35

Tho' each great Ancient court thee to his shrine,
Though ev'ry Laurel thro' the dome be thine,
(From the proud Epic, down to those that shade
The gentler brow of the foft Lesbian maid)
Go to the Good and Juft, an awful train,
Thy foul's delight, and glory of the Fane:
While thro' the earth thy dear remembrance flies,
"Sweet to the World, and grateful to the skies.”

40

SIMON HARCOURT.

To Mr. P O PE.

From Rome, 1730.

Mmortal Bard! for whom each Mufe has wove

IM

The faireft garlands of th' Aonian grove;

Preferv'd, our drooping Genius to restore,

When Addison and Congreve are no more;

After so many stars extinct in night, fo

The darken'd age's last remaining light!

To thee from Latian realms this verse is writ,
Inspir'd by memory of ancient Wit :

5

For now no more thefe climes their influence boaft, Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue lost : 19

From Tyrants, and from Priefts, the Muses fly, Daughters of Reason and of Liberty.

15

rays

Nor Baiæ 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 breast the Roman fire.
So in the fhades, where chear'd with summer
Melodious linnets warbled sprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy winter's unaufpicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful filence faddens all the grove.
Unhappy Italy! whose alter'd state

Has felt the worst severity of Fate:

20

Not that Barbarian hands her Fasces broke, 25
And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their 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 Wisdom from her bounds is fled, 30
That there the fource of Science flows no more,
Whence its rich streams fupply'd the world be-
fore.

Illuftrious Names! that once in Latium fhin'd, Born to inftruct, and to command Mankind;

Chiefs, by whofe Virtue mighty Rome was

rais'd,

35

And Poets, who thofe chiefs fublimely prais❜d! Oft I the traces you have left explore,

Your ashes vifit, and your urns adore ;

Oft kifs, with lips devout, some mould'ring stone,
With ivy's venerable fhade o'ergrown ;

Those hallow'd ruins better pleas'd to fee
Than all the pomp of modern Luxury.

4Q

As late on Virgil's tomb fresh flow'rs I ftrow'd, While with th' inspiring Muse my bofom glow'd, Crown'd with eternal bays my ravish'd eyes 45 Beheld the Poet's awful Form arise : Stranger, he said, whose pious hand has paid These grateful rites to my attentive shade, When thou shalt breathe thy happy native air, To Pope this message from his Master bear: 50 "Great Bard, whose numbers I myself infpire, To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre, If high exalted on the Throne of Wit, Near Me and Homer thou aspire to fit, No more let meaner Satire dim the rays That flow majestic from thy nobler Bays; In all the flow'ry paths of Pindus ftray, But shun that thorny, that unpleafing way;

55

Nor, when each soft engaging Muse is thine,
Address the least attractive of the Nine.

60

Of thee more worthy were the task to raise A lasting 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,

65

And plants her Palm beneath the Olive's shade. 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 Tyrannic Sway,

But pleas'd, a mild AUGUSTUS 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 shall confecrate thy Lays,
And join the Patriot's to the Poet's Praife."

70

75

GEORGE LYTTELTON.