The point to which our sweetest paffions move
Is, to be truly lov'd, and fondly love.

This is the charm that fmooths the troubled breaft,
Friend of our health, and author of our reft:
Bids every gloomy vexing paffion fly,
And tunes each jarring string to harmony.
Ev'n while I write, the name of Love inspires
More pleafing thoughts, and more enlivening fires;
Beneath his power my raptur'd fancy glows,
And every tender verfe more sweetly flows.
Dull is the privilege of living free;

Our hearts were never form'd for liberty:
Some beauteous image, well imprinted there,
Can beft defend them from confuming care.
In vain to groves and gardens we retire,
And Nature in her rural works admire;
Though grateful these, yet these but faintly charm;
They may delight us, but can never warm.
May fome fair eyes, my friend, thy bofom fire
With pleafing pangs of ever-gay defire;

And teach thee that soft science, which alone
Still to thy fearching mind refts flightly known!
Thy foul, though great, is tender and refin'd,
To friendship fenfible, to love inclin'd,
And therefore long thou canst not arm thy breast
Against the entrance of fo fweet a guest.
Hear what th' infpiring Mufes bid me tell,
For Heaven fhall ratify what they reveal :

"A chofen bride fhall in thy arms be plac'd,
With all th' attractive charms of beauty grac'd,

"Whofe

"Whofe wit and virtue shall thy own exprefs, "Diftinguish'd only by their fofter drefs:

Thy greatness she, or thy retreat, shall share; "Sweeten tranquillity, or foften care; "Her fmiles the tafte of every joy shall raise, "And add new pleasure to renown and praise; Till charm'd you own the truth my verfe would 66 prove,

"That happiness is near allied to love."

VERSE S

TO BE WRITTEN

UNDER A PICTURE OF

MR. POYNT Z.

UCH is thy form, O Poyntz, but who fhall find

SUCH

A hand, or colours, to exprefs thy mind?

A mind unmov'd by every vulgar fear,

In a falfe world that dares to be fincere ;
Wife without art; without ambition great;
Though firm, yet pliant; active, though fedate;
With all the richeft ftores of learning fraught,
Yet better still by native prudence taught;
That, fond the griefs of the diftreft to heal,
Can pity frailties it could never feel;

That, when Misfortune fued, ne'er fought to know
What fect, what party, whether friend or foe;
That, fix'd on equal virtue's temperate laws,
Defpifes calumny, and fhuns applaufe ;
That, to its own perfections fingly blind,
Would for another think this praise design'd.

AN

A N

EPISTLE TO MR. POPE.

FROM ROME, 1730.

MMORTAL bard! for whom each Muse has wove
The fairest garlands of th' Aonian grove;
Preferv'd our drooping genius to reftore,
When Addison and Congreve are no more;
After fo many stars extinct in night,
The darken'd age's laft remaining light!
To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ,
Infpir'd by memory of antient wit;

For now no more thefe climes their influence boaft,
Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue loft;
From tyrants, and from priefts, the Mufes fly,
Daughters of Reafon and of Liberty!

Nor Baïe now nor Umbria's plain they love,
Nor on the banks of Nar or Mincio rove;
To Thames's flowery borders they retire,
And kindle in thy breast the Roman fire.
So in the shades, where, chear'd with fummer rays,
Melodious linnets warbled sprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy Winter's unaufpicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful filence faddens all the grove.
Unhappy Italy! whofe alter'd ftate
Has felt the wort feverity of fate:,

Not

Not that barbarian hands her fafces broke,

And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke;
Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her cities defart, and her fields unfown;
But that her ancient spirit is decay'd,

That facred wisdom from her bounds is fled;
That there the fource of fcience flows no more,
Whence its rich ftreams fupplied the world before.
Illuftrious names! that once in Latium fhin'd,
Born to inftruct, and to command mankind;
Chiefs, by whofe virtue mighty Rome was rais'd,
And poets, who thofe chiefs fublimely prais'd;
Oft I the traces you have left explore,

Your ashes vifit, and your urns adore;

Oft kifs, with lips devout, fome mouldering ftone,
With ivy's venerable fhade o'ergrown ;
Those horrid ruins better pleas'd to see
Than all the pomp of modern luxury.

As late on Virgil's tomb fresh flowers I ftrow'd,
While with th' infpiring Muse my bofom glow'd,
Crown'd with eternal bays, my ravish'd eyes
Beheld the poet's awful form arife:

"Stranger, he faid, whofe pious hand has paid "Thefe grateful rites to my attentive fhade, "When thou shalt breathe thy happy native air, "To Pope this meffage from his master bear: "Great bard, whofe numbers I myself inspire, "To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre, If, high exalted on the throne of wit, "Near me and Homer thou afpire to fit,

"No

"No more let meaner fatire dim the rays
"That flow majestic from thy nobler bays;
"In all the flowery paths of Pindus ftray,

But fhun that thorny, that unpleafing way;: "Nor, when each foft engaging Mufe is thine, "Addrefs the leaft attractive of the Nine.

"Of thee more worthy were thy task, to raise "A lasting column to thy country's praise ; "To fing the land, which yet alone can boast "That liberty corrupted Rome has lost ;

"Where Science in the arms of Peace is laid, "And plants her palm beneath the olive's shade. "Such was the theme for which my lyre I ftrung, "Such was the people whofe exploits I fung; "Brave, yet refin'd, for arms and arts renown'd, "With different bays by Mars and Phoebus crown'd; "Dauntless oppofers of tyrannic sway,

"But pleas'd a mild Auguftus to obey.

"If these commands fubmiffive thou receive, "Immortal and unblam'd thy name shall live, "Envy to black Cocytus fhall retire; "And howl with Furies in tormenting fire;

66

Approving Time fhall confecrate thy lays, "And join the patriot's to the poet's praise."

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