To the Muse MELPOMENE. Ode XXX.
Horace hopes through his writing Lyrick Verse he hath gain'd eternal Glory.
I've wrought a Monument more strong then Brass,
Which doth the Towry Pyramid surpass,
For Regal height; which neither eating Storm,
Nor North-winds feeble rage shall hurt, deform,
Nor countless years. I will not wholy die,
Though Ages rot; but my large part shall fly
The churlish Hearse, in after praise and Friends
Surviving still: so long as Priest ascends
The Capitol with Maid to silence fram'd:
I meaner born yet great will be proclaim'd;
What way rough Aufidus doth wandring Roar;
Or DAUNUS (poor in streams) men ruled ore:
The first that Grecian Verse to Roman art,
Numbers deriv'd: then take thy Glories part,
MELPOMENE, from hence, and freely now
With Delphick Laurel crown thy Poets Brow.