Variations

Ver.1. While, own'd by you, with smiles the Muse surveysThe expected triumph of her sweetest lays:While, stretch'd at ease, she boasts your guardian aid,Secure, and happy in her sylvan shade:Excuse her fears, who scarce a verse bestows,In just remembrance of the debt she owes;With conscious, &c.

Long slighted Fancy with a mother's careWept o'er his works, and felt the last despair:Torn from her head, she saw the roses fall,By all deserted, though admired by all:

near And "Oh!" she cried, "shall Science still resignWhate'er is Nature's, and whate'er is mine?to Shall Taste and Art but show a cold regard,22. And scornful Pride reject the unletter'd bard?Ye myrtled nymphs, who own my gentle reign,Tune the sweet lyre, and grace my airy train,If, where ye rove, your searching eyes have knownOne perfect mind, which judgment calls its own;There every breast its fondest hopes must bend,And every Muse with tears await her friend."'Twas then fair Isis from her stream arose,In kind compassion of her sister's woes.'Twas then she promised to the mourning maidThe immortal honours which thy hands have paid:"My best loved son," she said, "shall yet restoreThy ruin'd sweets, and Fancy weep no more."Each rising art by slow gradation moves;Toil builds, &c.

When Rome herself, her envied glories dead,No more imperial, stoop'd her conquer'd head;Luxuriant Florence chose a softer theme,While all was peace, by Arno's silver stream.With sweeter notes the Etrurian vales complain'd,And arts reviving told a Cosmo reign'd.Their wanton lyres the bards of Provence strung,Sweet flow'd the lays, but love was all they sung.The gay, &c.

O, blest in all that genius gives to charm,Whose morals mend us, and whose passions warm!Oft let my youth attend thy various page,Where rich invention rules the unbounded stage:There every scene the poet's warmth may raise,And melting music find the softest lays:O, might the Muse with equal ease persuadeExpressive Picture to adopt thine aid!Some powerful Raphael should again appear,And arts consenting fix their empire here.

Methinks e'en now I view some fair design,Where breathing Nature lives in every line;Chaste and subdued, the modest colours lie,In fair proportion to the approving eye:And see where Anthony lamenting stands,In fixt distress, and spreads his pleading hands:O'er the pale corse the warrior seems to bend,

A rage impatient, and a fiercer air?E'en now his thoughts with eager vengeance doomThe last sad ruin of ungrateful Rome.Till, slow advancing o'er the tented plain,In sable weeds, appear the kindred train:The frantic mother leads their wild despair,Beats her swoln breast, and rends her silver hair;And see, he yields! the tears unbidden start,And conscious nature claims the unwilling heart!O'er all the man conflicting passions rise;