Poems on several occasions By William Broome ... The second edition, With large Alterations and Additions |
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To Mr. A. POPE, who corrected my Verses.
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 | Poems on several occasions |  |
192
To Mr. A. POPE, who corrected my Verses.
If e'er my humble Muse melodious sings,
'Tis when you animate and tune her Strings;
If e'er she mounts, 'tis when you prune her Wings.
You, like the Sun, your glorious Beams display,
Deal to the darkest Orb a friendly Ray,
And cloath it with the Lustre of the Day.
'Tis when you animate and tune her Strings;
If e'er she mounts, 'tis when you prune her Wings.
You, like the Sun, your glorious Beams display,
Deal to the darkest Orb a friendly Ray,
And cloath it with the Lustre of the Day.
Mean was the Piece, unelegantly wrought,
The Colours faint, irregular the Draught;
But your commanding Touch, your nicer Art,
Rais'd every Stroke, and brighten'd every Part.
So when Luke drew the Rudiments of Man,
An Angel finish'd what the Saint began;
His wondrous Pencil, dipt in heav'nly Dyes,
Gave Beauty to the Face, and Lightning to the Eyes.
The Colours faint, irregular the Draught;
But your commanding Touch, your nicer Art,
Rais'd every Stroke, and brighten'd every Part.
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An Angel finish'd what the Saint began;
His wondrous Pencil, dipt in heav'nly Dyes,
Gave Beauty to the Face, and Lightning to the Eyes.
Confus'd it lay, a rough unpolish'd Mass,
You gave the royal Stamp, and made it pass;
Hence ev'n Deformity a Beauty grew,
She pleas'd, she charm'd, but pleas'd and charm'd by You;
Tho' like Prometheus I the Image frame,
You give the Life, and bring the heav'nly Flame.
You gave the royal Stamp, and made it pass;
Hence ev'n Deformity a Beauty grew,
She pleas'd, she charm'd, but pleas'd and charm'd by You;
Tho' like Prometheus I the Image frame,
You give the Life, and bring the heav'nly Flame.
Thus when the Nile diffus'd his watry Train
In Streams of Plenty o'er the fruitful Plain;
Unshapen Forms, the Refuse of the Flood,
Issu'd imperfect from the teeming Mud;
But the great Source and Parent of the Day,
Fashion'd the Creature, and inform'd the Clay.
In Streams of Plenty o'er the fruitful Plain;
Unshapen Forms, the Refuse of the Flood,
Issu'd imperfect from the teeming Mud;
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Fashion'd the Creature, and inform'd the Clay.
Weak of herself, my Muse forbears her flight,
Views her own Lowness, and Parnassus' Height;
But when you aid her Song, and deign to nod,
She spreads a bolder Wing, and feels the present God.
Views her own Lowness, and Parnassus' Height;
But when you aid her Song, and deign to nod,
She spreads a bolder Wing, and feels the present God.
So the Cumæan Prophetess was dumb,
Blind to the Knowledge of Events to come;
But when Apollo in her Breast abode,
She heav'd, she swell'd, she felt the rushing God;
Then Accents more than mortal from her broke,
And what the God inspir'd, the Priestess spoke.
Blind to the Knowledge of Events to come;
But when Apollo in her Breast abode,
She heav'd, she swell'd, she felt the rushing God;
Then Accents more than mortal from her broke,
And what the God inspir'd, the Priestess spoke.
| Poems on several occasions | |