Sidor som bilder
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To MR. DRY DEN,

ON HIS

EXCELLENT TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL.

WH

HENE’ER great Virgil's lofty verse I fee,

The pompous scene charms my admiring eye :
There different beauties in perfection meet ;
The thoughts as proper, as the numbers fweet :
And when wild Fancy mounts a daring height,
Judgment steps in, and moderates her flight.
Wisely he manages his wealthy store,
Still says enough, and yet implies still more :
For though the weighty sense be closely wrought,
The reader's left t’improve the pleasing thought.

Hence we despair to see an English dress
Should e'er his nervous energy express ;
For who could that in fetter'd rhyme inclose,
Which without loss can scarce be told in prose!

But you, great Sir, his manly genius raise ;
And make your copy share an equal praise.
Oh how I see thee in soft scenes of love,
Renew those passions he alone could move!
Here Cupid's charms are with new-art expreít,
And pale Eliza leaves her peaceful rest:

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Leaves her Elysium, as if glad to live,
To love, and wish, to sigh, despair, and grieve,
And die again for him that would again deceive.
Nor does the mighty Trojan less appear
Than Mars himself amidst the storms of war.
Now his fierce eyes with double fury glow,
And a new dread attends th’impending blow :
The Daunian chiefs their eager rage abate,
And, though unwounded, seem to feel their fate.

Long the rude fury of an ignorant age,
With barbarous fpite, prophan'd his sacred page.
The heavy Dutchmen, with laborious toil,
Wrested his sense, and cramp'd his vigorous style ;
No time, no pains, the drudging pedants spare ;
But still his shoulders must the burden bear.
While through the mazes of their comments led,
We learn not what he writes, but what they read.
Yet, through these shades of undistinguish'd night
Appear’d some glimmering intervals of light ;
Till mangled by a vile translating feet,
Like babes by witches in effigy rackt;
Till Ogleby, mature in dulness, rose,
And Holborn doggrel, and low chiming prose,
His strength and beauty did at once depose.
But now the magic spell is at an end,
Since ev’n the dead in you hath found a friend ;
You free the Bard from rude oppressors' power,

his verfe with charms unknown before : He, doubly thus oblig'd, must doubting stand, Which chiefly should his gratitude command;

Whether

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And grace

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