His language failing, wrapt him round with night;
Thine, rais'd by thee, recalls the work to light.
So wealthy Mines, that ages long before
Fed the large realms around with golden Ore,
When choak'd by finking banks, no more appear,
And shepherds only fay, The mines were here: 60
Should fome rich youth (if nature warm his heart,
And all his projects stand inform'd with art)
Here clear the caves, there ope the leading vein;
The mines detected flame with gold again.
How vaft, how copious, are thy new designs!65
How ev'ry Mufic varies in thy lines!
Still, as I read, I feel my bofom beat,
And rife in raptures by another's heat.
Thus in the wood, when fummer drefs'd the days,
While Windfor lent us tuneful hours of ease, 70
Our ears the lark, the thrush, the turtle bleft,
And Philomela sweetest o'er the reft:
The shades resound with song---O softly tread,
While a whole feason warbles round my head.
This to my Friend-and when a friend infpires, My filent harp its master's hand requires ; 76 Shakes off the dust, and makes these rocks re
For fortune plac'd me in unfertile ground;
Far from the joys that with my foul agree, From wit, from learning---very far from thee. 80 Here mofs-grown trees expand the smallest leaf; Here half an acre's corn is half a fheaf;
Here hills with naked heads the tempeft meet, Rocks at their fides, and torrents at their feet; Or lazy lakes unconfcious of a flood,
Whose dull brown Naiads ever sleep in mud.
Yet here Content can dwell, and learned Eafe,
A Friend delight me, and an Author please;
Ev'n here I fing, when POPE fupplies the theme,
Shew my own love, tho' not increase his fame.
T. PARNELL.
ET vulgar fouls triumphal arches raise, Or fpeaking marbles, to record their praise; And picture (to the voice of Fame unknown) The mimic Feature on the breathing ftone; Mere mortals; fubject to death's total fway, 5 Reptiles of earth, and beings of a day!
'Tis thine, on ev'ry heart to grave thy praise, A monument which Worth alone can raise:
Sure to furvive, when time fhall whelm in duft The arch, the marble, and the mimic buft: 10 Nor 'till the volumes of th' expanded sky
Blaze in one flame, fhalt thou and Homer die : Then fink together in the world's last fires, What heav'n created, and what heav'n inspires. If aught on earth, when once this breath is
With human transport touch the mighty dead,
Shakespear, rejoice! his hand thy page refines;
Now ev'ry fcene with native brightness fhines;
Juft to thy fame, he gives thy genuine thought;
So Tully publish'd what Lucretius wrote;
Prun'd by his care, thy laurels loftier grow,
And bloom afresh on thy immortal brow.
Thus when thy draughts, O Raphael! time
invades,
And the bold figure from the canvass fades,
A rival hand recalls from every part
Some latent grace, and equals art with art;
Transported we furvey the dubious strife,
While each fair image starts again to life.
How long, untun'd, had Homer's facred lyre
Jarr'd grating difcord, all extinct his fire?
This you
beheld; and taught by heav'n to fing,
Call'd the loud music from the founding string.
Now wak'd from flumbers of three thousand years,
Once more Achilles in dread pomp appears,
Tow'rs o'er the field of death; as fierce he turns, 35
Keen flash his arms, and all the Hero burns;
With martial stalk, and more than mortal might,
He strides along, and meets the Gods in fight:
Then the pale Titans, chain'd on burning floors,
Start at the din that rends th' infernal fhores, 40
Tremble the tow'rs of Heav'n, earth rocks her
And gloomy Pluto shakes with all his ghosts.
To ev'ry theme refponds thy various lay;
Here rolls a torrent, there Meanders play;
Sonorous as the ftorm thy numbers rise,
Tofs the wild waves, and thunder in the skies;
Or fofter than a yielding virgin's figh,
The gentle breezes breathe away and die.
Thus, like the radiant God who sheds the day, You paint the vale, or gild the azure way; 59 And while with ev'ry theme the verse complies, Sink without grov'ling, without rashness rise. Proceed,greatBard! awake th'harmonious string, Be ours all Homer! ftill Ulyffes fing.
How long that Hero, by unskilful hands, 55
Strip'd of his robes, a beggar trod our lands?
Such as he wander'd o'er his native coast,
Shrunk by the wand, and all the warrior lost;
O'er his smooth skin a bark of wrinkles spread;
Old age difgrac'd the honours of his head;
Nor longer in his heavy eye-ball shin'd
The glance divine, forth-beaming from the mind.
But
you, like Pallas, ev'ry limb infold
With royal robes, and bid him shine in gold; 64 Touch'd by your hand his manly frame improves With grace divine, and like a God he moves.
Ev'n I, the meanest of the Muses' train, Inflam'd by thee, attempt a nobler strain; Advent'rous waken the Mæonian lyre, Tun'd by your hand, and fing as you infpire: 70 So arm'd by great Achilles for the fight, Patroclus conquer'd in Achilles' right:
Like theirs, our Friendship! and I boast my name To thine united-for thy Friendship's Fame. This labour past, of heav'nly fubjects fing, 75 While hov'ring angels listen on the wing,
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