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Whether should claim the tribute of his heart,
Alike with wonder and delight we view’d
you could scarce perform, or we durst ask :
“ O had Roscommon liv'd to hail the day, “ And sing loud Pæans through the crowded way; “ When you in Roman majesty appear, “ Which none know better, and none come so near :" The happy author would with wonder see, His rules were only prophecies of thee : And were he now to give translators light, He'd bid them only read thy work, and write.
For this great task our loud applause is due;
Th’expecting world demands one labour more;
To right his injur'd works, and set them free
To MR. DR Y D E N,
TRANSLATION OF VIRGIL.
The Prophet and the Poet could inspire ;
To grace my numbers, and that Mufe to aid,
Long, long his Muse has groan'd beneath the weight Of mangling Ogleby's presumptuous quill.
And while his Muse endeavours to disclose
In your smooth, pompous numbers drest, each line, Each thought, betrays such a majestic touch ;
He could not, had he finish'd his design, Have wish'd it better, or have done so much.
You, like his Hero, though yourself were free; And disentangled from the war of wit ;
You, who secure might other dangers see, And safe from all malicious censures sit.
Yet because sacred Virgil's noble Mufe, O’erlay'd by fools, was ready to expire :
To risk your fame again, you boldly chuse, Or to redeem, or periíh with your fire.
Ev'n first and last, we owe him half to you, For that his Æneids miss'd their threatned fate,
Was---that his friends by fome prediction knew, Hereafter, who correcting should translate.
But hold, my Muse, thy needless flight restrain, Unless, like him, thou couldít a verse indite :
To think his fancy to describe is vain, Since nothing can discover light, but light.
'Tis want of genius that does more deny: 'Tis fear my praise should make your glory less.
And therefore, like the modest Painter, I Muft draw the veil, where I cannot express.
TO MR. DR Y DE N.
N undisputed Monarch govern’d yet
With universal sivay the realms of wit;
mind. The different powers were then united found, And you
Wit's universal monarch crown'd.
Your mighty fway your great defert secures,
every Muse and every Grace is yours,
H. ST. JOHN.
To MR. DR Y DE N,
V I R
G I L.
TIS said that Phidias gave such living grace
To the carv'd image of a beauteous face,
You pass’d that artist, Sir, and all his powers,