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Great bard, whofe numbers I myself inspire,
To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre,
If high exalted on the throne of wit,
Near Me and Homer thou afpire to fit,
No more let meaner fatire dim the rays
That flow majestic from thy noble bays;'
In all the flow'ry paths of Pindus stray,
But fhun that thorny, that unpleafing way;
Nor when each foft engaging mufe is thine,
Addrefs the leaft attractive of the nine.

Of thee more worthy were the task, to raise
A lafting column to thy country's praise,
To fing the land, which yet alone can boast
That liberty corrupted Rome has loft;

Where science in the arms of peace is laid,
And plants her palm beneath the olive's fhade.
Such was the theme for which my lyre I ftrung,
Such was the people whofe exploits I fung;
Brave, yet refin'd, for arms and arts renown'd,
With diff'rent bays by Mars and Phabus crown'd,
Dauntless oppofers of tyrannic fway,

But pleas'd, a mild AUGUSTUS to obey.

If these commands submissive thou receive,
Immortal and unblam'd thy name shall live;
Envy to black Cacytus fhall retire,

And howl with furies in tormenting fire;
Approving time thall confecrate thy lays,
And join the patriot's to the poet's praise.

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The great ufe of medals is properly described in the enfuing elegant epiftle from Mr. Pope to Mr. Addifon; and the extravagant paffion which fome people entertain only for the colour of them, is very agreeably and very juftly ridiculed.

From Mr. POPE to Mr. ADDISON. Occafioned by his dialogue on MEDALS.

See the wild waste of all-devouring years!
How Rome her own fad fepulchre appears:
With nodding arches, broken temples spread!
The very tombs now vanifh like their dead!
Imperial wonders rais'd on nations spoil'd,
Where mix'd with flaves the groaning martyr toil'd:

Huge theatres, that now unpeopled woods,
Now drain'd a diftant country of her floods :
Fanes, which admiring Gods with pride furvey,
Statues of Men, fcarce lefs alive than they !
Some felt the filent stroke of mould'ring age,
Some hoftile fury, fome religious rage;
Barbarian blindness, christian zeal conspire,
And papal piety, and gothic fire.

Perhaps, by its own ruin fav'd from flame,
Some bury'd marble half preserves a name ;
That name the learn'd with fierce difputes purfue,
And give to Titus old Vefpafian's due.

Ambition figh'd: She found it vain to trust
The faithlefs column and the crumbling bust:

Huge moles, whofe fhadow ftretch'd from shore to shore,
Their ruins perifh'd, and their place no more!
Convinc'd, he now contracts her vaft defign,
And all her triumphs fhrink into a coin.
A narrow orb each crouded conquest keeps,
Beneath her palm here fad Judæa weeps ;
Now fcantier limits the proud arch confine,
And scarce are seen the proftrate Nile or Rhine ;
A fmall Euphrates thro' the piece is roll'd,
And little eagles wave their wings in gold.

The medal, faithful to its charge of fame,
Thro' climes and ages bears each form and name:
In one fhort view fubjected to our eye

Gods, emp'rors, heroes, fages, beauties, lie,
With sharpen'd fight pale antiquaries pore,
Th' infcription value, but the ruft adore.
This the blue varnish, that the green endears,
The facred ruft of twice ten hundred years!
To gain Prefcennius one employs his schemes,
One grafps a Cecrops in eftatic dreams.

Poor Vadius, long, with learned fpleen devour'd,
Can taste no pleasure fince his fhield was scour'd:
And Curio, restless by the fair-one's fide,
Sighs for an Otho, and neglects his bride.

Their's is the vanity, the learning thine :
Touch'd by thy hand, again Rome's glories fhine;
Her gods, and god-like heroes rife to view,
And all her faded garlands bloom a-new.

Nor blush, thefe ftudies thy regard engage;
These pleas'd the fathers of poetic rage;
The verfe and fculpture bore an equal part,
And art reflected images to art.

Oh when shall Britain, conscious of her claim,
Stand emulous of Greek and Roman fame ?
In living medals fee her wars enroll'd,
And vanquish'd realms fupply recording gold?
Here, rifing bold, the patriot's honeft face;
There warriors frowning in hiftoric brass:
Then future ages with delight fhall fee
How Plato's, Bacon's, Newton's looks agree;
Or in fair feries laurell'd bards be fhown,
A Virgil there, and here an Addifon.

Then fhall thy CRAGGS (and let me call him mine)
On the caft ore, another Pollio shine;
With aspect open shall erect his head,
And round the orb in lafting notes be read,
"Statesman, yet friend to truth! of foul fincere,
"In action faithful, and in honour clear;
"Who broke no promife, ferv'd no private end,
"Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend;
"Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd,

"Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the mufe he lov'd.

The following letter from Mr. Philips to the earl of Dorfet is entirely defcriptive; but is one of those descriptions which will be ever read with delight.

Mr. PHILIPS to the Earl of DORSET.

Copenhagen, March 9, 1709. From frozen climes, and endless tracts of fnow, From ftreams which northern winds forbid to flow, What present shall the mufe to Dorfet bring, Or how, fo near the pole, attempt to fing? The hoary winter here conceals from fight All pleafing objects which to verse invite. The hills and dales, and the delightful woods, The flow'ry plains, and filver-ftreaming floods, By fnow difguis'd, in bright confusion lie, And with one dazzling wafte fatigue the eye.

No gentle breathing breeze prepares the spring, No birds within the defert region fing: The fhips, unmov'd, the boift'rous winds defy, While rattling chariots o'er the ocean fly. The vaft Leviathan wants room to play, And spout his waters in the face of day; The ftarving wolves along the main fea prowl, And to the moon in icy valleys howl. O'er many a fhining league the level main Here fpreads itself into a glaffy plain : There folid billows of enormous fize, Alps of green ice, in wild diforder rife.

And yet but lately have I feen, ev'n here,
The winter in a lovely drefs appear.

'E're yet the clouds let fall the treafur'd fnow,
Or winds began through hazy skies to blow,
At ev'ning a keen eastern breeze arose,
And the defcending rain unfully'd froze.
Soon as the filent fhades of night withdrew,
The ruddy morn difclos'd at once to view
The face of nature in a rich difguife,
And brighten'd ev'ry object to my eyes:
For ev'ry fhrub, and ev'ry blade of grafs,
And ev'ry pointed thorn, feem'd wrought in glass ;
In pearls and rubies rich the hawthorns fhow,
While through the ice the crimson berries glow.
The thick-fprung reeds, which watry marshes yield,
Seem'd polish'd lances in a hoftile field.

The flag in limpid currents, with surprise,
Sees chrystal branches on his forehead rife:

The spreading oak, the beech, and tow'ring pine,
Glaz'd over, in the freezing ather shine.

The frighted birds the rattling branches fhun,
Which wave and glitter in the distant fun.
When if a fudden guft of wind arise,

The brittle foreft into atoms flies,

The crackling woods beneath the tempeft bends,
And in a spangled fhower the prospect ends:
Or, if a fouthern gale the region warm,
And by degrees unbind the wintry charm,
The traveller a miry country fees,

And journies fad beneath the dropping trees :

Like fome deluded peafant, Merlin leads
Through fragrant bow'rs, and through delicious meads
While here inchanted gardens to him rife,
And airy fabricks there attract his eyes,
His wandring feet the magick paths purfue,
And while he thinks the fair illufion true,
The trackless scenes difperfe in fluid air,
And woods, and wilds, and thorny ways appear,
A tedious road the weary wretch returns,
And, as he goes, the tranfient vision mourns.

;

We have already obferved that the effential, and indeed the true characteristic of epiftolary writing is ease ; and on this account, as well as others, the following letter from Mr Pope to Mifs Blount is to be admired.

From Mr. POPE to Mifs BLOUNT, on her leaving the Town after the Coronation.

As fome fond virgin, whom her mother's care
Drags from the town to wholefome country air;
Juft when the learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she must fever,
Yet takes one kifs before the parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew :
Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent,
She figh'd not that they stay'd, but that she went.

She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion'd halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from op'ra, park, affembly, play,
To morning-walks, and prayers three hours a day;
To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea,
To mufe, and spill her solitary tea,

Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,

Count the flow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,

Hum half a tune, tell ftories to the 'fquire;

Up to her godly garret after feven,

There ftarve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Some 'fquire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whose game
is whifk, whofe treat's a toaft in fack;

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