Strong fuits of armour round their bodies close,

Which, like thick anvils, blunt the force of blows;
In wheeling marches torn oblique they go;
With harpy claws their limbs divide below;
Fell fheers the paffage to their mouth command;
From out the flesh their bones by nature stand;
Broad spread their backs, their fhining shoulders rife ;
Unnumber'd joints diftort their lengthen'd thighs;
With nervous cords their hands are firmly brac'd;
Their round black eye-balls in their bofom plac'd;
On eight long feet the wondrous warriors tread;
And either end alike supplies a head.

Thefe, mortal wits to call the Crabs agree,
The Gods have other names for things than we..
Now where the jointures from their loins depend,
The heroes tail with fevering grafps they rend.
Here, fhort of feet, depriv'd the power to fly,
There, without hands, upon the field they lie.
Wrench'd from their holds, and fcatter'd all around,
The bended lances heap the cumber'd ground.
Helpless amazement, fear pursuing fear,

And mad confusion, through their hoft appear:
O'er the wild wafte with headlong flight they go,
Or creep conceal'd in vaulted holes below.

But down Olympus to the western feas
Far-fhooting Phoebus drove with fainter rays;
And a whole war (fo Jove ordain'd) begun,
Was fought, and ceas'd, in one revolving fun."

то MR. POP E.

O praife, yet ftill with due refpect to praife,.
A bard triumphant in immortal bays,

The learn'd to fhow, the fenfible commend,
Yet ftill preferve the province of the friend,
What life, what vigour, muft the lines require?
What mufic tune them? what affection fire?
O might thy genius in my bosom fhine!
Thou fhould't not fail of numbers worthy thine,
The brighteft ancients might at once agree
To fing within my lays, and fing of thee.
Horace himfelf would own thou doft excel
In candid arts to play the critic well.
Ovid himself might wish to fing the dame.
Whom Windfor Foreft fees a gliding stream,-
On filver feet, with annual ofier crown'd,
She runs for ever through poetic ground.
How flame the glories of Belinda's hair,
Made by thy Mufe the envy of the Fair!
Lefs fhone the treffes Ægypt's princefs wore,
Which fweet Callimachus fo fung before.
Here courtly treffes fet the world at odds,

Belles war with Beaux, and whims defcend for Gods..
The new machines, in names of ridicule,
Mock the grave phrenzy of the chemic fool.

But know, ye Fair, a point conceal'd with art,
The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart:

The

The Graces ftand in fight; a Satyr train

Peep o'er their heads, and laugh behind the scene.
In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldest wits
Infhrin'd on high the facred Virgil fits,

And fits in measures, fuch as Virgil's Muse
To place thee near him might be fond to chufe.
How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee,
Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he,

While fome old Damon, o'er the vulgar wife,
Thinks he deserves, and thou deferv'ft, the prize.
Rapt with the thought, my fancy feeks the plains,
And turns me fhepherd while I hear the ftrains.
Indulgent nurse of every tender gale,

Parent of flowerets, old Arcadia, hail!
Here in the cool my limbs at eafe I spread,
Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head,
Still flide thy waters foft among the trees;
Thy afpins quiver in a breathing breeze,
Smile all thy vallies in eternal spring,

Be hush'd, ye winds! while Pope and Virgil fing.
In English lays, and all fublimely great,
Thy Homer warms with all his ancient heat,
He shines in council, thunders in the fight,
And flames with every fenfe of great delight.
Long has that poet reign'd, and long unknown,
Like monarchs sparkling on a diftant throne;
In all the majesty of Greece retir'd,

Himself unknown, his mighty name admir'd,
His language failing, wrap'd him round with night,
Thine, rais'd by thee, recalls the work to light.

So wealthy mines, that ages long before
Fed the large realms around with golden oar,
When choak'd by finking banks, no more appear,
And fhepherds only fay, The mines were here!
Should fome rich youth (if nature warm his heart
And all his projects ftand inform'd with art)
Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein;
The mines detected flame with gold again.

How vaft, how copious, are thy new designs
How every mufic varies in thy lines!
Still as I read, I feel my bofom beat,

And rife in raptures by another's heat.

Thus in the wood, when fummer drefs'd the days,
When Windfor lent us tuneful hours of eafe,
Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle bleft;
And Philomela fweeteft o'er the reft:

The fhades refound with song - O foftly tread!
While a whole feason warbles round my head.

This to my friend — and when a friend inspires,
My filent harp its master's hand requires,
Shakes off the duft, and makes thefe rocks refound,
For fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground;

Far from the joys that with my foul agree,

From wit, from learning, far, oh far from thee!
Here mofs-grown trees expand the smallest leaf!
Here half an acre's corn is half a sheaf,

Here hills with naked heads the tempeft meet,
Rocks at their fide, and torrents at their feet,
Or lazy lakes, unconscious of a flood,
Whofe dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud.

Yet

Yet here content can dwell, and learned ease,
A friend delight me, and an author please,
Ev'n here I fing, while Pope fupplies the theme,
Show my own love, though not increase his fame,

A TRANSLATION of p

part

of the firft Canto

of the RAPE of the Lock, into Leonine Verfe, after the manner of the Ancient Monks.

E

T nunc dilectum fpeculum, pro more retectum, Emicat in mensâ, quæ fplendet pyxide densâ : Tum primum lymphâ, fe purgat candida nympha ; Jamque fine mendâ, cœleftis imago videnda, Nuda caput, bellos retinet, regit, implet, ocellos Hâc ftupet explorans, feu cultus numen adorans Inferior claram Pythonissa apparet ad aram, Fertque tibi cautè, dicatque fuperbia! lautè, Dona venufta; oris, quæ cunctis, plena laboris, Excerpta explorat, dominamque deamque decorat, Pyxide devotâ, fe pandit hic India tota, Et tota ex iftâ transpirat Arabia cista: Teftudo hic flectit, dum fe mea Lesbia pectit ; Atque elephas lentè, te pectit Lesbia dente; Hunc maculis nôris, nivei jacet ille coloris. Hic jacet et mundè, mundus muliebris abundè ; Spinula refplendens æris longo ordine pendens, Pulvis fuavis odore, et epiftola fuavis amore. In luit arma ergo, Veneris pulcherrima virgo; Pulchrior in præfens tempus de tempore crefcens ;

Jana