Leaves her Elyfium, as if glad to live,

To love, and wish, to figh, despair, and grieve,
And die again for him that would again deceive.
Nor does the mighty Trojan less appear

Than Mars himself amidft the ftorms 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, feem to feel their fate.
Long the rude fury of an ignorant age,

With barbarous fpite, prophan'd his facred page.
The heavy Dutchmen, with laborious toil,
Wrefted his fenfe, and cramp'd his vigorous style;
No time, no pains, the drudging pedants fpare;
But ftill his fhoulders 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 fome glimmering intervals of light;
Till mangled by a vile tranflating fect,
Like babes by witches in effigy rackt;
Till Ogleby, mature in dulness, rose,
And Holborn doggrel, and low chiming profe,
His ftrength and beauty did at once depose.
But now the magic fpell is at an end,

Since ev'n the dead in you hath found a friend;
You free the Bard from rude oppreffors' power,
And grace his verfe with charms unknown before:
He, doubly thus oblig'd, must doubting stand,
Which chiefly fhould his gratitude command;

}

}

Whether

Whether fhould claim the tribute of his heart,
The Patron's bounty, or the Poet's art.

Alike with wonder and delight we view'd
The Roman genius in thy verse renew'd :
We faw thee raise foft Ovid's amorous fire,
And fit the tuneful Horace to thy lyre:
We faw new gall imbitter Juvenal's pen,
And crabbed Perfeus made politely plain :
Virgil alone was thought too great a task ;
What you could scarce perform, or we durft ask :
A tafk! which Waller's Mufe could ne'er engage;
A task! too hard for Denham's ftronger rage:
Sure of fuccefs they some flight fallies try'd,
But the fenc'd coaft their bold attempts defy'd.
With fear their o'er-match'd forces back they drew,
Quitted the province Fate referv'd for you.
In vain thus Philip did the Perfians storm;
A work his fon was deftin'd to perform.

"O had Rofcommon liv'd to hail the day, "And fing loud Pæans through the crowded way; "When you in Roman majesty appear,

"Which none know better, and none come fo near:
The happy author would with wonder see,
His rules were only prophecies of thee:
And were he now to give tranflators light,
He'd bid them only read thy work, and write.
For this great task our loud applause is due ;
We own old favours, but muft prefs for new:
Th' expecting world demands one labour more;
And thy lov'd Homer does thy aid implore,

To right his injur'd works, and set them free
From the lewd rhymes of groveling Ogleby.
Then shall his verfe in grateful pomp appear,
Nor will his birth renew the ancient jar;
On thofe Greek cities we fhall look with fcorn,
And in our Britain think the Poet born.

To MR.

DRYDEN,

ON HIS

TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL.

I.

WE read, how dreams and vifions heretofore

The Prophet and the Poet could inspire;

And make them in unusual rapture foar, With rage divine, and with poetic fire.

II.

O could I find it now ;---Would Virgil's shade But for a while vouchfafe to bear the light;

To grace my numbers, and that Muse to aid, Who fings the Poet that has done him right.

III.

It long has been this facred Author's fate,

To lie at every dull Tranflator's will ;

Long, long his Mufe has groan'd beneath the weight Of mangling Ogleby's prefumptuous quill.

IV.

Dryden, at laft, in his defence arofe;

The father now is righted by the fon :

And while his Mufe endeavours to difclofe That Poet's beauties, she declares her own.

V.

In your smooth, pompous numbers drest, each line,
Each thought, betrays such a majestic touch;
He could not, had he finish'd his defign,
Have wish'd it better, or have done fo much.

VI.

You, like his Hero, though yourself were free;

And difentangled from the war of wit;

You, who fecure might other dangers fee, And fafe from all malicious cenfures fit.

VII.

Yet because facred Virgil's noble Muse,
O'erlay'd by fools, was ready to expire:
To risk your fame again, you boldly chufe,
Or to redeem, or perish with your fire.

VIII.

Ev'n first and laft, we owe him half to you,
For that his Eneids mifs'd their threatned fate,
Was---that his friends by fome prediction knew,
Hereafter, who correcting should translate.

IX.

But hold, my Muse, thy needlefs flight restrain,

Unless, like him, thou couldft a verfe indite :
To think his fancy to describe is vain,
Since nothing can discover light, but light.

X.

'Tis want of genius that does more deny : 'Tis fear my praise should make your glory lefs. And therefore, like the modest Painter, I Muft draw the veil, where I cannot express.

HENRY GRAHME.

To MR. DRYDE N.

O undifputed Monarch govern'd yet
With univerfal fway the realms of wit;
Nature could never such expence afford;
Each feveral province own'd a feveral lord.
A Poet then had his poetic wife,

One Mufe embrac'd, and married for his life.
By the stale thing his appetite was cloy'd,
His fancy leffen'd, and his fire destroy'd.
But nature grown extravagantly kind,
With all her treasures did adorn your mind.
The different powers were then united found,
And
you Wit's univerfal monarch crown'd.

Your