Where erst, when winter's stormy reign began, And the wave redden'd, as the hunter bled. F. Cease, cease to dream. The golden age is o'er, When kings were shepherds, and when gods were swains, No cities now dispute the sacred earth, Which haply gave some favour'd poet birth; To judge with critics, or unbend with wits: The world's great master might sweet verse admire, Be wise, my friend, the useless lyre resign, Forget Parnassus, and forsake the Nine. Your Persius too, austere, though beardless sage, His moral rules, his stiff ungracious air, But ever grave, decisive, and severe, Scorns Folly's smile, nor asks for Pity's tear. P. Unused to courts, nor sprung from flattery's womb, The Muse beloved by Liberty and Rome, Satire, stern maid, no adulation knows, No weak respect for empty grandeur shows; But, bold as free, brands purple Vice with shame, And old Silenus sung the joys of wine. At length with skill great Ennius struck the lyre, And ere he chid, was master of the heart: Th' Aquinian brook'd no compromise with crime: Late as I slumber'd in yon woodbine bower, And Fancy ruled the visionary hour; Methought, conducted by an unknown hand, I roam'd delighted o'er Liguria's land; Beheld its forests spread before my eyes, Its fanes, its palaces, its temples rise : When lo, the sun-burnt Genius of the soil, Ruddy his cheek, his arm inured to toil, Before me walk'd, and to a gloomy shade, O'ergrown with herbage wild, my steps convey'd ; Clear'd the rude path, and with his beechen spear Show'd where a laurel, half conceal'd, grew near. "Behold that tree," he cried," neglected pine, "Hang its green bays, its drooping head decline; "The Muses bade it for their Persius bloom, "O'ershade his ashes, and adorn his tomb. Rapt Meditation oft by moonlight eve, "To wander here, a world unloved would leave, "Self-communing: here patient Grief would fly, "In this fair spot to gather earthly flowers. "But envious thorns, that none its worth might see, Sprang from the ground to hide this beauteous tree; "Haste then, O stranger, to this place draw nigh, "To kill the brambles, lest the laurel die." Straight, as he spake, methought an axe I seized, (For Fancy smiled, and with the work was pleased.) Already the rude wilderness was clear'd, And the green laurel full in view appear'd; When his dark wings retiring Morpheus spread, And the loved vision with my slumbers fled. |