Epistles.
113
Let joy salute fair Rosamonda's shade,
And wreaths of myrtle crown the lovely maid,
While now perhaps with Dido's ghost she roves,
And hears and tells the story of their loves, 40
Alike they mourn, alike they bless their fate,
Since love which made them wretched makes them great,
Nor longer that relentless doom bemoan
Which gain'd a Virgil and an Addison.
Accept, great Monarch of the British lays! 45
The tribute song an humble subject pays;
So tries the artless lark her early flight,
And soars to hail the god of Verse and Light.
Unrivall'd as unmatch'd be still thy fame,
And thy own laurels shade thy envy'd name! 50
Thy name, the boast of all the tuneful quire,
Shall tremble on the strings of ev'ry lyre
While the charm'd reader with thy thought complies,
Feels corresponding joys or sorrows rise;
And views thy Rosamond with Henry's eyes. 55
And wreaths of myrtle crown the lovely maid,
While now perhaps with Dido's ghost she roves,
And hears and tells the story of their loves, 40
Alike they mourn, alike they bless their fate,
Since love which made them wretched makes them great,
Nor longer that relentless doom bemoan
Which gain'd a Virgil and an Addison.
Accept, great Monarch of the British lays! 45
The tribute song an humble subject pays;
So tries the artless lark her early flight,
And soars to hail the god of Verse and Light.
Unrivall'd as unmatch'd be still thy fame,
And thy own laurels shade thy envy'd name! 50
Thy name, the boast of all the tuneful quire,
Shall tremble on the strings of ev'ry lyre
While the charm'd reader with thy thought complies,
Feels corresponding joys or sorrows rise;
And views thy Rosamond with Henry's eyes. 55
TO THE SAME,
ON HIS TRAGEDY OF CATO.
Too long hath love engross'd Britannia's stage,
And sunk to softness all our tragick rage;
By that alone did empires fall or rise,
And fate depended on a fair one's eyes:
And sunk to softness all our tragick rage;
By that alone did empires fall or rise,
And fate depended on a fair one's eyes:
