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Then too, Apollo, from thy Delphic shrine,

Refponfive flow'd the oracle divine:

Nor, Faunus, lefs our Latian grandfires own

Thy fong prophetic, and thy rural throne.

But chief, O Salem, of illuftrious name,

Thy fainted bards th' infpiring pow'r proclaim;
Or they, the Sibyls, who divinely glow'd


In the full impulse of the present God.

Then, what the fates of old prophetic fung,


Caught and re-ecchoed from each tuneful tongue,

Men firft begin the mimic strain to raise,

And wake the ftrings to panegyric lays;

Where flow'd the bowl, fome hero's praise went round

And thro'the dome the thund'ring plaudits found. 835

Sweet Poefy! with thee what art can vie!

Thou first, and faireft daughter of the sky!

Thy pow'er divine what mortal but muft know?

What less than God the tranfport can beftow,

When themes celeftial the rapt poet bear

Beyond the stars, to breath empyreal air?

Unchear'd by thee, the changing season lours;
Nor joy, nor pleasure mark the ling'ring hours.

Where'er the warblers of the feather'd choir

Attune the lay, thy genial rays infpire.



By numbers charm'd, the monsters cease t' engage,

In mortal conflict, and forget their rage.

When founds in Orpheus' hand the vocal shell

The finny nations round their tranfports tell;

Draw the tall groves their waving spires along, 850 And leap the mountains at th' enchanting fong.

Nor lefs when mighty love the poet led

To seek the shadowy regions of the dead,

His melting strains the hovering fhades entrance;

Mov'd at the found fee fpectred forms advance! 855 Then first the tuneful charm fierce Cerb'rus found,

And dire Erynne felt the foothing found.

By thee, O Mufe, the bard, a mortal gueft,

Delighted fits at Jove's ambrofial feast :

Thou, gentle foother of each anxious care,

Canft foften anguish, and difarm despair.

All hail! whofe aid from mortals can remove
The fting of woe, and charm the pow'rs above!

Far from the giddy tumults of the throng,

Thy vot❜ry I, the ftudious youth among,
Thy praise alone ambitious to attain,

Approach the precincts of thy hallow'd fane;

Poet and priest, the facred tribute bear,

And offer at thy fhrine the vow fincere.



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And ope each fecret fource of Helicon,

The bard inspire, as to your aweful shrine
Foremost he bears the facred gifts divine,

And leads thro' arduous and unbeaten ways,

Whose brow fhall one day grace the poet's lays. 10

Since but to you each secret path is known,

Propitious now your faithful vot'ry own,


And point the way; and lo! where thronging stand,
And lift the eye and raise the fuppliant hand,

Th' afpiring youth our counfels fhall prepare,
In high attempt your envied praise to share.
How from the poet's mind creative flows
The fruitful theme; how fitteft to difpofe
Each great event, and give to ev'ry part
Each charm of nature, and each grace

of art,

Studious to teach, unwearied we purfue
The growing labour, and our toils renew;
No flender task! tho' oft to whom is giv'n
The blaze of genius, the pure light of heav'n,
Transported still the ftream of verfe fhall find
Unbidden flow, and fashion'd to his mind.
But firft another care the art will claim,
That leads the way to glory and to fame.




He who prefumes the poet's fate to try,
And tempt the arduous paffage to the sky,


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