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Let Congreve teach the lift'ning groves to mourn,
As when he wept o'er fair Paftora's urn.

Let Prior's Mufe with foft'ning accents


Soft as the ftrains of conftant Emma's love';
Or let his fancy chufe fome jovial theme,
As when he told Hans Carvel's jealous dream:
Prior th' admiring reader entertains

With Chaucer's humour, and with Spenfer's

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Waller in Granville lives: when Mira fings,
With Waller's hand he ftrikes the founding ftrings;
With sprightly turns his noble genius shines,
And manly fenfe adorns his eafy lines.

On Addifon's fweet lays Attention waits,
And Silence guards the place while he repeats;
His Mufe alike on ev'ry fubject charms,
Whether fhe paints the god of Love or Arms:
In him pathetic Ovid fings again,
And Homer's Iliad fhines in his Campaign.

Whenever Garth fhall raife his sprightly

Senfe flows in eafy numbers from his tongue;
Great Phoebus in his learned fon we fee,
Alike in phyfic as in poetry.

When Pope's harmonious Mufe with pleasure


Amidst the plains, the murm'ring ftreams and gro


Attentive Echo pleas'd to hear his fongs.
Thro' the glad fhade each warbling note prolongs;
His various numbers charm our ravifh'd ears,

His steady judgment far outshoots his years,
And early in the youth the god appears,

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From thefe fuccefsful bards collect thy ftrains,
And praife with profit fhall reward thy pains:
Then, while calves'-leather binding bears the way,
And sheep-fkin to its fleeker glofs gives way,
While neat old Elzevir is reckon'd better
Then Pirate Hill's brown fheets and fcurvy letter,
While print-admirers careful Aldus chufe
Before John Morphew, or the weekly news,
So long fhall live thy praife in books of Fame,
And Tonfon yield to Lintott's lofty name.

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George Lord Lyttelton, geb. 1709, geft. 1773. erwarb fich zwar als Dichter nicht so ausgezeichnetes Ansehen, als durch die Ehrenstellen, die er bekleidete, und durch seine Geschichte Heinrichs II. Seine Gedichte verdienen indeß immer noch Aufmerksamkeit; und in den darunter befindlichen Episteln herrscht, wie Dr. Johnson sich ausdrückte, eine ges wisse sanfte Gleichmüthigkeit, die nicht sehr ermüden kann, weil sie kurz sind, wenn gleich der Geist des Lesers selten das durch erhoben oder überrascht wird.



From Rome, 1730.

Immortal Bard! for whom each Mufe has wove
The faireft garlands of th' Aonian grove,
Preferv'd, our drooping genius to restore,
When Addison and Congreve are no more,
After fo many stars extinct in night,
The darken'd age's laft remaining light!
To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ,
Infpir'd by memory of ancient wit:
For now no more these climes their influence boast,
Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue loft;
From tyrants and from priefts the Mufes fly,
Daughters of Reason and of Liberty.
Nor Bajae now, nor Umbria's plain they love,
Nor on the banks of Nar or Mincio rove;
To Thames's flow'ry borders they retire,
And kindle in thy breaft the Roman fire.
So in the fhades where cheer'd with fummer rays
Melodious linnets warbled fprightly lays,
Soon as the faded falling leaves complain
Of gloomy Winter's inaufpicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful filence faddens all the grove."

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Lord Lyttel



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Lord Lyttel ton.

Unhappy Italy! whofe alter'd ftate

Has felt the worst leverity of Fate.
Not that barbarian hands her fafces broke,

And bow'd her haughty neck beneath her yoke,
Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her cities defert, and her fields unfown;
But that her ancient fpirit is decay'd,

That facred wifdom from her bounds is fled,
That there the fource of fcience flows no more,
Whence its rich ftreams fupply'd the world before.

Illuftrious Names, that once in Latium fhin'd,
Born to inftruct and to command mankind,
Chiefs, by whofe virtues mighty Rome was rais'd,
And Poets, who thofe chiefs fublimely prais'd!
Oft' I the traces, you have left, explore,
Your afhes vifit, and your urns adore,
Oft kids with lips devout fome mould'ring stone,
With ivy's venerable fhade o'ergrown,
Thofe hallow'd ruins better pleas'd to fee,
Than all the pomp of modern luxury,

As late on Virgil's tomb fresh flow'rs I ftrow'd, While with th' infpiring Mufe my bofom glow'd, Crown'd with eternal bays my ravifh'd eyes Beheld the poet's awful form arife:


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Thefe grateful rites to my attentive fhade,
When thou fhalt breathe thy happy native air,
To Pope this meffage from his master bear:"


»Stranger!" he faid, whofe pious hand has paid

Great Bard! whole 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 Satire dim the rays
"That flow majeftic from thy nobler bays;


In all the flow'ry paths of Pindus ftray,
But fhun that thorny, that unpleafing way;

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„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 praife,
„To fing the land which yet alone can boast
That liberty, corrupted Rome has loft,
Where Science in the arm of Peace is laid,
And plants her palm befide the olive's 1 hade.
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 Phoebus crown'd;

Dauntless oppofers of tyrannick fway,

„But pleas'd a mild Augustus to obey."

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,,If thefe commands fubmiffive thou receive, „Immortal and unblam'd thy name shall live ; "Envy to black Cocytus fhall retire, ,,And howl with Furies in tormenting fire; "Approving Time 1hall confecrate thy lays, And join the patriot's to the poet's praise."


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