Where, flaunting in immortal bloom,
The musk-rose scents the verdant gloom;
Through which the whispering Zephyrs fly,
Softer than a virgin's sigh.
When we approach those blest retreats,
Th' assembly straight will leave their seats,
Admiring much the matchless pair,
So fond the youth, the nymph so fair!
Daughters and mistresses to Jove,
By Homer fam'd of old for love,
In homage to the British Grace,
Will give pre-eminence of place.
Helen herself will soon agree
To rise, and yield her rank to thee.
THOMAS LAMBARD, ES2.
Omnia me tua delectant; sed maximè, maxima cùm fides in amicitiâ, consilium, gravitas, constantia; tum lepos, humanitas, literæ.
Cicero, Ep. xxvii. Lib. xi.
Stow though I am to wake the sleeping lyre,
Yet should the Muse some happy song inspire,
Fit for a friend to give, and worthy thee,
That favourite verse to Lambard I decree:
Such may the Muse inspire, and make it prove
A pledge and monument of lasting love!
Meantime intent the fairest plan to find,
To form the manners, and improve the mind;
Me the fam'd wits of Rome and Athens please,
By Orrery's indulgence wrapt in ease;
Whom all the rival Muses strive to grace
With wreaths familiar to his letter'd race.
Now Truth's bright charms employ my serious
thought,
In flowing eloquence by Tully taught;
Then from the shades of Tusculum I rove,
And studious wander in the Grecian grove;
While wonder and delight the soul engage
To sound the depths of Plato's sacred page;
Where Science in attractive fable lies,
And, veil'd, the more invites her lover's eyes.
Transported thence, the flowery heights I gain
Of Pindus, and admire the warbling train,
Whose wings the Muse in better ages prun'd,
And their sweet harps to moral airs attun'd.
As night is tedious while, in love betray'd,
The wakeful youth expects the faithless maid;
As weary'd hinds accuse the lingering Sun,
And heirs impatient wish for twenty-one :
So dull to Horace did the monents glide1,
Till his free Muse her sprightly force employ'd
To combat vice, and follies to expose,
In easy numbers near ally'd to prose:
Guilt blush'd and trembled when she heard him
sing,
He smil'd reproof, and tickled with his sting.
With such a graceful negligence exprcst,
Wit, thus apply'd, will ever stand the test:
But he, who blindly led by whimsy strays,
And from gross images would merit praise,
When Nature sets the noblest stores in view,
Affects to polish copper in Peru:
So while the seas on barren sands are cast,
The saltness of their waves offend the taste;
But when to Heaven exhal'd, in fruitful rain,
In fragrant dews they fall, to cheer the swain,
Revive the fainting flowers, and swell the meagre
grain.
Be this their care, who, studious of renown,
Toil up th' Aonian steep to reach the crown;
Suffice it me, that (having spent my prime
In picking epithets, and yoking rhyme)
To steadier rule my thoughts I now compose,
And prize ideas clad in honest prose.
Old Dryden, emulous of Cæsar's praise,
Cover'd his baldness with immortal bays;
And Death, perhaps, to spoil poetic sport,
Unkindly cut an Alexandrine short:
His ear had a more lasting itch than mine,
For the smooth cadence of a golden line:
Should lust of verse prevail, and urge the man
To run the trifling race the boy began,
Mellow'd with sixty winters, you might see
My circle end in second infancy.
I might ere long an awkward humour have,
To wear my bells and coral to the grave,
Or round my room alternate take a course,
Now mount my hobby, then the Muse's horse:
Let others wither gay, but I'd appear
With sage decorum in my easy chair;
Grave as Libanius, slumbering o'er the laws,
Whilst gold and party zeal decide the cause.
A nobler task our riper age affords
Than scanning syllables, and weighing words.
To make his hours in even measures flow,
Nor think some fleet too fast, and some too slow;
Still equal in himself, and free to taste
The Now, without repining at the Past;
Nor the vain prescience of the spleen t' employ,
To pall the flavour of a promis'd joy;
To live tenacious of the golden m an,
In all events of various fate serene;
With virtue steel'd, and steady to survey
Age, death, disease, or want, without dismay:
These arts, my Lambard! nseful in their end,
Make man to others and himself a friend.
Happiest of mortals he, who, timely wise,
In the calm walks of Truth his bloom enjoys;
With books and patrimonial plenty blest,
Health in his veins, and quiet in his breast!
Him no vain hopes attract, no fear appals,
Nor the gay servitude of courts enthrals,
Unknowing how to mask concerted guile
With a false cringe, or undermining smile;
His manners pure, from affectation free,
And prudence shines through clear simplicity.
Though no rich labours of the Persian loom,
Nor the nice sculptor's art, adorn his room,
Sleep, unprovok'd, will softly seal his eyes,
And innocence the want of down supplies;
Health tempers all his cups, and at his board
Reigns the cheap luxury the fields afford :
Like the great Trojan, mantled in a cloud,
Himself unseen, he sees the labouring crowd,
Where all industrious to their ruin run,
Swift to pursue what most they ought to shun."
Some, by the sordid thirst of gain controll'd,
Starve in their stores, and cheat themselves for
gold,
Preserve the precious bane with anxious care,
In vagrant lusts to feed a lavish heir:
Others devour Ambition's glittering bait,
To sweat in purple, and rapine in state; •
Devote their powers to every wild extreme,
For the short pageant of a pompous dream:
Nor can the mind to full perfection bring
The fruits it early promis'd in the spring,
But in a public sphere those virtues fade,
Which open'd fair, and flourish'd in the shade:
So while the Night her ebon sceptre sways,
Her fragrant blooms the Indian plant displays';
But the full day the short-liv'd beauties shun,
Elude our hopes, and sicken at the Sun.
Fantastic joys in distant views appear,
And tempt the man to make the rash career.
Fame, power, and wealth, which glitter at the goal,
Allure his eye, and fire his eager soul;
For these are ease and innocence resign'd,
For these he strips; farewell the tranquil mind!
Headstrong he urges on till vigour fails,
And gray experience (but too late!) prevails:
But, in his evening, view the hoary fool,
When the nerves slacken, and the spirits cool;
When joy and blushy youth forsake his face,
Sieklied with age, and sour with self-disgrace;
No flavour then the sparkling cups retain,
Music is harsh, the Syren sings in vain;
To him what healing balm can art apply,
Who lives diseas'd with life, and dreads to die?
In that last scene, by Fate in sables drest,
Thy power, triumphant Virtue, is confest;
Thy vestal flames diffuse celestial light
Thro' Death's dark vale, and vanquish total night;
Lenient of anguish, o'er the breast prevail,
When the gay toys of flattering Fortune fail.
Such, happy Twisden! (ever be thy name
Mourn'd by the Muse, and fair in deathless Fame!)
While the bright effluence of her glory shone,
Were thy last hours, and such I wish my own:
So Cassia, bruis'd, exhales her rich perfumes,
And incense in a fragrant cloud consumes.
Most spoil the boon that Nature's pleas'd t' impart,
By too much varnish, or by want of art;
By solid science all her gifts are grac'd,
Like gems new polish'd, and with gold enchas'd.
Votes to th' unletter'd 'squire the laws allow,
As Rome receiv'd dictators from the plough:
But arts, address, and force of genius, join
To make a Hanmer in the senate shine.
Yet one presiding power in every breast
Receives a stronger sanction than the rest;
And they who study and discern it well,
Act unrestrain'd, without design excel,
But court contempt, and err without redress,
Missing the master-talent they possess.
Whiston, perhaps, in Euclid may succeed,
But shall I trust him to reform my creed?
In sweet assemblage every blooming grace
Fix Love's bright throne in Teraminta's face,
With which her faultless shape and air agree,
But, wanting wit, she strives to repartec;
And, ever prone her matchless form to wrong,
Lest Envy should be dumb, she lends her tongue.
By long experience D-y may, no doubt,
Ensnare a gudgeon, or sometimes a trout;
Yet Dryden once exclaim'd (in partial spite!)
"He fish!"-because the man attempts to write.
Oh, if the water-nymphs were kind to none
But those the Muses bathe in Helicon :
In what far distant age would Belgia raise.
One happy wit to net the British seas!
Nature permits her various gifts to fall
On various clines, nor smiles alike on all :
The Iatian vales eternal verdure wear,
And flowers spontaneous crown the smiling year;
But who manures a wild Norwegian hill,
To raise the jasmine, or the coy jonquil?
Who finds the peach among the savage sloes,
Or in bleak Scythia seeks the blushing rose?
Here golden grain waves o'er the teeming fields,
And there the Vine her racy purple yields.
High on the cliff's the British Oak ascends,
Proud to survey the seas her power defends;
Her sovereign title to the flag she proves,
Scornful of softer India's spicy groves.
These instances, which true in fact we find,
Apply we to the culture of the mind.
This soil, in early youth improv'd with care,
The seeds of gentle science best will bear;
That with more particles of flame inspir'd,
With glittering arms and thirst of fame is fir'd;
Nothing of greatness in a third will grow,
But, barren as it is, 'twill bear a beau.
If these from Nature's genial bent depart,
In life's dull farce to play a borrow'd part;
Should the sage dress, and flutter in the Mall,
Or leave his problems for a birth-night ball;
Should the rough homicide unsheath his pen,
And in heroics only murder men;
Should the soft fop forsake the lady's charms,
To face the foe with inoffensive arms;
Each would variety of acts afford,
Fit for some new Cervantes to record.
"Whither," you cry, "tends all this dry discourse?
To prove, like Hudibras, a man's no horse.
I look'd for sparkling lines, and something gay
To frisk my fancy with; but, sooth to say!
From her Apollo now the Muse elopes,
And trades in syllogisms more than tropes."-
"Faith, sir, I see you nod, but can't forbear;
When a friend reads, in honour you must hear:
For all enthusiasts, when the fit is strong,
Indulge a volubility of tongue :
Their fury triumphs o'er the men of phlegm,
And, council-proof, will never baulk a theme.
So Burgess on his tripod rav'd the more,
When round him half the saints began to snore."
To lead us safe through Errour's thorny maze,
Reason exerts her pure ethereal rays;
Put that bright daughter of eternal day
Holds in our mortal frame a dubious sway.
Though no lethargic fumes the brain invest,
And opiate all her active powers to rest;
Though on that magazine no fevers seize,
To calcine all her beauteous images:
Yet banish'd from the realms by right her own,
Passion, a blind usurper, mounts the throne:
Or, to known good preferring specious ill,
Reason becomes a cully to the Will:
Thus man, perversely fond to roam astray,
Hoodwinks the guide assign'd to show the way;
And in life's voyage like the pilot fares,
Who breaks the compass, and contemns the stars,
To steer by meteors, which at random fly,
Preluding to a tempest in the sky.
Vain of his skill, and led by various views,
Each to his end a different path pursues;
And seldom is one wretch so humble known,
To think his friend's a better than his own a
The boldest they, who least partake the light,
As game-cocks in the dark are train'd to fight.
Nor shame, nor ruin, ean our pride abate,
But what became our choice we call our fate.
"Villain," said Zeno to his pilfering slave,
"What frugal Nature needs, I freely gave;
With thee my treasure I depos'd in trust,
What could provoke thee now to prove unjust?"
"Sir, blame the stars," felonious culprit cry'd:
"We'll by the statute of the stars be try'd.
If their strong influence all our actions urge,
Some are foredoom'd to steal-and some to
scourge:
The beadle must obey the Fates decree,
As powerful Destiny prevail'd with thee.”
This heathen logic seems to bear too hard
On me, and many a harmless modern bard:
The critics hence may think themselves decreed
To jerk the wits, and rail at all they read;
Foes to the tribe from which they trace their clan,
As monkeys draw their pedigree from man;
To which (tho' by the breed our kind's disgrac'd)
We grant superior elegance of taste:
But in their own defence the wits observe,
That, by impulse from Heaven, they write and
starve;
Their patron-planet, with resistless power,
Irradiates every poet's natal hour;
Engendering in his head a solar heat,
For which the college has no sure receipt,
Else from their garrets would they soon withdraw,
And leave the rats to revel in the straw.
Nothing so much intoxicates the brain As Flattery's smooth insinuating bane: She on th' unguarded ear employs her art, While vain Self-love unlocks the yielding heart; And Reason oft submits when both invade, Without assaulted, and within betray'd. When Flattery's magic mists suffuse the sight, The don is active, and the boor polite; Her mirror shows perfection through the whole, And ne'er reflects a wrinkle or a mole; Each character in gay confusion lies, And all alike are virtuous, brave, and wise: Nor fail her fulsome arts to soothe our pride, Though praise to venom turns, if wrong apply'd. Me thus she whispers, while I write to you: "Draw forth a banner'd host in fair review! Then every Muse invoke thy voice to raise, Arms and the man to sing in lofty lays: Whose active bloom heroic deeds employ, Such as the son of Thetis sung at Troy1; When his high-sounding lyre his valour rais'd, To emulate the demi-gods he prais'd. Like him the Briton, warm at Honour's call, At fam'd Blaragnia quell'd the bleeding Gaul; By France the genius of the fight confest, For which our patron saint adorns his breast."
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Is this my friend, who sits in full content, Jovial, and joking with his men of Kent, And never any scene of slaughter saw, But those who fell by physic or the law? Why is he for exploits in war renown'd, Deck'd with a star, with bloody laurels crown'd? O often prov'd, and ever found sincere ! Too honest is thy heart, thy sense too clear, On these encomiums to vouchsafe a smile, Which only can belong to great Argyll. ! Diad ix
But most among the brethren of the bays,
The dear enchantress all her charms displays,
In the sly commerce of alternate praise.
If, for his father's sins condemn'd to write,
Some young half-feather'd poet takes a flight,
And to my touchstone brings a puny ode,
Which Swift, and Pope, and Prior, would explode;
Though every stanza glitters thick with stars,
And goddesses descend in ivory cars:
Is it for me to prove, in every part,
The piece irregular by laws of art?
His genius looks but awkward, yet his fate
May raise him to be premier bárd of state;
I therefore bribe his suffrage to my fame,
Revere his judgment, and applaud his flame;
Then cry, in seeming transport, while I speak,
""Tis well for Pindar that he dealt in Greek!"
He, conscious of desert, accepts the praise,
And, courteous, with increase the debt repays:
Boileau's a mushroom, if compar'd to me,
And, Horace, I dispute the palm with thee!
Both, ravish'd, sing Te Phoebum for success;
Rise swift, ye laurels !-boy! bespeak the press
Thus on imaginary praise we feed;
Each writes till all refuse to print or read:
From the records of Fame condemn'd to pass
To Brisquet's calendar1, a rubric ass.
Few, wondrous few! are eagle-ey'd to find
A plain disease, or blemish in the mind:
Few can, tho' wisdom should their health insure,
Dispassionate and cool attend a cure.
In youth disus'd t' obey the needful rein,
Well pleas'd a savage liberty to gain,
We sate the kind desire of every sense,
And lull our age in thoughtless indolence:
Yet all are Solons in their own conceit,
Though, to supply the vacancy of wit,
Folly and Pride, impatient of control,
The sister-twins of Sloth, possess the soul.
By Kneller were the gay Pumilio drawn,
Like great Alcides, with a back of brawn,
I scarcely think his picture would have power
To make him fight the champions of the tower;
Though lions there are tolerably tame,
And civil as the court from which they came.
But yet, without experience, sense, or arts,
Pumilio boasts sufficiency of parts;
Imagines he alone is amply fit
To guide the state, or give the stamp to wit:
Pride paints the mind with an heroic air,
Nor finds he a defect of vigour there.
When Philomel of old essay'd to sing,
And in his rosy progress hail'd the Spring,
Th' aërial songsters, listening to the lays,
By silent ecstasy confest her praise,
At length, to rival her enchanting note,
The peacock strains the discord of his throat,
In hope his hideous shrieks would grateful prove;
But the nice audience hoot him through the grove.
Conscious of wanted worth, and just disdain,
Lowering his crest, he creeps to Juno's fane:
To his protectress there reveals the case;
And for a sweeter voice devoutly prays.
Then thus reply'd the radiant goddess, known
By her fair rolling eyes and rattling tone:
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My favourite bird! of all the feather'd kind, Each species had peculiar gifts assign'd:
1 Brisquet, jester to Francis I. of France, kept a calendar of fools.
The towering eagles to the realms of light
By their strong pounces claim a regal right;
The swan contented with an humbler fate,
Low on the fishy river rows in state.
Gay starry plumes thy length of train bedeck,
And the green emerald twinkles on thy neck;
But the poor nightingale in mean attire,
Is made chief warbler of the woodland choir.
These various bounties were dispos'd above,
And ratify'd th' unchanging will of Jove :
Discern thy talent, and his laws adore ;
Be what thou wert design'd, nor aim at more."
ON HER MAJESTY'S BIRTHDAY.
FROM this auspicious day three kingdoms date
The fairest favours of indulgent Fate;
From this the months in radiant circles run,
As stars receive their lustre from the Sun.
To you the sceptres of all Europe bend,
The victor those revere, and these the friend;
Your silken reins the willing nations crave,
For 'tis your lov'd prerogative to save.
Mild amidst triumphs, victory bestows
On you renown, and freedom on your foes;
Observant of your will, the goddess brings
Palms in her hand, and healing in her wings.
But, as the brightest beams and gentlest showers
Were once reserv'd for Eden's opening flowers;
So, though remoter realms your influence share,
Britannia boasts to be your darling care.
By your great wisdom and resistless might,
Abroad we conquer, and at home unite:
Nature had join`d the lands but you alone
Make their affections and their councils one;
You speak-the jarring principles remove,
And, close combin'd, the sister-nations prove
Rivals alone in loyalty and love.
What power would now forbid the warrior-queen To wave the red-cro-s banners o'er the Seine? Others for titles urge the soldier's toil, Or meanly seek the foe, to seize the spoil: But you for right your pious arms employ, And conquer to restore, and not destroy; Vouchsafing audience to your suppliant foes, You long to give the labouring world repose; Concurring Justice waits from you the word, Pleas'd, when you fix the scales, to sheath the sword.
From this propitious omen we presage
Cunumber'd blessings to the coming age;
Establish'd Faith, the daughter of the skies,
Shall see new temples by your bounty rise;
Commerce beneath the southern stars shall thrive,
Intestine feuds expire, and arts revive;
Safe in their shades the Muses shall remain,
And sing the milder glories of your reign.
So, whilst oflende Heaven exerts its power,
Swift fly the lightnings, loud the thunders roar,
But when our incense reconciles the skies,
Again the radiant beams begin to rise;
Soft Zephyrs gently waft the clouds away,
And fragrant flowers perfume the daw..ing day;
The gloves around rejoice with echoing strains,
And golden Plenty covers all the plains.
JOHN LORD GOWER, WRITTEN IN THE SPRING, 1716. O'ER Winter's long inclement sway, At length the lusty Spring prevails; And swift to meet the smiling May, Is wafted by the western gales. Around him dance the rosy Hours, And damasking the ground with flowers, With ambient sweets perfume the morn: With shadowy verdure flourish'd high, A sudden youth the groves enjoy; Where Philomel laments forlorn.
By her awak'd, the woodland choir To hail the coming god prepares ; And tempts me to resume the lyre, Soft warbling to the vernal airs. Yet once more, O ye Muses! deign, For the meanest of your train, Unblam'd t' approach your blest retreat; Wher Horace wantons at your spring, And Pindar sweeps a bolder string, Whose notes th' Aonian hills repeat.
Or if invok'd, where Thames's fruitful tides Slow through the vale in silver volumes play; Now your own Phoebus o'er the month presides, Gives Love the night, and doubly gilds the day: Thither, indulgent to my prayer,
Ye bright harmonious nymphs repair,
To swell the notes I feebly raise:
So with inspiring ardours warm'd,
May Gower's propitious ear be charm'd,
To listen to my lays.
Beneath the pole on hills of snow,
Like Thracian Mars, th' undaunted Swede
To dint of sword defies the foe;
In fight unknowing to recede:
From Volga's banks, th' imperious Czar
Leads forth his furry troops to war;
Fond of the softer southern sky:
The Soldan galls th' Illyrian coast;
But soon the miscreant moony host
Before the victor cross shall fly.
But here no clarion's shrilling note
The Muse's green retreat can pierce;
The grove, from noisy camps remote,
Is only vocal with my verse:
Here, wing'd with innocence and joy,
Let the soft hours that o'er ine fly
Drop freedom, health, and gay desires :
While the bright Seine,, t' exalt the soul,
With sparkling plenty crowns the bowl,
And wit and social mirth inspires.
Enamour'd of the Seine, celestial fair,
(The blooming pride of Thetis' azure train)
Bacchus, to win the nymph who caus'd his care,
Lash'd his swift tigers to the Celtic plam:
There secret in her sapphire cell
He with the Nals wont to dwell,
Leaving the nectar'd feasts of Jove :
And where her mazy waters flow,
He
le gave the mantling vine, to grow
A trophy to his love.
Shall man from Nature's sanction stray,
With bliad Opinion for his guide;
And, rebel to her rightful sway,
Lave all her bounties unenjoy'd?
Foo!! Time no change of motion knows;
With equal speed the torrent flows,
To sweep Fame, Power, and Wealth away:
The past is all by Death possess'd;
And frugal Fate that guards the rest,
By giving, bids him live to-day.
O Gower! through all that destin'd space
What breath the powers allot to me
Shall sing the virtues of thy race
United, and complete in thee.
O flower of ancient English faith,
Pursue th' unbeaten patriot-path,
In which confirm'd thy father shone:
The light his fair example gives,
Already from thy dawn receives
A lustre equal to its own.
Honour's bright dome, on lasting columns rear'd,
Nor envy rusts, nor rolling years' consume;
Loud pans echoing round the roof are heard,
And clouds of incense all the void perfume.
There Phocion, Lelius, Capel Hyde,
With Falkland seated near his side,
Fix'd by the Muse the temple grace :
Prophetic of thy happier fame,
She, to receive thy radiant name,
Selects a whiter space.
IMITATED FROM PROPERTIUS, BOOK HI. ELEGY III.
To green retreats, that shade the Muses' stream,
My fancy lately bore me in a dream ;
Fir'd with ambitious zeal, my harp I strung,
And Blenheim's field, and fam'd Ramillia sung:
Fast by that spring, where Spenser sat of old,
And great exploits in lofty numbers told,
Phoebus in his Castalian grotto laid,
O'er which a laurel cast her silken shade,
Spy'd me, and hastily, when first he spy'd,
Thus leaning on his golden lyre, he cry'd :
"What strange ambition has misplac'd thee
Forbear to sing of arms alas, forbear! [there?
Form'd in a gentle mould, henceforth employ
Thy pen to paint the softer scenes of joy.
Thy works may thus the myrtle garland wear,
Prefer❜d to grace the toilets of the fair:
When their lov'd youths at night too long delay,
In reading thee they'll pass the hours away:
And, when they'd make their melting wishes
Repeat thy passion to reveal their own.
Then haste, the safer shallows to regain,
Nor dare the stormy dangers of the main."
Ceasing with this reproof, the friendly god
A mossy path, but lightly beaten, show'd:
A cave there was, which Nature's hand alone
With tvmbrels all the vaulted roofs were grac'd,
And earthen gods on either side were plac'd.
Silenus, and the Muses' virgin-train,
Stood here, with Pan, the poet of the plain:
Elsewhere the doves of Cytherea's team
Were seen to sip the sweet Castalian stream.
Nine lovely nymphs a several task pursu'd,
For ivy one was sent to search the wood;
This to soft numbers join'd harmonious airs,
And fragrant rosy wreaths a third prepares.
Me thus the bright Calliope address'd
(Her name the brightness of her form confess'd):
The silver swans of Venus wait to bear
Thee safe in pomp along the liquid air.
Pleas'd with thy peaceful province, straight recall
Thy rash design to sing the wounded Gaul.
Harsh sounds the trumpet in the Muses' grove,
But sweet the lute, the lute is fit for love.
No more rehearse the Danube's purple stream,
Let love for ever be the tender theme,
And in thy verse reveal the moving art,
To melt an haughty nymph's relentless heart."
The goddess ceasing, to confirm me more,
My face with ballow'd drops she sprinkled o'er,
Fetch'd from the fountain, by whose flowery side
Soft Waller sung of Sacharissa's pride.
.TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LADY
MARGARET CAVENDISH HARLEY.
WITH THE POEMS OF MR. WALLER.
LET others boast the nine Aonian maids,
Inspiring streams, and sweet resounding shades;
Where Phobus heard the rival bards rehearse,
And bade the laurels learn the lofty verse.
In vain! Nor Phoebus, nor the boasted Nine,
Inflame the raptur'd soul with rays divine:
Noue but the fair infuse the sacred fire,
And Love, with vocal art, informs the lyre.
When Waller, kindling with celestial rage,
View'd the bright Harley of that wondering age,
His pleasing pain he taught the lute to breathe;
The Graces sung, and wove his myrtle wreath.
In youth, of patrimonial wealth possest,
The praise of science faintly warm'd his breast:
But, fir'd to fame by Sidney's rosy smile,
Swift o'er the laureat realms he urg'd his toil.
His Muse, by Nature form'd to please the fair,
Or sing of heroes with majestic air,
To meiting strains attun'd her voice, and strove
To waken all the tender powers of love:
More sweetly soft her awful beauty shone,
Than Juno grac'd with Cytherea's zone,
As angels love, congenial souls unite
Their radiance, and refine each other's light
The florid and sublime, the grave and gay,
From Walier's beams imbibe a purer ray: .
Illumin'd thence in equal lays to bound
Their copious sense, and harmonize the sound
With varied notes the curious ear to please,
And turn a nervous thought with artful ease,
Maker, and model, of melodious verse!
Accept these votive honours at thy hearse,
While I with filial awe attempt tuy praise
Had arch'd with greeps of various kinds o ergrown; | Iutuse thy bemus, and my fancy rube!
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