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Not so, when Greece's chief, by Heav'n inspir'd,
Regardless of the glorious prize,
He durft not meet with hostile eyes;
Soon as the hero by his martial strains
Like fame the brave contagion ran :
And catches on from man to man!
With different movements fraught, where Maro's lays
In Beauty's and in Glory's bloom,
And rapt into an early tomb!
But Rome's high empress felt the greatest smart,
So well the hero's portraiture he drew,
And, in description, bleed anew :
Thus numbers once did human breasts controul! Ah! where dwells now such empire o'er the soul? Transported by harmonious lays,
The mind is melted down, or burns : With joy o'er Windsor Forest strays,
Or grieves when Eloisa mourns. Still the same ardour kindles every line, And our own Pope is now, what Virgil was, divinç.
END OF THE THIRD VOLUME.
C O N T E N T S.
On the Birth of a First Child
Elegy written among the Ruins of Pontefra& Cakle