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How long a that Hero, by unfkilful hands,
Strip'd of his robes, a beggar trod our lands?
Such as he wander'd o'er his native coast,
Shrunk by the wand, and all the warrior loft:
O'er his smooth fkin a bark of wrinkles spread;
Old age difgrac'd the honours of his head;
Nor longer in his heavy eye-ball shin'd
The glance divine, forth-beaming from the mind.
But you, like Pallas, ev'ry limb infold

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With royal robes, and bid him shine in gold; Touch'd by your hand, his manly frame improves With grace divine, and like a God he moves.

Ev'n I, the meaneft of the Mufes' train, Inflam'd by thee, attempt a nobler strain ; Advent'rous waken the Mæonian lyre,

Tun'd by your-hand, and fing as you infpire: 70 So arm'd by great Achilles for the fight,

Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' right:

Like theirs, our Friendship! and I boast my name To thine united

for thy Friendship's Fame.

This labour past, of heav'nly fubjects fing, 75 While hov'ring angels liften on the wing.

* Odyssey, lib. xvi.

To hear from earth fuch heart-felt raptures rife, As, when they fing, fufpended hold the skies: Or nobly rifing in fair Virtue's cause,

From thy own life transcribe th'unerring laws: 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. BROOME.

To Mr. POPE,

On the publishing his WORKS.

E comes, he comes! bid ev'ry Bard prepare

HE

The song of triumph, and attend his Car. Great Sheffield's Muse the long proceffion heads, And throws a luftre o'er the pomp The 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 earnest of a God.

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But hark, what shouts, what gath'ring crouds

rejoice!

Unftain'd their praise by any venal Voice,
Such as th'Ambitious vainly think their due,
When Prostitutes, or needy Flatt'rers fue.
And see the Chief! before him laurels born; 15
Trophies from undeferving temples torn;
Here Rage enchain'd reluctant rates, and there
Pale Envy dumb, and fick'aing with despair,
Prone to the earth fhe bends her loathing eye,
Weak to support the blaze of majesty.

?

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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 these; and see how they contend, Who most shall praife, who beft fhall recommend. The Chariot now the painful steep ascends, The Peans 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?

Tho' each great Ancient court thee to his fhrine,
Though ev'ry Laurel thro' the dome be thine,
(From the proud Epic, down to those that shade
The gentler brow of the foft Lesbian maid) 36
Go to the Good and Just, an awful train,

Thy foul's delight, and glory of the Fane:
While thro' the earth thy dear remembrance flies,
"Sweet to the World, and grateful to the skies."
SIMON HARCOURT.

To Mr. POPE.

From Rome, 1730.

I

Mmortal Bard! for whom each Mufe has wove

The fairest garlands of th'Aonian grove; Preferv'd, our drooping Genius to restore, When Addison and Congreve are no more; After so many stars extinct in night,

The dark'ned ages laft remaining light!

To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ,

Infpir'd by memory of ancient Wit;`

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For now no more these climes their influence boast, Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue loft;

ΙΟ

From Tyrants, and from Priefts, the Mufes fly,
Daughters of Reafon and of Liberty.

Nor Baiæ now, nor Umbria's plain they love,
Nor on the banks of Nar, or Mincio rove;
To Thames's flow'ry borders they retire,
And kindle in thy breaft the Roman fire.

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So in the fhades, where chear'd with summer rays
Melodious linnets warbled fprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy winter's unaufpicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful filence faddens all the grove.
Unhappy Italy! whofe alter'd state

Has felt the worst severity of Fate:

Not that Barbarian hands her Fafces broke,

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And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke;

Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,

Her Cities defert, and her fields unfown ;
But that her ancient Spirit is decay'd,
That facred Wisdom from her bounds is fled, 30
That there the fource of Science flows no more,
Whence its rich streams fupply'd the world before.
Illuftrious Names! that once in Latium fhin'd,
Born to inftruct, and to command Mankind ;

VOL. I.

C

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