Gay.

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
move,

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 ftrains.

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 subject 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 raile his sprightly
fong,

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

When Pope's harmonious Mufe with pleasure

roves 1

Amidst the plains, the murm'ring ftreams and gro

ves,

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 fteady judgment far outfhoots his years,
And early in the youth the god appears.

From

Gay.

From thefe fuccessful bards collect thy ftrains,
And praise with profit fhall reward thy pains:
Then, while calves'-leather binding bears the way,
And fheep-fkin to its fleeker glofs gives way,
While neat old Elzevir is reckon'd better
Then Pirate Hill's brown fheets and scurvy 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.

Lord

Lord Lyttelton.

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 Gez schichte Heinrichs II. Seine Gedichte verdienen indeß immer noch Aufmerksamkeit; und in den darunter befindlichen Episteln herrscht, wie Dr. Johnson sich ausdrückte, eine ges wiffe fanfte Gleichmüthigkeit, die nicht sehr ermüden kann, weil sie kurz sind, wenn gleich der Geist des Lesers felten das durch erhoben oder überrascht wird.

TO MR. POPE.

From Rome, 1730.

Lord Lyttel

ton.

Immortal Bard! for whom each Mufe has wove
The fairest garlands of th' Aonian grove,
Preferv'd, our drooping genius to restore,
When Addison and Congreve are no more,
After fo many ftars extinct in night,
The darken'd age's laft remaining light!
To thee from Latian realms this verle is writ,

Infpir'd by memory of ancient wit:

For now no more these climes their influence boaft,

Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue loft;

From tyrants and from priefts the Mufes fly,

Daughters of Reafon 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.
vivies

Un

Unhappy Italy! whofe alter'd ftate

Has felt the worst leverity of Fate.

Not that barbarian hands her faíces 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 spirit is decay'd,

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

Illustrious 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' kils with lips devout fome mould'ring ftone,
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:

t

Stranger!" he faid, whofe pious hand has
paid

„These grateful rites to my attentive fhade,
"When thou shalt breathe thy happy native air,
"To Pope this message from his master bear:"

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 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 unpleasing way;

„Nor

„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 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 whose 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 Auguftus to obey."

,,If these 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 praife."

"

Lord Lyttel

ton.

Beisp. Samml. 3. B.

Di

uz.