Thus young Alcides, by old Chiron taught, 10 But hark, what fhouts, what gath'ring creeds rejoice! Unftain'd their praise by any venal Voice, 15 20 But what are they that turn the facred page ? Three lovely Virgins, and of equal age; Intent they read, and all enamour'd feem, As he that met his likeness in the ftream: The GRACES thefe; and fee how they contend, 25 Who most shall praise, who beft shall recommend. The Chariot now the painful steep ascends, The Paans ceafe; thy glorious labour ends. Here fix'd, the bright eternal Temple stands, Its profpect an unbounded view commands: Say, wond'rous youth, what Column wilt thou chufe, What laurel'd Arch for thy triumphant Muse? 30 Tho' each great Ancient court thee to his fhrine, o to the Good and Juft, an awful train, Thy foul's delight, and glory of the Fane: I To Mr. P OPE. From Rome, 1730. 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, To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ, Infpir'd by memory of ancient Wit; For now no more thefe climes their influence boast, From Tyrants, and from Priests, the Muses fly, 5 10 15 Nor Baie now, nor Umbria's plain they love, Has felt the worst severity of Fate: Not that Barbarian hands her Fafces broke, 20 25 And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke; Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown, 30 That facred Wisdom from her bounds is fled, 40 Thofe hallow'd ruins better pleas'd to fee 45 As late on Virgil's tomb fresh flow'rs I ftrow'd, While with th' infpiring Mufe my bofom glow'd, Crown'd with eternal bays my ravish'd eyes Beheld the Poet's awful Form arife: Stranger, he faid, whofe pious hand has paid These grateful rites to my attentive shade, When thou shalt breathe thy happy native air, To Pope this meffage from his Mafter bear: Great Bard, whofe numbers I myself inspire, To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre, If high exalted on the Throne of Wit, Near Me and Homer thou afpire to fit, No more let meaner Satire dim the rays That flow majeftic from thy nobler Bays; In all the flow'ry paths of Pindus ftray, But fhun that thorny, that unpleafing way; Nor, when each foft engaging Mufe is thine, Addrefs the least attractive of the Nine. 50 55 60 Of thee more worthy were the task, to raise A lafting Column to thy Country's Praise, To fing the Land, which yet alone can boast That Liberty corrupted Rome has loft; Where Science in the arms of Peace is laid, And plants her Palm beneath the Olive's fhade. Such was the Theme for which my lyre I ftrung, Such was the People whofe exploits I fung; 65 Brave, yet refin'd, for Arms and Arts renown'd, With diff'rent bays by Mars and Phœbus crown'd, Dauntless oppofers of Tyrannic Sway, But pleas'd, a mild AUGUSTUS to obey. If these commands fubmiffive thou receive, 71 75 GEORGE LYTTELTON. |