Sunk in soft silence, and dissolv'd away.
Nor was this Miracle of Verse confin'd
To _Jews_ alone: For in a Heathen mind
Some strokes appear: Thus _Orpheus_ was inspir'd,
Inchanting _Syrens_ at his Song retir'd.
To Rocks and Seas he the curst Maids pursu'd,
And their strong Charms, by stronger Charms subdu'd.

[_Homer._]

But _Greece_ was honour'd with a Greater Name,
_Homer_ is _Greece's_ Glory and her Shame.
How could Learn'd _Athens_ with contempt refuse,
Th' immortal labours of so vast a Muse?
Thee, _Colophon_, his angry Ghost upbraids,
While his loud Numbers charm th' Infernal Shades.
Ungrateful Cities! Which could vainly strive
For the Dead _Homer_, whom they scorn'd Alive.
So strangely wretched is the Poet's Doom!
To Wither here, and Flourish in the Tomb.

Tho' _Virgil_ rising under happier Stars,
Saw _Rome_ succeed in Learning as in Wars.
When _Pollio_, like a smiling Planet, shone,
And _Cæsar_ darted on him, like the Sun.
Nor did _Mecænas_, gain a less repute,
When Tuneful _Flaccus_ touch'd the _Roman_ Lute.

But when, _Mecænas_, will Thy Star appear
In our low Orb, and gild the _British_ Sphere?