Had more of strength, diviner rage,

Than all which charms this laggard age,

Even all at once together found

Cecilia's mingled world of sound

O bid our vain endeavours cease,

Revive the just designs of Greece,

Return in all thy simple state!

Confirm the tales her sons relate!

AN EPISTLE,

ADDRESSED TO SIR THOMAS HANMER,

ON HIS

EDITION OF SHAKSPEARE'S WORKS.

WHILE born to bring the Muse's happier days,

A patriot's hand protects a poet's lays,

While nurs'd by you she sees her myrtles bloom,

Green and unwither'd o'er his honour'd tomb:

Excuse her doubts, if yet she fears to tell

Fair Fancy wept; and echoing sighs confess'd
A fixt despair in every tuneful breast.
Not with more grief th' afflicted swains appear,
When wintry winds deform the plenteous year;
When lingering frosts the ruin'd seats invade,
Where Peace resorted, and the Graces play'd.

Each rising art by just gradation moves,

Toil builds on toil, and age on age improves :
The Muse alone unequal dealt her rage,

And grac'd with noblest pomp her earliest stage.
Preserv'd thro' time, the speaking scenes impart

Each changeful wish of Phædra's tortur'd heart:

Or paint the curse that mark'd the * Theban's reign, A bed incestuous, and a father slain.

* The Œdipus of Sophocles.

With kind concern our pitying eyes o'erflow,

Trace the sad tale, and own another's woe.

To Rome remov'd, with wit secure to please,
The comic sisters kept their native ease.
With jealous fear declining Greece beheld
Her own Menander's art almost excell'd!
But every Muse essay'd to raise in vain
Some labour'd rival of her tragic strain;

Ilyssus' laurels, tho' transferr'd with toil,

Droop'd their fair leaves, nor knew th' unfriendly soil.

As arts expir'd resistless Dullness rose ;

Goths, priests, or Vandals,-all were learning's foes.

Till Julius first recall'd each exil'd maid,

And Cosmo own'd them in th' Etrurian shade:

* Julius II. the immediate predecessor of Leo X.

Then deeply skill'd in love's engaging theme,
The soft Provençal pass'd to Arno's stream:
With graceful ease the wanton lyre he strung,
Sweet flow'd the lays-but love was all he sung.
The gay description could not fail to move;
For, led by nature, all are friends to love.

But Heaven, still various in its works, decreed The perfect boast of time should last succeed. The beauteous union must appear at length, Of Tuscan fancy, and Athenian strength:

One greater Muse Eliza's reign adorn,

And even a Shakspeare to her fame be born!

Yet, ah! so bright her morning's opening ray,

In vain our Britain hop'd an equal day!