Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Tickell (1781).djvu/119

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
This page has been proofread, but needs to be validated.
Epistles.
115
Hastes to learn thee, and learning shall submit
Alike to British arms and British wit:
No more she 'll wonder, forc'd to do us right, 35
Who think like Romans could like Romans fight.
Thy Oxford smiles this glorious work to see,
And fondly triumphs in a son like thee.
The senates, consuls, and the gods of Rome,
Like old acquaintance at their native home, 40
In thee we find each deed each word exprest,
And ev'ry thought that swell'd a Roman breast,
We trace each hint that could thy soul inspire
With Virgil's judgment and with Lucan's fire.
We know thy worth, and give us leave to boast
We most admire because we know thee most. 46

TO THE EARL OF WARWICK,

ON THE DEATH OF MR. ADDISON.

If dumb too long the drooping Muse hath stay'd
And left her debt to Addison unpaid,
Blame not her silence, Warwick! but bemoan,
And judge, oh judge my bosom by your own!
What mourner ever felt poetick fires! 5
Slow comes the verse that real wo inspires:
Grief unaffected suits but ill with art,
Or flowing numbers with a bleeding heart.
Can I forget the dismal night that gave
My soul's best part for ever to the grave! 10