Epistles.
111
That fears to sink when humbler themes she sings,
Lost in the mass of mean forgotten things. 50
Receiv'd by thee I prophesy my Rhymes
The praise of virgins in succeeding times:
Mix'd with thy works their life no bounds shall see,
But stand protected as inspir'd by thee.
So some weak shoot which else would poorly rise
Jove's tree adopts, and lifts him to the skies; 56
Thro' the new pupil fost'ring juices flow
Thrust forth the gems and give the flow'rs to blow;
Aloft, immortal reigns the plant unknown
With borrow'd life and vigour not his own. 60
Lost in the mass of mean forgotten things. 50
Receiv'd by thee I prophesy my Rhymes
The praise of virgins in succeeding times:
Mix'd with thy works their life no bounds shall see,
But stand protected as inspir'd by thee.
So some weak shoot which else would poorly rise
Jove's tree adopts, and lifts him to the skies; 56
Thro' the new pupil fost'ring juices flow
Thrust forth the gems and give the flow'rs to blow;
Aloft, immortal reigns the plant unknown
With borrow'd life and vigour not his own. 60
TO MR. ADDISON,
ON HIS OPERA OF ROSAMOND.
"Ne forte pudori
"Sit tibi Musa lyræ solers, & cantor Apollo."
"Sit tibi Musa lyræ solers, & cantor Apollo."
The Opera first Italian masters taught,
Enrich'd with songs, but innocent of thought:
Britannia's learned theatre disdains
Melodious trifles and enervate strains,
And blushes on her injur'd stage to see 5
Nonsense well tun'd and sweet stupidity.
No charms are wanting to thy artful song,
Soft as Corelli and as Virgil strong:
Enrich'd with songs, but innocent of thought:
Britannia's learned theatre disdains
Melodious trifles and enervate strains,
And blushes on her injur'd stage to see 5
Nonsense well tun'd and sweet stupidity.
No charms are wanting to thy artful song,
Soft as Corelli and as Virgil strong:
