THE NEAPOLITAN

JOIN BAPTIST MANSO, MARQUIS OF VILLA,

TO THE

ENGLISHMAN JOHN MILTON.

WHAT features, form, mein, manners, with a mind O how intelligent ! and how refin'd!

Were but thy piety from fault as free,

Thou would'st no Angle* but an Angel be.

* The reader perceives the word Angle is essential, because the Epigram turns upon it.

AN

EPIGRAM

ADDRESSED TO THE ENGLISHMAN

JOHN MILTON,

A POET WORTHY OF THREE LAURELS,

THE GRECIAN, LATIN, AND ETRUSCAN,

BY JOHN SALSILLA OF ROME,

MELES* and Mincio,† both your urns depress!
Sebetus boast henceforth thy Tasso less

+ Meles is a river of Ionia, in the neighbourhood of Smyrna, whence Homer is called Melesigenes.

The Mincio watered the city of Mantua famous as the birth-place of Virgil. § Sebetus is now the Fiume della Maddalena; it runs through Naples.

But let the Thames o'er-peer all floods since he
For Milton famed shall, single, match the three.

TO JOHN MILTON.

GREECE, Sound thy Homer's, Rome, thy Virgil's

GENTLEMAN OF FLORENCE,

EXALT me, Clio, to the skies,
That I may form a starry crown
Beyond what Helicon supplies
In laureate garlands of renown;
To nobler worth be brighter glory given,

And to a heav'nly mind a recompence from heaven.

Time's wasteful hunger cannot prey

On everlasting high desert,

Nor can Oblivion steal away,

Its record graven on the heart;

Lodge but an arrow, Virtue, on the bow

That binds my lyre, and death shall be a vanquish'd

foe.

In Ocean's blazing flood enshrin'd
Whose vassal tide around her swells,
Albion from other realms disjoin'd
The prowess of the world excels,

She teems with heroes, that to glory rise,
With more than human force in our astonish'd eyes.

To Virtue, driv'n from other lands,
Their bosoms yield a safe retreat;
Her law alone the deed commands;

Her smiles they feel divinely sweet.

Confirm my record, Milton, gen'rous youth!
And by true virtue prove thy virtue's praise a truth.

Zeuxis, all energy and flame,

Set ardent forth in his career;
Urg'd to his task by Helen's fame

Resounding ever in his ear;

To make his image to her beauty true

From the collected Fair each sov'reign charm he drew.

The bee with subtlest skill endued Thus toils to earn her precious juice From all the flowery myriads strew'd O'er meadow and parterre, profuse; Confed❜rate voices one sweet air compound, And various chords consent in one harmonious sound.

An artist of celestial aim

Thy genius, caught by moral grace,
With ardent emulation's flame

The steps of Virtue toil'd to trace,

Observ'd in every land who brightest shone,

And blending all their best, made perfect good thy

own.

From all, in Florence born, or taught
Our country's sweetest accent there,
Whose works, with learned labour wrought,

Immortal honours justly share,

Thou hast such treasure drawn of purest ore,
That not e'en Tuscan bards can boast a richer store.

Babel confus'd, and with her towers
Unfinish'd spreading wide the plain,
Has serv'd but to evince thy powers

With all her tongues confus'd in vain,

Since not alone thy England's purest phrase
But every polish'd realm thy various speech displays.

The secret things of heav'n and earth
By Nature, too reserv'd, conceal'd
From other minds of highest worth,

To thee are copiously reveal'd,

Thou know'st them clearly, and thy views attain The utmost bounds prescrib'd to moral Truth's do main.

Let Time no more his wing display,

And boast his ruinous career,

For Virtue rescued from his sway

His injuries may cease to fear;

Since all events, that claim remembrance, find
A chronicle exact in thy capacious mind.

Give me, that I may praise thy song,
Thy lyre, by which alone I can,
Which, placing thee the stars among,

Already proves thee more than man;

And Thames shall seem Permessus, while his stream, Grac'd with a swan like thee, shall be my fav'rite theme.

I, who beside the Arno, strain
To match thy merit with my lays,
Learn, after many an effort vain,
T'admire thee rather than to praise,