Helpless amazement, fear pursuing fear,
And mad confufion thro' their host appear:
O'er the wild waste with headlong flight they go,
Or creep conceal'd in vaulted holes below.
But down Olympus to the western seas
Far-shooting Phoebus drove with fainter rays;
And a whole war (fo Jove ordain'd) begun,
Was fought, and ceas'd, in one revolving fun.
O praise, yet still with due respect to praise,
A bard triumphant in immortal bays,
The learn'd to fhow, the fenfible commend,
Yet ftill preserve the province of the friend,
What life, what vigour, muft the lines require?
What mufic tune them? what affection fire?
O might thy genius in my bofom shine!
Thou shouldft not fail of numbers worthy thine,
The brightest antients might at once agree
To fing within my lays, and fing of thee.
Horace himself wou'd own thou doft excel
In candid arts to play the critic well.
Ovid himself might wish to sing the dame
Whom Windfor foreft fees a gliding stream,
On filver feet, with annual ofier crown'd,
She runs for ever thro' poetic ground.
How flame the glories of Belinda's hair,
Made by thy mufe the envy of the Fair;
Less shone the treffes Ægypt's princess wore,
Which sweet Callimachus fo fung before.
Here courtly trifles fet the world at odds,
Belles war with Beaux, and whims defcend for Gods.
The new machines in names of ridicule,
Mock the grave phrenzy of the chimic fool.
But know, ye Fair, a point conceal'd with art,
The Sylphs and Gnomes are but a woman's heart :
The Graces ftand in fight; a Satyr train
Peep o'er their heads, and laugh behind the scene.
In Fame's fair temple, o'er the boldeft wits
Infhrin'd on high the facred Virgil fits,
And fits in meafures, fuch as Virgil's muse
To place thee near him might be fond to chufe.
How might he tune th' alternate reed with thee,
Perhaps a Strephon thou, a Daphnis he,
While fome old Damon o'er the vulgar wise
Thinks he deferves, and thou deferv'st the prize.
Rapt with the thought my fancy feeks the plains,
And turns me fhepherd while I hear the ftrains.
Indulgent nurse of ev'ry tender gale,
Parent of flowrets, old Arcadia hail !
Here in the cool my limbs at ease I spread,
Here let thy poplars whisper o'er my head,
Still flide thy waters foft among the trees;
Thy afpins quiver in a breathing breeze,
Smile all thy vallies in eternal spring,
Be hush'd, ye winds! while Pope and Virgil sing.
In English lays, and all sublimely 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 distant throne ;
In all the majesty 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 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 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 mufic varies in thy lines!
Still as I read, I feel my bofom beat,
And rife in raptures by another's heat.
Thus in the wood, when fummer dress'd the days,
When Windfor lent us tuneful hours of ease,
Our ears the lark, the thrufh, the turtle bleft,
And Philomela fweeteft o'er the reft:
The shades refound with fong-O foftly tread!
While a whole season warbles round my head.
This to my friend--and when a friend infpires
My filent harp its master's hand requires,
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