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Fierce Junc storms amidst the blest abodes,
And Ituns with loud complaints the listening Gods.
When youthful * Turnus the stern combat claims,
His rising heart is fill'd with martial flames;
Impell’d by rage, and bent to prove his might,
His soul springs forward, and prevents the fight;
Rouz’d to revenge, his kindling spirits glow,
Confirm his challenge, and provoke the foe,
The fugitive of Troy.-But while his rage
And youthful courage prompts him to engage,
On Latium's king incumbent it appears,
Grown old in prudence, piety, and years,
To weigh events, and youthful heat affwage,
With the cold caution and the fears of age.
In Dido's various character is seen,
The furious lover and the gracious queen :
When Troy's fam'd chief, commanded from above,
Prepares to quit her kingdom, and her love ;
She raves, she storms with unavailing care,
Grown wild with grief, and frantic with despair.
Through every street she flies, with anguish ftung,
And broken accents Autter on her tongue ;
Her words confus'd and interrupted flow,
Speak and express the hurry of her woe.
How in this Dido is that Dido loft,
Who late receiv’d the Trojans on her coast,
And bade them banish grief, and share her throne,
Dismiss their fears, and think her realms their own !

* Ibid. Lib. XII. V. 9.

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great orators confult, and thence
Draw. all the moving turns of eloquence;
That * Sinon may his Phrygian foes betray,
And lead the crowd, as fraud directs the

way;
That wise + Ulysses'may the Greeks detain,
While Troy yet stood, from measuring back the main.
Need I name | Nestor, who could talk to peace,
With melting words, the factious kings of Greece ?
Whose loft address their fury could control,
Mould every passion, and subdue the soul !
These soothing arts to Venus sure were known,
To beg immortal arms-to grace her son ;
Her injur'd spouse each thrilling word inspires,
With every pang of love to second her defires.
With nicest art the fair adulteress draws
Her fond addresses from a distant cause ;
And all her guileful accents are design'd
To catch his passions, and ensnare his mind.
'Tis hence the poet learns in every part
To bend the soul, and give with wondrous art
A thousand different motions to the heart.
Hence, as his subject gay or fad appears,
He claims our joy, or triumphs in our tears.
Who, when he fees how $ Orpheus' forrows flow,
Weeps not his tears, and answers woe for woe?
When he his dear Eurydice deplores
To the deaf rocks, and folitary fhores ;
* Vid. Æneid. Lib. II. + Hom. Iliad. Lib. II.
| Æneid. Lib. VIII. v. 370. Iliad. Lib. I. vers. 246.
§ Virgil. Georgic. Lib. IV. v. 464.
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With the soft harp the bard relieves his pain,
For thee, when morning dawns, prolongs the strain,
For thee, when Phæbus seeks the seas again.
Or when the young * Eúryalus is killid,
And rolls in death along the bloody field ;
Like some fair flower beneath the share he lies,
His head declin'd, and drooping as he dies;
The reader's soul is touch'd with generous woe,
He longs to rush with Nisus on the foe;
He burns with friendly pity to the dead,
To raise the youth, and prop his sinking head;
And strives in vain to stop the gushing blood,
'That stains his bosom with a purple flood.

But if the bard such images pursues,
That raise the blushes of the Virgin-Muse;
Let them be slightly touch'd, and ne'er exprest,
Give but an hint, and let us guess the rest.
If Jove commands the gathering storms to rise,
And with deep thunders rends the vaulted skies,
To the same cave together may repair
The Trojan + hero and the Tyrian fair.
The poet's modesty must add no more ;
Enough, that earth had given the sign before;
The conscious æther was with fames o'erspread,
The nymphs ran Arieking round the mountain's head.
Nor let young Troilus, unhappy boy,
Meet fierce Achilles in the plains of Troy;

Æneid. Lib. IX. r. 433.

.

+ Ibid. Lib. IV. v. 165.

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But thew ti' unequal youth's untimely fall,
To great Æneas on the Tyrian wall;
Supine and hanging from his empty car,
Drag‘d by his panting coursers through the war.
This, from our bright examples you may trace,
To write with judgment, decency, and grace ;
From others learn invention to encrease,
And search in chief the glorious fons of Greece;
For her bright treasures Argos' realms explore,
Bring home triumphant all her gather'd store,
And with her spoils enrich the Latian More.
Nor is the glory of translation less, .
To give the Grecian bards a Roman dress,
If Phoebus' gracious smiles the labour crown,
Than if some new invention were your own.
Mincio's and Manto's glorious fon behold,
Th’immortal Virgil, sheath'd in foreign gold,
Shines out unsham'd, and towers above the rest,
In the rich spoils of godlike Horner drest.
Let Greece in triumph boast that the imparts
To Latium's conquering realms her glorious arts ;
While Latium's sons improve her best designs,
Till by degrees each polith'd labour lines,
While Rome advances now in arts, as far
above all cities, as of old in war.

Ye Gods of Rome, ye guardian deities,
Who lift our nation's glory to the skies;
And thou, Apollo, the great source of Troy,
Let Rome at least this single palm enjoy,

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To shine in arts fupreme, as once in power,
And teach the nations the fubdued before ;
Since discord all Ausonia's kings alarms,
And clouds the antient glories of her arms.
In our own breasts we feath the civil sword,
Our country naked to a foreign lord ;
Which lately, prostrate, started from despair,
Burn’d with new hopes, and arm'd her hands for war;
But arm'd in vain; -th' inexorable hate
Of envious Fortune call'd her to her fate,
Insatiate in her rage ; her frowns oppofe
The Latian fame, and woes are heap'd on woes.
Our dread alarms each foreign monarch took,
Through all their tribes the distant nation's thook ;
To earth's last bounds the fame of Leo runs,
Nile heard, and Indus trembled for his sons.
Arabia heard the Medicean line,
The first of men, and sprung from race divine.
The sovereign priest, and mitred king, appears
With his lov'd Julius join'd, who kindly shares
The reins of empire, and the public cares.
To break their country's chains, the generous pair
Concert their schemes, and meditate the war.
On Leo Europe's monarchs turn their eyes,
On him alone the western world relies ;
And each bold chief attends his dread alarms,
While the proud crescent fades before his arms.
High on his splendid car, immortal Rome,
Thine eyes had seen the holy warrior come,
Lord of the vanquilh d world, in triumph home.

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