ET others boaft the nine Aonian maids,
Infpiring ftreams, and fweet refounding fhades;
Where Phœbus heard the rival bards rehearse,
And bade the Laurels learn the lofty verfe.
In vain! Nor Phœbus, nor the boafted Nine,
Inflame the raptur'd foul with rays divine:
None but the Fair infufe the facred fire,
And love with vocal art informs the lyre.
When WALLER, kindling with cœleftial rage,
View'd 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 breaft:
But, fir'd to fame by SIDNEY'S rofy fmile,
Swift o'er the laureat realm he urg'd his toil,
His Mufe, by nature form'd to please the Fair,
Or fing of Heroes with majeftic air,
To melting ftrains attun'd her voice, and ftrove
To waken all the tender Pow'rs of love :
More fweetly foft her awful beauty fhone,
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 WALLER'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 verfe !
Accept these votive honors at thy herse.
While I with filial awe attempt thy praise,
Infuse thy Genius, and my fancy raife!
So, warbling o'er his urn, the woodland choirs
To Orpheus pay the fong his Shade infpires.
In WALLER'S fame, O fairest HARLEY! view
What verdant palms shall owe their birth to You.
Το
you what deathlefs charms are thence decreed,
In Sachariffa's fate vouchfafe to read.
Secure beneath the wing of with'ring Time.
Her beauties flourish in Ambrofial prime:
Still kindling rapture, fee! fhe moves in ftate;
Gods, Nymphs, and Heroes, on her triumph wait.
Nor think the lover's praife of love's delight
In pureft minds may ftain the virgin-white :
How bright, and chafte, the Poet and his Theme
So Cynthia fhines on Arethula's stream.
A fainted Virtue to the fpheres 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 rofe without a thorn display'd
Her bloom, and in a fragrant blush decay'd.
Such foul-attracting airs were fung of old, When blissful years in golden circles roll'd Pure from deceit, devoid of fear and strife, While love was all the penfive care of life, The fwains in green retreats, with flourets crown'd, Taught the young groves their paffion to refound: Fancy purfu'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 figh'd; From death redeem'd by verfe, the vanish'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 refides in foft Elyfian bow'rs;
While these the bow'rs adorn, and they the sphere,
Will Sachariffa's charms in fong appear.
Yet, in the prefent age, her radiant name
Must take a dimmer interval of fame
When You to full meridian luftre rife,
With Morton's fhape, and Gloriana's eyes;
With Carlisle's wit, her gesture, and her mien;
And, like feraphic Rich, with zeal ferene:
In fweet affemblage all their graces join'd
To language, mode, and manners, more refin'd!
That Angel-frame, with chafte attraction gay,
Mild as the dove ey'd Morn awakes the May,
Of nobleft youths will reign the public care,
Their joy, their wish, their wonder, and despair.
Far-beaming thence what bright ideas flow!
The fifter-arts with fudden rapture glow :
Her Titian tints the Painter-nymph resumes;
The canvas warm with roseate beauty blooms:
Infpir'd with life by Sculpture's happy toil.
The marble breathes, and softens with your
Proud to receive the form, by fate defign'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, ye gales! 'to Margareta's praife;
And all ye lift'ning Loves record the Lays!
|