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Delightful scene! when here, in equal verse, "The youthful bards their godlike Queen rehearse "To Churchill's wreaths Apollo's laurel juin, i. And fing the plains of Hockstet and Judoign..
Next let the Muse record our Bodley's seat*, Nor aim at numbers, like the subject, great: All hail, thou fabrick, Sacred to the Nine, Thy fame immortal, and thy form divine.! Wbo to thy praise attempts the dangerous flight, Should in thy various tongues be taught to : write; . His verse, like thee, a lofty dress should wear, And breathe the genius which inhabits there; Thy proper lays alone can make thee live, And pay that fame, which first thyself didst give. So fountains, which through secret channels flow, And pour above the floods they take below, Back to their Father:Ocean urge their way, : And to the sea, the itreams it gave, repay, .
No more we fear the military rage, i ... Nurs’d-up in fome obfcure barbarian age; Nor dread the ruin of our arts divine, s. From thick-fcull'd heroes of the Gothic line,
* The Bodleian Library. T.
Though pale the Romans--saw those arms ado
vance, And wept their learning lost in ignorance.. Let brutal. rage around its terrors spread, The living murder, and consume the dead, In impious fires let' noblest writings bưrn, And:with their authors share a common urn ;. . Only, ye Fates, our loved Bodleian spare, Be IT, and Learning's self mall be your care, Here every art and every grace shall join, Collected Phoebus here alone shall shine, } Each other feat be dark, and this be all divine. } Thus when the Greeks imperial Troy defac’d, And to the ground its fatal walls debas'1, In vain they burn the work of hands divine, And vow destruction to the Dardan line, Whilst good Æneas Aies th’unequal wars, And, with his guardian gods, lülus bears, Old Troy for ever stands in hiin alone, And all the Phrygian kings survive in one.
Here still prefides each Sage's reverend inade, In soft repose and easy grandeur laid ;.
Their deathless works forbid their fame to die,
bestow, Than to be seen above, and read below? With deep respect I bend my duteous head, To see the faithful likeness of the dead; But O! what Mufe can equal warmth impart? The Painter's skill transcends the Poet’s art. When round the pictur’d Founders I descry, With goodness foft, and great with majesty, So much of life the artful colours give, Scarce more within their Colleges they live; My blood begins in wilder rounds to roll, And pleasing tumults combat in my soul ; An humble awe my downcast eyes betray, And only less than adoration pay.' Such were the Roman Fathers, when, o'ercome, They saw the Gauls infult o'er conquer'd Rome; Each captive feem'd the haughty victor's lord, And proftrate chiefs their awful slaves ador'd,
* The Pi&ture-gallery. T.
Such art as this adorns your Lowther's hall, Where feasting gods carouse upon the wall; The nectar, which creating paint supplies, ; Intoxicates each pleas’d spectator's eyes ; ; Who view, amaz'd, the figures heavenly fair, And think they breathe the true Elysian air. *** With strokes so bold, great Verrio's hand has
drawn The gods in dwellings brighter than their own.
Fir'd with a thousand raptures, I behold What lively features grac'd each Bard of old; Such lips, I think, did guide his charming tongue, In such an air as this the Poet fung; Such eyes as these glow'd with the sacred fire, And hands like these employ'd the vocal lyre.' Quite ravifh'd, I pursue each image o'er, : : And scarce admire their deathless labours morë. See where the gloomy Scaliger appears, .' Each fhade is critick, and each feature ineers; The artful Ben so smartly strikes the eye, I more than fee a fancy'd comedy ; The muddy Scotus crowns the motley snew,' And metaphyficks cloud his wrinkled brow. B 4
But distant awe invades my beating breaft,
To view such sweetness with such grandeur és!! join'd.
Here studious heads the graver tablet shews, And there with martial warmth the picture
glows; . The blocming youth here boasts a brighter hue, And painted virgins far outline the true.
Hail, Colours, which with Nature bear a strife, And only want a voice to perfect life!, The wondering stranger makes a sudden stand, And pays low homage to the lovely band; . Within each frame a real Fair believes, And vainly thinks the mimic canvass lives ; Tul, undeceiv’d, he quits th’enchanting shew, Pleas’d with the art, though he laments it too.
So when his Juno bold Ixion woo's, And aim'd at pleasures worthy of a god, A beauteous cloud was form’d by angry Jove, Fit to invite, though not indulge his love ;