Him with her love propitious SATIRE blest:
And breath'd her airs divine into his breast;
Fancy and sense to form his line conspire,
And faultless judgment guides the purest fire.
But see, at length, the British Genius smile,
And show'r her bounties o'er her favor'd isle:
Behold for POPE she twines the laurel crown,
And centers every poet's power in one:
Each Roman's force adorns his various page;
Gay smiles, collected strength, and manly rage.
Despairing Guilt and Dulness loath the sight,
As spectres vanish at approaching light:
In this clear mirror with delight we view
Each image justly fine, and boldly true:
Here Vice, dragg'd forth by Truth's supreme de cree,
Beholds and hates her own deformity;
While self-seen Virtue in the faithful line
With modest joy surveys her form divine.
But oh, what thoughts, what numbers shall I find,
But faintly to express the Poet's mind!
Who yonder star's effulgence can display,
Unless he dip his pencil in the ray?
Who paint a God, unless the God inspire?
What catch the lightning, but the speed of fire }
So, mighty POPE, to make thy genius known,
All pow'r is weak, all numbers-but thy own.
Each Muse for thee with kind contention strove,
For thee the Graces left th' IDALIAN grove:
With watchful fondness o'er thy cradle hung,
Attun'd thy voice, and form'd thy infant tongue,
Next, to her bard majestic Wisdom came;
The bard enraptur'd caught the heav'nly flame:
With taste superior scorn'd the venal tribe;
Whom fear can sway, or guilty greatness bribe;
At fancy's call who rear the wanton sail,
Sport with the stream, and trifle in the gale:
Sublimer views thy daring spirit bound;
Thy mighty voyage was creation's round;
Intent new worlds of wisdom to explore,
And bless mankind with Virtue's sacred store;
A nobler joy than wit can give, impart ;
And pour a moral transport o'er the heart.
Fantastic wit shoots momentary fires,
And like a meteor, while we gaze, expires:
Wit kindled by the sulph'rous breath of Vice,
Like the blue lightning, while it shines, destroys:
But Genius, fir'd by Truth's eternal ray,
Burns clear and constant, like the source of day:
Like this, its beam prolific and refin'd
Feeds, warms, inspirits, and exalts the mind;
Mildly dispels each wint'ry passion's gloom,
And opens all the virtues into bloom.
This praise, immortal POPE, to thee be given:
Thy genius was indeed a gift from heav'n.
Hail, Bard unequall'd, in whose deathless line
Reason and wit with strength collected shine:
Where matchless wit but wins the second praise,
Lost, nably lost, in Truth's superior blaze.
Did FRIENDSHIP e'er mislead thy wand'ring Muse?
That friendship sure may plead the great excuse,
That sacred friendship which inspir'd thy song,
Fair in defect, and amiably wrong.
Error like this ev'n truth can scarce reprove;
'Tis almost virtue when it flows from love.
Ye deathless Names, ye sons of endless praise,
By virtue crown'd with never-fading bays!
Say, shall an artless Muse, if you inspire,
Light her pale lamp at your immortal fire?
Or if, O WARBURTON, inspir'd by You,
The daring Muse a nobler path pursue,
By You inspir'd, on trembling pinion soar,
The sacred founts of social bliss explore,
In her bold numbers chain the tyrant's rage,
And bid her country's glory fire her page:
If such her fate, do thou, fair Truth, descend,
And watchful guard her in an honest end;
Kindly severe, instruct her equal line
To court no friend, nor own a foe but thine.
But if her giddy eye should vainly quit
Thy sacred paths, to run the maze of wit;
If her apostate heart should e'er incline
To offer incense at Corruption's shrine;
Urge, urge thy pow'r, the black attempt confound,
And dash the smoking censer to the ground.
Thus aw'd to fear, instructed Bards may see,
That guilt is doom'd to sink in infamy.
LET observation with extensive view,
Survey mankind, from China to Peru;
Remark each anxious toil, each eager strife,
And watch the busy scenes of crowded life;
Then say how hope and fear, desire and hate,
O'erspread with snares the clouded maze of fate,
Where wav'ring man, betray'd by vent❜rous pride
To tread the dreary paths without a guide;
As treach'rous phantoms in the mist delude,
Shuns fancied ills, or chases airy good;
How rarely reason guides the stubborn choice,
Rules the bold hand, or prompts the suppliant voice;
How nations sink, by darling schemes oppress'd,
When vengeance listens to the fool's request.
Fate wings with every wish th' afflictive dart,
Each gift of nature, and each grace of art;
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