Page:The Progress of Poetry - Madan (1783).djvu/13
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Tho' all thy shades poetic warmth inspire,
Tune the rapt soul, and fan the sacred fire;
Tho' Liberty (thy only want!) were there,
And gayly open'd with the purple year,
Those streams, meads, shades, would touch their certain date,
And Liberty itself might stoop to Fate.
A nobler boast thy lasting glory yields,
That stamps eternal verdure on thy fields;
There Virgil his immortal harp has strung,
And Addison, great Virgil's rival.
Tune the rapt soul, and fan the sacred fire;
Tho' Liberty (thy only want!) were there,
And gayly open'd with the purple year,
Those streams, meads, shades, would touch their certain date,
And Liberty itself might stoop to Fate.
A nobler boast thy lasting glory yields,
That stamps eternal verdure on thy fields;
There Virgil his immortal harp has strung,
And Addison, great Virgil's rival.
Where courtly ease adorns each happy line,
And Pindar's fire, and Sappho's softness join;
Where every Grace, and all the Muses breathe,
See Horace, shaded by the lyric wreath!
And Pindar's fire, and Sappho's softness join;
Where every Grace, and all the Muses breathe,
See Horace, shaded by the lyric wreath!
Politely