Or on the mountain's airy height

Hear Winter call his howling train,
Chac'd by the fpring and Dryads light,
That now refume their blissful reign:

While fmiling Flora binds her zephyrs brows,
With ev'ry various flow'r that Nature's lap beftows.

More potent than the Sybil's gold,

That led Æneas' bold emprize;

When you, Calliope, unfold

Your laurel branch, each phantom flies!

Slow Cares with heavy wings beat the dull air,
And Dread, and pale-ey'd Grief, and Pain and black Despair.

With you Elyfium's happy bow'rs,

The manfions of the glorious dead,

I vifit oft, and cull the flow'rs

That rise spontaneous to your tread:

Such active virtue warms that pregnant earth,
And Heav'n with kindlier hand affifts each genial birth.

Here oft I wander thro' the gloom,

While pendent fruit the leaves among
Gleams thro' the shade with golden bloom,
Where lurk along the feather'd throng,

Whofe notes th' eternal spring unceasing chear,
Nor leave in mournful filence half the drooping year.

And oft I view along the plain,

With flow and folemn fteps proceed,

Heroes and chiefs, an awful train!

And high exalt the laurell'd head;

Submifs I honour every facred name,

Deep in the column grav'd of adamantine Fame.

But

But ceafe, my Mufe, with tender wing
Unfledg'd, etherial flight to dare,
Stern Cato's bold discourse to fing,
Or paint immortal Brutus' air;

May Britain ne'er the weight of flav'ry feel,
Or bid a Brutus fhake for her his crimson steel!

Lo! yonder, negligently laid

Faft by the ftream's impurpled fide,
Where thro' the thick-entangled fhade,
The radiant waves of nectar glide,

Each facred poet ftrikes his tuneful lyre,

And wakes the ravish'd heart, and bids the foul aspire.

No more is heard the plaintive ftrain,

Or pleasing Melancholy's fong,
Tibullus here forgets his pain,

And joins the love-exulting throng;

For Cupid flutters round with golden dart,
And fiercely twangs his bow at ev'ry rebel heart,

There ftretch'd at ease Anacreon gay,
And on his melting Lesbia's breast,
With eye half-rais'd Catullus lay, C
And, gaz'd himself to balmy rest:
While Venus' felf thro' all the am'rous groves
With kifles, fresh-diftill'd, fupply'd their conftant loves.

Now Horace' hand the ftring infpir'd,
My foul, impatient as he fung,

The Muse unconquerable fir'd,'

And heav'nly accents feiz'd my tongue;

Then lock'd in admiration fweet, I bow'd,'

A

Confefs'd his potent art, nor could forbear aloud *:

* Milton.

‹ Hail,

Hail, glorious bard! whose high command
A thousand various ftrings obey,

• While joins and mixes to thy hand

• At once the bold and tender lay! Nor mighty Homer, down Parnaffus steep, • Rolls the full tide of verfe fo clear and yet fo deep.

O could I catch one ray divine
From thy intolerable blaze!

• To pour strong luftre on my line,
And my afpiring fong to raise;

Then fhould the Mufe her choiceft influence fhed,
And with eternal wreaths entwine my lofty head.

• Then would I fing the fons of Fame,
Th' immortal chiefs of ancient age,

Or tell of Love's celestial flame,

Or ope fair Friendship's facred page;

• And leave the fullen thought, and struggling groan,

To take their watchful stands around the gaudy throne.”

W HEN tuneful Orpheus ftrove by moving strains

To foothe the furious hate of rugged fwains,

The lift'ning multitude was pleas'd;

E'en Rapine dropp'd her ravish'd prey,

Till by the foft oppreffion feiz'd,

Each favage heard his rage away;

And now o'ercome, in kind confent they move,
And all is harmony, and all is love!

Not

Not fo, when Greece's chief, by Heav'n infpir'd,
With love of arms each glowing bosom fir'd:

But now the trembling foldier fled,

Regardless of the glorious prize,

And his brave thirft of honour dead,

He durft not meet with hoftile eyes;

Whilst glittering shields and fwords, war's bright array,
Were either worn in vain, or basely thrown away.

Soon as the hero by his martial strains
Had kindled virtue in their frozen veins,
Afresh the warlike spirit grows;

Like flame the brave contagion ran:
See, in each sparkling eye it glows,
And catches on from man to man !

Till rage in every breaft to fear fucceed;

And now they dare, and now they wish to bleed!

With different movements fraught, where Maro's lays
Taught flowing grief, and kind concern to raife;
He fung Marcellus' mournful name!

In Beauty's and in Glory's bloom,

Torn from himself, from friends, from fame,
And rapt into an early tomb!

He fung, and forrow ftole on all,

And fighs began to heave, and tears began to fall!

But Rome's high emprefs felt the greatest smart,
Touch'd both by nature and the poet's art;
For as he fung the mournful ftrain,

So well the hero's portraiture he drew,
She faw him ficken, fade again,

And, in defcription, bleed anew:

Then pierc'd, and yielding to the melting lay,
She figh'd, fhe fainted, funk, and died away.

Thus numbers once did human breasts controul !

Ah! where dwells now fuch empire o'er the foul? Tranfported by harmonious lays,

The mind is melted down, or burns: With joy o'er Windfor Foreft ftrays,

Or grieves when Eloifa mourns. Still the fame ardour kindles every line,

And our own Pope is now, what Virgil was, divine.

END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.