΟ But hark, what shouts, what gath'ring crouds rejoice! Unftain'd their praise by any venal Voice, Here rage enchain'd reluctant raves, and there 20 But what are they that turn the facred page? Three lovely Virgins, and of equal age; Intent they read, and all enamour'd seem, As he that met his likeness in the stream: The GRACES thefe; and fee how they contend, 25 Whomost shall praise, who best shall recommend. The Chariot now the painful fteep afcends, The Pæans cease; thy glorious labour ends. Here fix'd, the bright eternal Temple stands, Its prospect an unbounded view commands: 30 Say, wond'rous youth, what Column wilt thou chufe, What laurel'd Arch for thy triumphant Muse ? 35 Tho' each great Ancient court thee to his shrine, 40 SIMON HARCOURT. To Mr. P O PE.. From Rome, 1730. Mmortal Bard! for whom each Mufe has wove IM The fairest garlands of th' Aonian grove; The darken'd age's last remaining light! To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ, For now no more these climes their influence boast, From Tyrants, and from Priests, the Mufes fly, Nor Baie now, nor Umbria's plain they love, 15 So in the shades, where chear'd with fummer rays grove. Has felt the worst severity of Fate: 20 Not that Barbarian hands her Fafces broke, 25 Her Cities desert, and her fields unfown ; That facred Wisdom from her bounds is fled, 30 Illuftrious Names! that once in Latium fhin'd, Chiefs, by whofe Virtue mighty Rome was rais'd, 35 And Poets, who those chiefs fublimely prais'd! Oft I the traces you have left explore, Your ashes vifit, and your urns adore; Oft kifs, with lips devout, fome mould'ring stone, Those hallow'd ruins better pleas'd to fee 40 As late on Virgil's tomb fresh flow'rs I strow'd, While with th' inspiring Muse my bofom glow'd, ravish'd eyes Crown'd with eternal bays my 45 Stranger, he said, whose pious hand has paid 55 |