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Hush'd the rude roav of discord, rage, and lust,
Is this the queen of realms! the glorious isle,
And shall a Bufo's most polluted name
Drivelling and dull, when crawls the reptile Muse, Swoln from the sty, and rankling from the stews, With envy, spleen, and pestilence replete, And gorged with dust- she lick'd from Treason's feet: Who once, like Satan, raised to Heaven her sight, But turn'd abhorrent from the hated light:— O'er such a Muse shall wreaths of glory bloom? No—shame and execration be her doom.
Hard-fated Bufo ! could not dulness save Thy soul from sin, from infamy thy grave? Blackmore and Quarles, those blockheads of renown, Lavish'd their ink, but never harm'd the town. Though this, thy brother in discordant song, Harass'd the ear, and cramp'd the laboxiring tongue: And that, like thee, taught staggering prose to stand, And limp on stilts of rhyme around the land.
Harmless they dozed a scribbling life away,
Did hate to vice exasperate thy style?
Nor yet, though thousand cits admire thy rage, Though less of fool than felon marks thy page: Nor yet, though here and there one lonely spark Of wit half brightens through th' involving dark, To shew the gloom more hideous for the foil, But not repay the drudging reader's toil; (For who for one poor pearl of clouded ray Through Alpine dunghills delves his desperate way?) Did genius to thy verse such bane impart? No. 'Twas the demon of thy venom'd heart (Thy heart with rancour's quintessence endued), And the blind zeal of a misjudging crowd.
Thus from rank soil a poison'd mushroom sprung,
O had thy verse been impotent as dull,
When frailty leads astray the soul sincere,
THE JUDGMENT OF PARIS.
(Published m 17650 FAR in the depth of Ida's inmost grove, A scene for love am. solitude design'd; Where flowery woodbines wild by Nature wove Form'd the lone bower, the royal swain reclined. U.
All up the craggy cliffs, that tower'd to Heaven,
Save where, fair opening to the beam of even,
Echo'd the vale with many a cheerful note;
The lowing of the herds resounded long, The shriling pipe, and mellow horn remote
And social clamours of the festive throng.
For now, low hovering o'er the western main,
The Sun with ruddier verdure deckt the plain;
And lakes and streams, aud spires triumphal shone.
And many a band of ardent youths were seen;
Some into rapture fired by glory's charms, Or hurl'd the thundering car along the green,
Or march'd embattled on in glittering arms.
Others more mild, in happy leisure gay,
The darkening forest's lonely gloom explore,
Or by Scamander's flowery margin stray,
But chief the eye to Ilion's glories turn'd,
That gleam'd along th' extended champaign far,
And buhvarks in terrific pomp adorn'd,
Where Peace sat smiling at the frowns of War.
Rich in the spoils of many a subject-clime,
Tower'd 'mid th' encircling grove the fane sublime;
Who from the black and bloody cavern led
The savage stein, and sooth'd his boisterous breast j
Who spoke, and Science rear'd her radiant head,
Or, greatly daring in his country's cause,
Whose heaven taught sou] the awful plan design'd,
Whence Power stood trembling at the voice of Laws;
But not the pomp that royalty displays,
Nor Virtue's triumph of immortal praise
Could rouse the languor of the lingering boy.
Abandon'd all to soft Enone's charms.
Inglorious lull'd in Love's dissolving arms,
While flutes lascivious breathed th' enfeebling lay.
To trim the ringlets of his scented hair;
To aim, insidious, Love's bewitching glance; Or cull fresh garlands for the gaudy fair,
Or wanton loose in the voluptuous dance:
These were his arts ; these won Enone's love,
Ah why should Beauty's smile those arts approve,
Now laid at large beside a murmuring spring,
Melting he listen'd to the vernal song, And Echo, listening, waved her airy wing,
While the deep winding dales the lays prolong.
When slowly floating down the azure skies
Whose skirls gay sparkling with unnumber'd dies
That instant hush'd was all the vocal grove,
And strains aerial, warbling far above,