Trifles ... with several others, not more Considerable. The second edition. By R. Dodsley |
 | I. |
ON THE DEATH of Mr. POPE. |
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| II. |
 | Trifles |  |
184
ON THE DEATH of Mr. POPE.
Come, ye whose souls harmonious sounds inspire,
Friends to the muse, and judges of her song;
Who catching from the bard his heavenly fire;
Soar as he soars, sublimely rapt along;
Mourn, mourn your loss: he's gone who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
Friends to the muse, and judges of her song;
Who catching from the bard his heavenly fire;
Soar as he soars, sublimely rapt along;
Mourn, mourn your loss: he's gone who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
Who now shall dare to lift the sacred rod,
Truth's faithful guard, where vice escapes the law?
Who now, high-soaring to the throne of God,
In nature's moral cause his pen shall draw?
Let none pretend; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
Truth's faithful guard, where vice escapes the law?
Who now, high-soaring to the throne of God,
In nature's moral cause his pen shall draw?
Let none pretend; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
Vice now, secure, her blushless front shall raise,
And all her triumph be thro' Britain borne;
Whose worthless sons from guilt shall purchase praise,
Nor dread the hand that pointed them to scorn;
No check remains; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
And all her triumph be thro' Britain borne;
Whose worthless sons from guilt shall purchase praise,
Nor dread the hand that pointed them to scorn;
No check remains; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
185
Ye tuneless bards, now tire each venal quill,
And from the publick gather idle pence;
Ye tasteless peers, now build and plant your fill,
Tho' splendor borrows not one ray from sense:
Fear no rebuke; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
And from the publick gather idle pence;
Ye tasteless peers, now build and plant your fill,
Tho' splendor borrows not one ray from sense:
Fear no rebuke; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
But, come, ye chosen, ye selected few,
Ye next in genius, as in friendship, join'd,
The social virtues of his heart who knew,
And stated all the beauties of his mind;
Drop, drop a tear; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to charm the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
Ye next in genius, as in friendship, join'd,
The social virtues of his heart who knew,
And stated all the beauties of his mind;
Drop, drop a tear; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to charm the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
And, O great shade! permit thy humblest friend
His sigh to waft, his greateful tear to pay
Thy honour'd memory; and condescend
To hear, well-pleas'd, the weak yet well-meant lay,
Lamenting thus; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
His sigh to waft, his greateful tear to pay
Thy honour'd memory; and condescend
To hear, well-pleas'd, the weak yet well-meant lay,
Lamenting thus; he's gone, who had the art,
With sounds to sooth the ear, with sense to warm the heart.
| Trifles | |