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172
To Mr. Pope, on his Translation of Homer's Iliad.
'Tis true, what fam'd Pythagoras maintain'd,
That Souls departed in new Bodies reign'd:
We must approve the Doctrine, since we see
The Soul of Godlike Homer breathe in Thee.
Old Ennius first, then Virgil felt her Fires;
But now a British Poet she inspires.
That Souls departed in new Bodies reign'd:
We must approve the Doctrine, since we see
The Soul of Godlike Homer breathe in Thee.
Old Ennius first, then Virgil felt her Fires;
But now a British Poet she inspires.
To you, O Pope, the Lineal Right extends,
To you th'Hereditary Muse descends.
At a vast distance we of Homer heard,
Till you brought in, and nat'raliz'd the Bard;
Bade him our English Rights and Freedom claim,
His Voice, his Habit, and his Air the same.
Now in the mighty Stranger we rejoice,
And Britain thanks thee with a publick Voice.
To you th'Hereditary Muse descends.
At a vast distance we of Homer heard,
Till you brought in, and nat'raliz'd the Bard;
173
His Voice, his Habit, and his Air the same.
Now in the mighty Stranger we rejoice,
And Britain thanks thee with a publick Voice.
See! too the Poet, a majestick Shade,
Lifts up in awful Pomp his Laurel'd Head,
To thank his Successor, who sets him free
From the vile Hands of Hobbs and Ogilby;
Who vext his venerable Ashes more,
Than his ungrateful Greece, the living Bard before.
Lifts up in awful Pomp his Laurel'd Head,
To thank his Successor, who sets him free
From the vile Hands of Hobbs and Ogilby;
Who vext his venerable Ashes more,
Than his ungrateful Greece, the living Bard before.
While Homer's Thoughts in thy bold Lines are shown,
Tho' Worlds contend, we claim him for our own;
Our blooming Boys proud Ilion's Fate bewail;
Our lisping Babes repeat the dreadful Tale,
Ev'n in their Slumbers they pursue the Theme,
Start, and enjoy a Fight in every Dream.
By turns the Chief and Bard their Souls inflame,
And every little Bosom beats for Fame.
Thus shall they learn (as future Times will see)
From Him to conquer, or to write from Thee.
Tho' Worlds contend, we claim him for our own;
Our blooming Boys proud Ilion's Fate bewail;
Our lisping Babes repeat the dreadful Tale,
Ev'n in their Slumbers they pursue the Theme,
Start, and enjoy a Fight in every Dream.
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And every little Bosom beats for Fame.
Thus shall they learn (as future Times will see)
From Him to conquer, or to write from Thee.
In every hand we see the glorious Song,
And Homer is the Theme of every Tongue.
Parties in State Poetick Schemes employ,
And Whig and Tory side with Greece and Troy;
Neglect their Feuds; and seem more zealous grown
To push those Countries Interests than their Own.
Our busiest Politicians have forgot
How Sommers counsel'd, and how Marlbro fought;
But o'er their settling Coffee gravely tell,
What Nestor spoke, and how brave Hector fell.
Our softest Beaux and Coxcombs you inspire,
With Glaucus' Courage, and Achilles' Fire.
Now they resent Affronts which once they bore,
And draw those Swords that ne'er were drawn before:
Nay, ev'n our Belles inform'd how Homer writ,
Learn thence to criticize on modern Wit.
And Homer is the Theme of every Tongue.
Parties in State Poetick Schemes employ,
And Whig and Tory side with Greece and Troy;
Neglect their Feuds; and seem more zealous grown
To push those Countries Interests than their Own.
Our busiest Politicians have forgot
How Sommers counsel'd, and how Marlbro fought;
But o'er their settling Coffee gravely tell,
What Nestor spoke, and how brave Hector fell.
Our softest Beaux and Coxcombs you inspire,
With Glaucus' Courage, and Achilles' Fire.
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And draw those Swords that ne'er were drawn before:
Nay, ev'n our Belles inform'd how Homer writ,
Learn thence to criticize on modern Wit.
Let the mad Criticks to their Side engage
The Envy, Pride, and Dulness of the Age:
In vain they curse, in vain they pine and mourn,
Back on themselves their Arrows will return;
Whoe'er would thy establish'd Fame deface,
Are but immortaliz'd to their Disgrace.
Live, and enjoy their Spight, and share that Fate,
Which would, if Homer liv'd, on Homer wait.
The Envy, Pride, and Dulness of the Age:
In vain they curse, in vain they pine and mourn,
Back on themselves their Arrows will return;
Whoe'er would thy establish'd Fame deface,
Are but immortaliz'd to their Disgrace.
Live, and enjoy their Spight, and share that Fate,
Which would, if Homer liv'd, on Homer wait.
And lo! his second Labour claims thy Care,
Ulysses' Toils, succeed Achilles' War.
Haste to the Work; the Ladies long to see
The pious Frauds of chaste Penelope.
Helen they long have seen, whose guilty Charms
For ten whole Years engag'd the World in Arms.
Then, as thy Fame shall see a length of Days,
Some future Bard shall thus record thy Praise:
“In those blest Times when smiling Heav'n and Fate,
“Had rais'd Britannia to her happiest State,
“When wide around, she saw the World submit,
“And own her Sons supreme in Arts and Wit;
“Then Pope and Dryden brought in Triumph home,
“The Pride of Greece, and Ornament of Rome;
“To the great Task each bold Translator came,
“With Virgil's Judgment, and with Homer's Flame;
“Here the pleas'd Mantuan Swan was taught to soar,
“Where scarce the Roman Eagles towr'd before:
“And Greece no more was Homer's native Earth,
“Tho' her sev'n Rival Cities claim'd his Birth;
“On her sev'n Cities He look'd down with scorn,
“And own'd with Pride He was in Britain born.
Ulysses' Toils, succeed Achilles' War.
Haste to the Work; the Ladies long to see
The pious Frauds of chaste Penelope.
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For ten whole Years engag'd the World in Arms.
Then, as thy Fame shall see a length of Days,
Some future Bard shall thus record thy Praise:
“In those blest Times when smiling Heav'n and Fate,
“Had rais'd Britannia to her happiest State,
“When wide around, she saw the World submit,
“And own her Sons supreme in Arts and Wit;
“Then Pope and Dryden brought in Triumph home,
“The Pride of Greece, and Ornament of Rome;
“To the great Task each bold Translator came,
“With Virgil's Judgment, and with Homer's Flame;
“Here the pleas'd Mantuan Swan was taught to soar,
“Where scarce the Roman Eagles towr'd before:
“And Greece no more was Homer's native Earth,
“Tho' her sev'n Rival Cities claim'd his Birth;
“On her sev'n Cities He look'd down with scorn,
“And own'd with Pride He was in Britain born.
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