To paint each heavenly feature true, Just as great Homer's thought inspir'd. With silent pace life steals away; What then, lov'd Artist, can we choose, In this lov'd Youth we each may live, To distant times his deathless name The feather thus unmark'd before, Is, with the arrow, upward bore Unless we then extend our span, By some fair deeds of virtuous fame, The life Heaven gives to wretched man Is lost-and scarce deserves a name. Vol. XV. F We breathe, the phantoms of a day, The rest we owe to Time and Fate. That glory ours-who, to prolong A thousand eyes in Kneller's paint Though the fam'd general, king, and saint When the great Patriot of his race His fame, or rage restrain its tear; When one is lost-to fill our eyes We view another Walpole rise, And thank thy pencil for the view. His youth and smiles, which now demand My numbers and thy rival art; To draw his looks the Painter's hand, The Muses' skill to shew his heart; When lost in time, and ripening years Shall once his country save or bless, And claim'd by Fate make Britain's tears For her lov'd dying guardians less. A fairer piece thy thought shall feign, The Muse a nobler gift shall bring, When, in some future Brunswic's reign, You draw the Patriot which I sing. ODE XVII. ADDRESSED TO AN AEOLUS's HARP, AND SENT TO THE VISCOUNTESS IRWIN, (When Miss Shepheard.) BY THE REV. WILLIAM MASON, A. M. YES, magic lyre! now all complete Bade my blest hands thy form prepare ; Bright June extends her fragrant reign, The Fair shall place thee near her slumb'ring head Her virgin charms are giv'n, in circling flight Some, flutt'ring 'mid thy trembling strings, And lightly brush thee with their purple wings, Expel rough Boreas from the sky, Fair Fancy, waking at the sound, Shall paint bright visions on her raptur'd eyes, 'Mid which some fav'rite youth shall rove, Shall meet, shall lead her through the glitt'ring scenes, And all be music, ecstacy, and love. |