Here in the cool my Limbs at eafe I spread, Here let thy Poplars whisper o'er my Head, Thy Afpins quiver in a breathing Breeze, Be hufh'd, ye Winds! while Pope and Virgil fing. In English Lays, and all fublimely great, Thy Homer warms with all his antient Heat, He shines in Council, thunders in the Fight, And flames with ev'ry Sense of great Delight. Long has that Poet reign'd, and long unknown, Like Monarchs sparkling on a diftant Throne; In all the Majefty of Greek retir'd, Himself unknown, his mighty Name admir'd, His Language failing, wrap'd him round with Night, Thine rais'd by thee, recals the Work to light. So 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 Shepherds only fay, The Mines were here Shou'd fome rich Youth (if Nature warm his soulflein 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 Defigns! How ev'ry Mufick varies in thy Lines! Still as I read, Ifeel my Bofom beat, And rife in Raptures by another's Heat. Thus in the Wood, when Summer dress'd the Days, When Windfor lent us tuneful Hours of Eafe, Our Our Ears the Lark, the Thrush, the Turtle bleft, And Philomela fweetest o're the rest: The Shades refound with Song- foftly tread! While a whole Seafon warbles round my Head. This to my Friend-and when a Friend inspires My filent Harp its Mafters Hand requires, Shakes off the Duft,and makes thefeRocks refound, For Fortune plac't me in unfertile Ground; Far from the Joys that with my Soul agree, From Wit, from Learning,---far, oh far from thee! Here Moss-grown Trees expand the smallest Leaf, Here half an Acre's Corn is half a Sheaf, Here Hills with naked Heads the Tempest meet, Rocks at their Side, and Torrents at their Feet, Or lazy Lakes unconscious of a Flood, Whose dull brown Naiads ever fleep in Mud. Yet Yet here Content can dwell, and Learned Eafe, A Friend delight me, and an Author please, Ev'n here I fing, while Pope fupplies the Theme, Show my own Love, tho' not increase his Fame. abo 19db 36 Part of the firft Canto of the Rape A of the Lock. ND now unveil'd, the Toilet ftands difplay'd, Each Silver Vase in mystick order laid. First, rob'd in white, the Nymph intent adores From |