Part of the NINTH ODE

Of the FOURTH BOOK.

EST

LE

you fhould think that verfe fhall die, Which founds the Silver Thames along, Taught, on the wings of Truth to fly

Above the reach of vulgar fong;

Tho' daring Milton fits fublime,
In Spencer native Muses play;
Nor yet shall Waller yield to time,
Nor penfive Cowley's moral lay.
Sages and Chiefs long fince had birth

Ere Cæfar was, or Newton nam'd;

These rais'd new Empires o'er the Earth,

And Those, new Heav'ns and Systems fram'd.

Vain was the Chief's, the Sage's pride!
They had no Poet, and they died.

In vain they schem'd, in vain they bled!

They had no Poet, and are dead.

MISCELLANIES.

1

‡ D4

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The

De