A new collection of Original poems Never Printed in any miscellany. By the Author of Sir Walter Raleigh [i.e. George Sewell] |
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TO Mr. POPE, ON HIS POEMS and TRANSLATIONS. |
 | A new collection of Original poems |  |
58
TO Mr. POPE, ON HIS POEMS and TRANSLATIONS.
Among the Gifts of all the raptur'd Nine,
Accept, Great Bard, this Off'ring at thy Shrine;
And while, as to the God of Verse I pay my Vow,
Smile on my Zeal, and move thy laurel'd Brow.
For as when Kings are crown'd, tho' Princes wait
The first bright Objects in the Pomp of State,
Yet will the Crowd officiously appear,
Rude in their Praise, untunefully sincere.
So We, who from Wit's Throne at distance stand,
(The humble Commons of the Muses Land)
To our new Monarch raise each artless Voice,
And claim a Subjects Priv'lege—to rejoice.
Accept, Great Bard, this Off'ring at thy Shrine;
And while, as to the God of Verse I pay my Vow,
Smile on my Zeal, and move thy laurel'd Brow.
For as when Kings are crown'd, tho' Princes wait
The first bright Objects in the Pomp of State,
Yet will the Crowd officiously appear,
Rude in their Praise, untunefully sincere.
59
(The humble Commons of the Muses Land)
To our new Monarch raise each artless Voice,
And claim a Subjects Priv'lege—to rejoice.
Nature but slowly to Perfection climbs,
And ripens Wonders by a length of Times;
First doubtful Types the gazing World surmise,
That by successive Steps still higher rise.
Thus Ennius rough, and thus Lucretius came
Preludes and Symbols yet of Virgil's Fame,
Who rais'd from ruin'd Troy the Roman Name.
So we a Waller, and a Denham knew,
Then Dryden (sacred Name) appear'd to view:
In him, the Bards in Mysteries unskill'd,
Presum'd the great Design of Fate fulfill'd.
And ripens Wonders by a length of Times;
First doubtful Types the gazing World surmise,
That by successive Steps still higher rise.
Thus Ennius rough, and thus Lucretius came
Preludes and Symbols yet of Virgil's Fame,
Who rais'd from ruin'd Troy the Roman Name.
So we a Waller, and a Denham knew,
Then Dryden (sacred Name) appear'd to view:
In him, the Bards in Mysteries unskill'd,
Presum'd the great Design of Fate fulfill'd.
60
Thus Rome mistook in her first Cæsar's Claim,
But own'd the second in Augustus' Name.
Now we the long-expected Promise see,
The British Muse her Æra draws from Thee.
We know that partial Spirits will complain,
But so they did in young Octavius' Reign.
Libels like Coronation-Serpents fly,
Blaze with a sputt'ring Fire, then hiss, and die.
Then let this Verse, if you refuse my Song,
At least congratulate my Mother-Tongue.
But own'd the second in Augustus' Name.
Now we the long-expected Promise see,
The British Muse her Æra draws from Thee.
We know that partial Spirits will complain,
But so they did in young Octavius' Reign.
Libels like Coronation-Serpents fly,
Blaze with a sputt'ring Fire, then hiss, and die.
Then let this Verse, if you refuse my Song,
At least congratulate my Mother-Tongue.
I see it now—Thy Homer makes it plain,
Our Language bears the boldest Grecian strain;
When fir'd beyond Mortality he flies,
Guest of the Gods, and sits above the Skies.
I see you follow with an equal Wing,
I hear on high their own Apollo sing.
Our Language bears the boldest Grecian strain;
When fir'd beyond Mortality he flies,
Guest of the Gods, and sits above the Skies.
I see you follow with an equal Wing,
I hear on high their own Apollo sing.
61
'Tis true, the Greek, a wide and copious Tongue,
Seems as invented for harmonious Song:
There words with equal Elegance, and Strength,
Fall short, or deepen'd to a graceful length:
There strange varieties of Sound appear,
To please the Fancy, and to catch the Ear.
In rough, rude Verse, the tumbling Ocean roars,
The shatter'd Waves divide, resound the Shores;
When Phœbus shoots, what various Changes ring,
How twangs the Bow, how sings the jarring String,
How the Shaft dances with a feather'd Wing!
Seems as invented for harmonious Song:
There words with equal Elegance, and Strength,
Fall short, or deepen'd to a graceful length:
There strange varieties of Sound appear,
To please the Fancy, and to catch the Ear.
In rough, rude Verse, the tumbling Ocean roars,
The shatter'd Waves divide, resound the Shores;
When Phœbus shoots, what various Changes ring,
How twangs the Bow, how sings the jarring String,
How the Shaft dances with a feather'd Wing!
And yet thy pow'rful Numbers equal all,
That in the compass of his Language fall:
Here bold, and nervous, there more smoothly slow,
Now harsh as Frost—now melting as the Snow.
Thy Helen and the Grecians are the Same,
A doubtful Piece, a guilty, lovely Dame,
Worthy to set another World on Flame.
That in the compass of his Language fall:
Here bold, and nervous, there more smoothly slow,
Now harsh as Frost—now melting as the Snow.
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A doubtful Piece, a guilty, lovely Dame,
Worthy to set another World on Flame.
Proceed, Great Bard, the stern Achilles show,
To Friendship faithful, but to Pity slow;
Paint him from Sorrow kindling into Rage,
See him with Heroes and with Gods engage:
Pursue, while o'er the dead-strown Field he raves,
And boil up Xanthus with new flaming Waves.
To Friendship faithful, but to Pity slow;
Paint him from Sorrow kindling into Rage,
See him with Heroes and with Gods engage:
Pursue, while o'er the dead-strown Field he raves,
And boil up Xanthus with new flaming Waves.
While this We hope from thy immortal Lays,
Muse raise four Altars in Apollo's Praise:
Let Greece and England share the sacred Prize,
And two for POPE, and two for HOMER rise.
Muse raise four Altars in Apollo's Praise:
Let Greece and England share the sacred Prize,
And two for POPE, and two for HOMER rise.
| A new collection of Original poems | |