112
Epistles.
From words so sweet new grace the notes receive,
And Musick borrows helps she us'd to give. 10
Thy style hath match'd what ancient Romans knew,
Thy flowing numbers far excel the new,
Their cadence in such easy sound convey'd
The height of thought may seem superfl'ous aid;
Yet in such charms the noble thoughts abound 15
That needless seem the sweets of easy sound.
Landscapes how gay the bow'ry grotto yields
Which Thought creates and lavish Fancy builds!
What art can trace the visionary scenes,
The flow'ry groves and everlasting greens, 20
The babbling sounds that mimick Echo plays,
The Fairy shade and its eternal maze?
Nature and Art in all their charms combin'd,
And all Elysium to one view confin'd!
No further could imagination roam 25
Till Vanbrug fram'd and Marlb'rough rais'd the dome.
Ten thousand pangs my anxious bosom tear
When drown'd in tears I see th' imploring fair;
When bards less soft the moving words supply,
A seeming justice dooms the nymph to die: 30
But here she begs, nor can she beg in vain,
(In dirges thus expiring swans complain;)
Each verse so swells expressive of her woes,
And ev'ry tear in lines so mournful flows,
We spite of fame her fate revers'd believe, 35
O'erlook her crimes, and think she ought to live.
And Musick borrows helps she us'd to give. 10
Thy style hath match'd what ancient Romans knew,
Thy flowing numbers far excel the new,
Their cadence in such easy sound convey'd
The height of thought may seem superfl'ous aid;
Yet in such charms the noble thoughts abound 15
That needless seem the sweets of easy sound.
Landscapes how gay the bow'ry grotto yields
Which Thought creates and lavish Fancy builds!
What art can trace the visionary scenes,
The flow'ry groves and everlasting greens, 20
The babbling sounds that mimick Echo plays,
The Fairy shade and its eternal maze?
Nature and Art in all their charms combin'd,
And all Elysium to one view confin'd!
No further could imagination roam 25
Till Vanbrug fram'd and Marlb'rough rais'd the dome.
Ten thousand pangs my anxious bosom tear
When drown'd in tears I see th' imploring fair;
When bards less soft the moving words supply,
A seeming justice dooms the nymph to die: 30
But here she begs, nor can she beg in vain,
(In dirges thus expiring swans complain;)
Each verse so swells expressive of her woes,
And ev'ry tear in lines so mournful flows,
We spite of fame her fate revers'd believe, 35
O'erlook her crimes, and think she ought to live.
