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233

To a Friend, In Imitation of Horace to Martius Censorinus, Book IV, Ode VIII.

On those I love I would bestow
The Gems in Indian Mines which grow,
Or, could my Pow'r my Will attend,
With antique Medals greet my Friend,
Stamp'd, to record the Hero's Fame,
With Brutus, or with Cæsar's Name:
If these, or such-like Gifts, were mine,
The foremost, Henley, should be thine,
What Angelo has wrought, whose Hand,
Pencil, or Chisel, could command,
On Brass could make the Parent moan,
Or bid the Virgin bleed in Stone:
But these of my Possessions are
No Part, nor of your Wants a Share.

234

On Verse you with Delight can dwell,
And Verse but few deserve so well;
Verse I can give, since Verse you prize,
And tell in what the Value lys.
Not Statues rais'd at public Cost,
Not Edward's Star with Rays emboss'd,
Can the Remembrance keep so long,
Of Edward's Acts, as sacred Song.
When Blenheim's Palace shall decay,
And the proud Column mould away,
The Chief shall live in Verse alone,
More durable than Brass or Stone:
And should the Muse her Aid deny,
With you, my Friend, your Virtues dy.
Where now had been that Son of War,
Who spread the British Name so far,
He who both Indias made his own,
How long would Cromwell's Name be known,
Of Fame had Silence clip'd the Wing,
And Waller's Muse refus'd to sing?
The Muse beholds the great Nassau,
The Prop of Liberty and Law:
While Tyranny beneath him bleeds,
She consecrates the Hero's Deeds.
On whom the Muses smile we see
The Stamp of Immortality;

235

To all who merit Praise they give
To triumph o'er the Grave and live:
Alcides they convey'd above,
And plac'd him at the Feasts of Jove;
The Sons of Tyndarus they gave
To shine as Stars, and check the Wave;
His Honours Bacchus to them owes,
Propitious ever to our Vows.