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TO MR. BOWRING,
ON HIS POETICAL TRANSLATIONS FROM VARIOUS LANGUAGES.
Bowring, the music of thy polished strains
Through every tongue its equal power sustains.
To the rude Russ it gives a softer touch,
It melts to mellower sounds the homely Dutch,
With bloodless conquest from each land it bears
The precious spoil of long-recorded years;
And, pleased its holy ardour to diffuse,
With thy own spirit sanctifies the Muse.
Thus, in some window's deep recesses laid,
The soft ^Eolian harp its power displayed,
From the shrill east wind and the stormy north
It drew soft airs and gentle breathings forth;
