Mr. JOHN HUGHES,
ON HIS POEM, ENTITLED,
THE TRIUMPH OF PEACE.
INSPIR'D by what melodious HUGHES has fung,
I'll tune a lyre, that long has lain unftrung:
Awak'd from drowsy floth, and soothing rest,
Poetic transports fire my ravish'd breast!
What pleasure must retiring DRYDEN find,
To fee that art his fkilfu! Muse refin'd,
So much improv'd by thofe he leaves behind!
So when a father fees a careful fon
Enlarge thofe coffers, which were first his own,
With joy to heaven he lifts his aged eyes,
Bleffes his profperous heir, and calmly dies.
May all your fortune, like your numbers, shine,
And fmoothly flow, without one rugged line!
Till we confess the genius is the fame,
That guides your fortune, and poetic flame.
So when of old fome sportive amorous god
Vouchfaf'd awhile to leave his bleft abode,
In whatsoever form the guest appear'd,
His heavenly luftre fhone, and was rever'd,