EPISTLES.
39
But love blooms ever fresh beneath your charms,
Tho' neither pity weeps nor kindness warms. 10
The chiefs who doubt success assert their claim
By stratagems, and poorly steal a name:
The gen'rous son of Jove[1] in open fight
Made bleeding Victory proclaim his might:
Like him resistless, when you take the field
Love sounds the signal, and the world must yield. 16
Tho' neither pity weeps nor kindness warms. 10
The chiefs who doubt success assert their claim
By stratagems, and poorly steal a name:
The gen'rous son of Jove[1] in open fight
Made bleeding Victory proclaim his might:
Like him resistless, when you take the field
Love sounds the signal, and the world must yield. 16
Bold is the Muse to leave her humble cell
And sing to thee, who know'st to sing so well;
Thee! who to Britain still preserv'st the crown,
And mak'st her rival Athens in renown.
Could Sophocles behold in mournful state 5
The weeping Graces on Imoinda wait,
Or hear thy Isabella's moving moan,
Distress'd and lost for vices not her own;
If envy could permit, he'd sure agree
To write by nature were to copy thee; 10
So full, so fair, thy images are shown,
He by thy pencil might improve his own.
And sing to thee, who know'st to sing so well;
Thee! who to Britain still preserv'st the crown,
And mak'st her rival Athens in renown.
Could Sophocles behold in mournful state 5
The weeping Graces on Imoinda wait,
Or hear thy Isabella's moving moan,
Distress'd and lost for vices not her own;
If envy could permit, he'd sure agree
To write by nature were to copy thee; 10
So full, so fair, thy images are shown,
He by thy pencil might improve his own.
- ↑ Alexander.
