In some far diftant region of this globe
Sequester'd stalk, with lifted head on high
O'ertowering Atlas, on whose shoulders rest
The stars, terrific even to the gods.

Never the Theban feer, whose blindness proved His beft illumination, him beheld

In fecret vifion; never him the son

Of Pleione, amid the noiseless night
Descending, to the prophet-choir reveal'd;
Him never knew the Affyrian priest, who
The ancestry of Ninus' chronicles,
And Belus, and Ofiris, far renown'd;

yet

Nor even thrice great Hermes, although skill'd
So deep in mystery, to the worshippers
Of Ifis fhow'd a prodigy like him.

And thou, who hast immortalized the shades

Of Academus, if the fchools received

This monster of the fancy firft from thee,

Either recall at once the banifh'd bards
To thy republic, or thyself, evinced
A wilder fabulift, go alfo forth.

TO HIS FATHER.

H that Pieria's spring would through my

breaft

Pour its infpiring influence, and rush

No rill, but rather an o'erflowing flood!
That, for my venerable Father's fake

All meaner themes renounced, my mufe, on wings
Of duty borne, might reach a loftier ftrain.
For thee, my Father! howfoe'er it please,
She frames this flender work; nor know I aught
That may thy gifts more fuitably requite;
Though to requite them fuitably would ask
Returns much nobler, and furpaffing far
The meagre stores of verbal gratitude :
But, fuch as I poffefs, I fend thee all.
This page prefents thee in their full amount
With thy fon's treasures, and the sum is nought;
Nought, fave the riches that from airy dream
In fecret grottos and in laurel bowers,

I have, by golden Clio's gift, acquired.

Verfe is a work divine; defpife not thou Verse therefore, which evinces (nothing more) Man's heavenly fource, and which, retaining still Some fcintillations of Promethean fire,

Befpeaks him animated from above.

The Gods love verfe; the infernal Powers themfelves

Confefs the influence of verfe, which ftirs
The lowest deep, and binds in triple chains
Of adamant both Pluto and the Shades.
In verfe the Delphic prieftefs and the pale
Tremulous Sibyl make the future known;
And he who facrifices, on the fhrine

Hangs verfe, both when he fmites the threatening bull

And when he spreads his reeking entrails wide To scrutinize the Fates enveloped there.

We too, ourselves, what time we feek again.

Our native skies, and one eternal now
Shall be the only measure of our being,

Crown'd all with gold, and chanting to the lyre
Harmonious verfe, fhall range the courts above,
And make the starry firmament refound.
And, even now, the fiery spirit pure

That wheels yon circling orbs, directs himself
Their mazy dance with melody of verfe
Unutterable, immortal, hearing which
Huge Ophiucus holds his hiss suppress'd;
Orion, foften'd, drops his ardent blade,
And Atlas ftands unconfcious of his load.
Verse graced of old the feasts of kings, ere yet
Luxurious dainties, destined to the gulf
Immenfe of gluttony, were known, and ere
Lyæus deluged yet the temperate board.
Then fat the bard a customary guest

To share the banquet, and his length of locks
With beechen honours bound, proposed in verfe
The characters of heroes and their deeds,
To imitation, fang of Chaos old,

Of nature's birth, of gods that crept in search
Of acorns fallen, and of the thunderbolt
Not yet produced from Ætna's fiery cave.
And what avails, at last, tune without voice,
Devoid of matter? Such may fuit perhaps
The rural dance, but fuch was ne'er the fong
Of Orpheus, whom the streams ftood ftill to hear,
And the oaks follow'd. Not by chords alone
Well touch'd, but by refistless accents more
To fympathetic tears the ghosts themselves
He moved; these praises to his verse he owes.

Nor thou perfift, I pray thee, still to flight
The facred Nine, and to imagine vain
And useless Powers, by whom inspired, thyself
Art skilful to affociate verse with airs
Harmonious, and to give the human voice
A thousand modulations, heir by right
Indifputable of Arion's fame.

Now fay, what wonder is it, if a son
Of thine delight in verse, if, so conjoin'd
In close affinity, we sympathize

In focial arts and kindred studies sweet?
Such diftribution of himself to us

Was Phoebus' choice; thou haft thy gift, and I
Mine also, and between us we receive,
Father and fon, the whole inspiring God.

No! how foe'er the semblance thou affume
Of hate, thou hateft not the gentle Muse,
My Father! for thou never badest me tread
The beaten path, and broad, that leads right on
To opulence, nor didst condemn thy fon
To the infipid clamours of the bar,
To laws voluminous, and ill observed;
But, wishing to enrich me more, to fill
My mind with treasure, ledft me far away
From city din to deep retreats, to banks
And streams Aonian, and, with free confent,
Didst place me happy at Apollo's fide.
I speak not now, on more important themes
Intent, of common benefits, and fuch
As nature bids, but of thy larger gifts,
My Father! who, when I had open'd once
The ftores of Roman rhetoric, and learn'd

The full toned language of the eloquent Greeks,
Whofe lofty mufic graced the lips of Jove.
Thyself didst counsel me to add the flowers
That Gallia boasts, thofe too, with which the fmooth
Italian his degenerate fpeech adorns,

That witneffes his mixture with the Goth;

And Palestine's prophetic fongs divine.

To fum the whole, whate'er the heaven contains,
The earth beneath it, and the air between,
The rivers and the restless deep, may all
Prove intellectual gain to me, my wish
Concurring with thy will; fcience herself,
All cloud removed, inclines her beauteous head,
And offers me the lip, if, dull of heart,
I shrink not, and decline her gracious boon.

Go now, and gather drofs, ye fordid minds,
That covet it; what could my Father more?
What more could Jove himself, unless he gave
His own abode, the heaven in which he reigns?
More eligible gifts than these were not
Apollo's to his fon, had they been safe
As they were infecure, who made the boy
The world's vice-luminary, bade him rule
The radiant chariot of the day, and bind
To his young brows his own all-dazzling wreath.
I therefore, although last and least, my place
Among the learned in the laurel grove

Will hold, and where the conqueror's ivy twines,
Henceforth exempt from the unletter'd throng
Profane, nor even to be seen by fuch.

Away then, fleepless Care, Complaint, away,
And, Envy, with thy "jealous leer malign!"