72
Epistles.
Let others boast the Nine Aonian maids,
Inspiring streams, and sweet resounding shades,
Where Phœbus heard the rival bards rehearse,
And bade the laurels learn the lofty verse:
In vain! nor Phœbus nor the boasted Nine 5
Inflame the raptur'd soul with rays divine:
None but the fair infuse the sacred fire,
And love with vocal art informs the lyre.
When Waller, kindling with celestial rage,
View'd the bright Harley of that wond'ring age, 10
His pleasing pain he taught the lute to breathe,
The Graces sung, and wove his myrtle wreath.
In youth, of patrimonial wealth possest,
The praise of science faintly warm'd his breast,
But sir'd to fame by Sidney's rosy smile, 15
Swift o'er the laureat realms he urg'd his toil.
His Muse, by Nature form'd to please the fair,
Or sing of heroes with majestic air,
To melting strains attun'd her voice, and strove
To waken all the tender pow'rs of love; 20
More sweetly soft her awful beauty shone
Than Juno grac'd with Cytherea's zone.
Inspiring streams, and sweet resounding shades,
Where Phœbus heard the rival bards rehearse,
And bade the laurels learn the lofty verse:
In vain! nor Phœbus nor the boasted Nine 5
Inflame the raptur'd soul with rays divine:
None but the fair infuse the sacred fire,
And love with vocal art informs the lyre.
When Waller, kindling with celestial rage,
View'd the bright Harley of that wond'ring age, 10
His pleasing pain he taught the lute to breathe,
The Graces sung, and wove his myrtle wreath.
In youth, of patrimonial wealth possest,
The praise of science faintly warm'd his breast,
But sir'd to fame by Sidney's rosy smile, 15
Swift o'er the laureat realms he urg'd his toil.
His Muse, by Nature form'd to please the fair,
Or sing of heroes with majestic air,
To melting strains attun'd her voice, and strove
To waken all the tender pow'rs of love; 20
More sweetly soft her awful beauty shone
Than Juno grac'd with Cytherea's zone.
