Still as they prefs, he calls on all around,
Lifts the torn robe, and points the bleeding wound.
But who is he, whofe brows exalted bear
A wrath impatient, and a fiercer air?
Awake to all that injur'd worth can feel,
On his own Rome he turns th' avenging steel:
Yet fhall not war's infatiate fury fall
(So heaven ordains it) on the deftin'd wall.
See the fond mother, 'midft the plaintive train,
Hung on his knees, and proftrate on the plain!
Touch'd to the foul, in vain he strives to hide
The fon's affection, in the Roman's pride :
O'er all the man conflicting paffions rise,
Rage grafps the fword, while pity melts the eyes.
Thus, generous critick, as thy Bard infpires,
The fifter arts fhall nurfe their drooping fires;
Each from his fcenes her ftores alternate bring,
Blend the fair tints, or wake the vocal ftring:
Thofe Sybil leaves, the fport of every wind,
(For poets ever were a careless kind)
By thee difpos'd, no farther toil demand,
But, just to nature, own thy forming hand.
So fpread o'er Greece, th' harmonious whole unknown,
Even Homer's numbers charm'd by parts alone.
Their own Ulyffes fcarce had wander'd more,
By winds and waters caft on every fhore:
When rais'd by fate, fome former Hanmer join'd
Each beauteous image of the boundless mind;
And bade, like thee, his Athens ever claim
A fond alliance with the poet's name.
* Coriolanus. See Mr. Spence's dialogue on the Odyssey.