He foars the Critic's cold contempt above,
For VIRGIL greets him with fraternal love!
Hail, thou rich Column, on whose high-wrought frame
The Roman Muse supports her Epic fame!
Hail, great Magician, whose illufive charms
Gave pleasing luftre to a Tyrant's arms,
To Jove's pure fceptre turn'd his iron rod,
And made the Homicide a Guardian God!
Hail, wond'rous Bard, to Glory's temple led
Thro' paths that Genius rarely deigns to tread ;
For Imitation, she whose fyren song
Betrays the skillful and unnerves the strong,
Preserving thee on her perfidious shore,
Where many a Poet had been wreck'd before,
Led thee to heights that charm th' astonish'd eye,
And with Invention's heaven in fplendor vie.
As Rome herself, by long unwearied toil,
Glean'd the fair produce of each foreign foil;
From all her wide Dominion's various parts
Borrow'd their laws, their usages, their arts;
Imported knowledge from each adverse zone,
And made the wisdom of the world her own:
Thy patient spirit thus, from every Bard
Whose mental riches won thy juft regard,
Drew various treasure; which thy skill refin'd,
And in the fabric of thy Verse combin'd.
It was thy glory, as thy fond defire,
To echo the sweet notes of HOMER's lyre;
But with an art thy hand alone can reach,
An art that has endear'd the ftrain of each.
So the young Nymph, whofe tender arms embrace
An elder Sister of enchanting grace,
Though form'd herself with every power to please, 175
By genuine character and native ease,
Yet fondly copies from her favourite Fair
Her mien, her motion, her attractive air,
Her robe's nice shape, her riband's pleasing hue,
And every ornament that ftrikes the view;
But she displays, by imitative art,
So quick a fpirit, and fo foft a heart,
The graceful mimic while our eyes adore,
We think the model cannot charm us more:
Tho' feen together, each more lovely fhews,
And by comparison their beauty grows.
Some Critics, to decide which Bard prevails,
Weigh them like Jove, but not in golden scales;
In their falfe balance th' injur'd GREEK they raife,
VIRGIL finks loaded with their heavy praise.
Ingenuous Bard, whofe mental rays divine
Shaded by modest doubts more fweetly shine;
Thou whofe laft breath, unconscious of the wrong,
Doom'd to deftruction thy fublimeft Song;
How dull their incenfe in thy fight muft burn,
How muft thy spirit with abhorrence turn
From their disgusting rites, who at thy fhrine-
Blafpheme thy Master's name, to honor thine!
More equal tribute, in their fimpler flowers,.
The Poets offer to your separate powers ;,
For all poetic eyes delight to view
Your different forms, and with devotion due
In each the radiant Delphic God they own,,
By beauteous majefty diftinctly fhewn:
But they behold the lofty HOMER ftand
The bright Coloffus of the Rhodian land,.
Beneath whofe feet the waves fubmiffive roll,
Whose towering head appears to prop the pole ;
Stupendous Image! grand in every part,
And feeming far above the reach of mortal art.
In thee, thou lovely Mantuan Bard, appear
The fofter features of the Belvidere;
That finish'd grace which fafcinates all eyes,
Yet from the copying hand elufive flies:
Charms fo complete, by fuch pure spirit warm'd,
They make lefs perfect beauty feem deform'd.
O had thy Mufe, whofe decorating skill
Could spread rich foliage o'er the leafless hill;
Had fhe, who knew with niceft hand to frame
The sweet unperishable wreaths of Fame ;;
Had she, exalted by a happier fate,
Virtue's free Herald, and no Slave of State,
Deck'd worthier fhrines with her unfading flower,
And given to Freedom what he gave to Power;
Then with more keen delight and warmer praise
The world had liften'd to thy bolder lays ;
Perchance had.ow'd to thee (a mighty debt)
Verse where Perfection her bright feal had set,
Where Art could nothing blame and Nature nought regret.
Of coarfer form, with lefs pathetic charms,
Hating with Stoic pride a Tyrant's arms,
In the keen fervor of that florid time
When youthful Fancy pours her hafty rhyme,
When all the mind's luxuriant fhoots appear,
Untrimm'd by Art, by Intereft, or Fear,
See daring LUCAN for that wreath contend,
Which Freedom twines for her poetic friend.
'Tis thine, thou bold but injur'd Bard, 'tis thine!
Tho' Critic fpleen infult thy rougher line;
Tho' wrong'd thy Genius, and thy Name misplac'd 240
By vain distinctions of faftidious Taste ;
Indignant Freedom, with just anger fir'd,
Shall guard the Poet whom herself inspir'd.
What tho' thy early, uncorrected page
Betrays fome marks of a degenerate age;
Tho' many a tumid point thy verse contains,
Like warts projecting from Herculean veins;
Tho' like thy CATO thy ftern Muse appear,
Her manners rigid, and her frown auftere;
Like him, ftill breathing Freedom's genuine flame, 250,
Juftice her idol, Public Good her aim,
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