Page:The Progress of Poetry - Madan (1783).djvu/8
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Direct my lyre, inform each trembling string,
While Poetry's exalted sweets I sing;
How, free as air, its charms spontaneous move,
Kindle to rage, or melt to peace and love;
How first its emanations dawn'd, disclose,
And where, great Source of Verse, thou, Phœbus! first arose.
While Poetry's exalted sweets I sing;
How, free as air, its charms spontaneous move,
Kindle to rage, or melt to peace and love;
How first its emanations dawn'd, disclose,
And where, great Source of Verse, thou, Phœbus! first arose.
Where Nature warmth and genius has deny'd,
In vain are Art's stiff languid powers apply'd;
Unforc'd the Muses smile, above controul;
No art can tune the inharmonious soul.
Some rules, 'tis true, unerring you may cull,
And be, like Dennis, regularly dull;
Correctly flat may flow each study'd line,
And each low period indolently chime.
In vain are Art's stiff languid powers apply'd;
Unforc'd the Muses smile, above controul;
No art can tune the inharmonious soul.
Some rules, 'tis true, unerring you may cull,
And be, like Dennis, regularly dull;
Correctly flat may flow each study'd line,
And each low period indolently chime.
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