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ET others boast the nine Aonian maids,
Inspiring streams, and sweet resounding shades;
Where Phæbus heard the rival bards rehearse,
And bade the Laurels learn the lofty verse.
In vain ! Nor Phæbus, nor the boasted Nine,
Inflame the raptur'd soul with rays divine :
None but the Fait infuse the facred fire,
And love with vocal art informs the lyre.
When Waller, kindling with cæleftial rage,
Viewd the bright Harley of that wond’ring age,
His pleasing pain he taught the lute to breath;
The Graces fung, and wove his myrtle wreath.
In youth, of patrimonial wealth poffeft,
The praife of science faintly warm'd his breast :
But, fir’d to fame by Sidney's rofy smile,
Swift o'er the laureat realm he urg'd his toil.
His Muse, by nature form’d to please the Fair,
Or fing of Heroes with majestic air,
To melting strains attun'd her voice, and Atrove
To waken all the tender Pow'rs of love :
More fweetly soft her awful beauty shone,
Than Juno grac'd with Cytherea's zone.
As Angels love, congenial fouls unite
Their radiance, and refine each other's light,
The florid, and sublime, the grave, and gay,
From WALIER's beams imbibe a purer ray:
Illumin'd thence in equal Lays to bound
Their copious fenfe, and harmonize the found;
With varied Notes the curious ear to please,
And turn a nervous thought with artful ease.
Maker, and model, of melodious verse!
Accept these votive honors at thy herse,
W ile I with filial awe attempt thy praise,
Infuse thy Genius, and my fancy raise !
So, warbling o'er his urn, the woodland choirs
To Orpheus pay the song his Shade inspires,
In WALLER's fame, O fairest HARLEY! view What verdant palms shall owe their birth to You. To you
what deathless charms are thence decreed, In Sachariffa's fate vouchsafe to read. Secure beneath the wing of with’ring Time. Her beauties flourish in Ambrosial prime:
Still kindling rapture, see! The moves in state ;
Gods, Nymphs, and Heroes, on her triumph wait.
Nor think the lover's praise of love's delight
In purest minds may stain the virgin-white :
How bright, and chaste, the Poet and his Theme
So Cynthia shines on Arethusa’s stream.
A fainted Virtue to the spheres may fing
Those strains, that ravish'd here the Martyr-King.
Plenteous of native wit, in letter'd ease
Politely form'd, to profit and to please,
To Fame whate'er was due he gave to Fame ;
And, what he could not praise, forgot to name :
Thus Eden's rose without a thorn display'd
Her blooin, and in a fragrant blush decay'd.
Such foul-attracting airs were fung of old, When blissful years in golden circles rolld: Pure from deceit, devoid of fear and strife, While love was all the pensive care of life, The fwains in green retreats, with flourets crown'd, Taught the young groves their passion to resound : Pancy pursu'd the paths where beauty led, To please the living, or deplore the dead. While to their warbled woe the rocks reply'd, The rills remurmur'd, and the Zephyrs sigh’ds From death redeem'd by verse, the vanilh'd Fair Breath'd in a flow'r, or sparkled in a star. A 3
Bright as the stars, and fragrant as the flow'rs
Where Spring resides in soft Elysian bow'rs ;
While these the bow'rs adorn, and they the sphere,
Will Sacharissa's charms in fong appear.
Yet, in the present age, her radiant name
Must take a dimmer interval of fame ;
When You to full meridian lustre rife,
With Morton's shape, and Gloriana's eyes ;
With Carlisle's wit, her gesture, and her mien ;
And, like seraphic Rich, with zeal serene :
In sweet assemblage all their graces join'd
To language, mode, and manners, more refin'd !
That Angel-frame, with chaste attraction gay,
Mild as the dove ey'd Morn awakes the May,
Of noblest youths will reign the public care,
Their joy, their with, their wonder, and despair.
Far-beaming thence what bright ideas flow!
The fifter-arts with sudden rapture glow :
Her Titian tints the Painter-nymph resumes;
The canvas warm with roseate beauty blooms :
Inspir'd with life by Sculpture's happy toil.
The marble breathes, and softens with your smile:
Proud to receive the form, by fate design'd
The faireft model of the fairer kind.
But hear, O hear the Muse's heav'nly voice!
The waving woods, and echoing vales rejoice:
Attend, re gales! to Margareta's praite;
And all ye list niag Loves record ibe Lays!