44
EPISTLES.
She views with anguish on the Roman stage
The Grecian beauties weep, the warriors rage; 125
But most those scenes delight th' immortal maid
Which Scipio had revis'd and Roscius play'd.
Thence to the pleadings of the gown she goes,
(For Themis then could speak in polish'd prose)
Charm'd at the bar, amid th' attentive throng 130
She bless'd the Syren pow'r of Tully's tongue:
But when, Octavius! thy successful sword
Was sheath'd, and universal peace restor’d,
Fond of a monarch, to the court she came,
And chose a num'rous choir to chant his fame. 135
First from the green retreats and lowly plains
Her Virgil soar'd sublime in epic strains;
His theme so glorious, and his flight so true,
She with Mæonian garlands grac'd his brow;
Taught Horace then to touch the Lesbian lyre, 140
And Sappho's sweetness join'd with Pindar's fire.
By Cæsar's bounty all the tuneful train
Enjoy'd, and sung of Saturn's golden reign:
No genius then was left to live on praise,
Or curs'd the barren ornament of bays; 145
On all her sons he cast a kind regard,
Nor could they write so fast as he reward.
The Muse, industrious to record his name
In the bright annals of eternal fame,
Profuse of favours lavish'd, all her store, 150
And for one reign made many ages poor.
The Grecian beauties weep, the warriors rage; 125
But most those scenes delight th' immortal maid
Which Scipio had revis'd and Roscius play'd.
Thence to the pleadings of the gown she goes,
(For Themis then could speak in polish'd prose)
Charm'd at the bar, amid th' attentive throng 130
She bless'd the Syren pow'r of Tully's tongue:
But when, Octavius! thy successful sword
Was sheath'd, and universal peace restor’d,
Fond of a monarch, to the court she came,
And chose a num'rous choir to chant his fame. 135
First from the green retreats and lowly plains
Her Virgil soar'd sublime in epic strains;
His theme so glorious, and his flight so true,
She with Mæonian garlands grac'd his brow;
Taught Horace then to touch the Lesbian lyre, 140
And Sappho's sweetness join'd with Pindar's fire.
By Cæsar's bounty all the tuneful train
Enjoy'd, and sung of Saturn's golden reign:
No genius then was left to live on praise,
Or curs'd the barren ornament of bays; 145
On all her sons he cast a kind regard,
Nor could they write so fast as he reward.
The Muse, industrious to record his name
In the bright annals of eternal fame,
Profuse of favours lavish'd, all her store, 150
And for one reign made many ages poor.
