Reviving Sparta now the Fight maintain❜d,
And what Two Gen'rals Loft, a Poet Gain'd.
By fecret influence of Indulgent Skies,

Empire, and Poefy Together rife.

True Poets are the Guardians of a State,

And when They Fail, portend approaching Fate.

For that which Rome to Conqueft did Inspire,
Was not the Vestal, but the Mufes Fire;
Heav'n joyns the Bleffings, no declining Age
E're felt the Raptures of Poetick Rage.

Of many Faults, Rhime is (perhaps) the Cause,
Too ftrict to Rhime, We flight more useful Laws.
For That, in Greece or Rome, was never known,
'Till by Barbarian Deluges o'erflown,

Subdu'd, Undone, They did at last Obey,
And change their Own for their Invaders Way.
I grant that from fome Moffie, Idol Oak
In Double Rhimes our Thor and Woden spoke;
And by Succeffion of unlearned Times,
As Bards began, fo Monks Rung on the Chimes.

But now that Phebus, and the facred Nine,
With all their Beams on our bleft Island shine,
Why fhould not We their ancient Rites restore,
And be, what Rome or Athens were before?

↓

Have we forgot how Raphael's Num❜rous Profe* Led our exalted Souls through Heav'nly Camps, And mark'd the Ground where proud Apoftate Thrones, Defy'd Jehovah! Here, 'twixt Hoft and Hoft, (A narrow, but a dreadful Interval,) Portentous fight! before the Cloudy Van, Satan with vast and haughty Strides advanc'd, Came tow'ring arm'd in Adamant and Gold. There Bellowing Engines, with their fiery Tubes, Difpers'd Æthereat forms, and down they fell By Thousands, Angels on Arch-Angels rowl'd; Recover'd, to the Hills they ran, they flew, Which (with their pond'rous load, Rocks, Waters, From their firm Seats torn by the shaggy Tops [Woods) They bore like Shields before them through the Air, 'Till more incens'd they burl'd them at their Foes. All was Confufion, Heaven's Foundation fhook, Threatning no less than Univerfal Wrack, For Michael's Arm main Promontories flung, And over-preft whole Legions weak with Sin; Tet they Blafphem'd, and ftruggled as they lay, 'Till the great Enfign of Meffiah blaz❜d,

And (arm'd with vengeance) God's Victorious Son, (Effulgence of Paternal Deity)

An Effay on blanck Verfe, out of the 6th. Book of Paradise Loft.

Grafping

Grafping ten Thousand Thunders in his hand
Drove th❜old Original Rebels headlong down
And sent them flaming to the vast Abyffe.

O may I live to hail the Glorious day, And fing loud Paans through the crowded way, When in Triumphant State the British Muse, True to her felf, fhall barb'rous Aid Refufe, And in the Roman Majesty appear,

VVhich none know better, and none come fo near.

FINIS.

The entire Episode of Mezentius and Laufus, Tranflated out of the 10th. Book of Virgil's AEneids.

By Mr. D RTDEN.

Connection of the Epifode, with the foregoing Story.

Mezentius was King of Etruria, or Tufcany; from whence he was expell'd by his Subjects, for his Tyrannical government, and cruelty; and a new King Elected. Being thus banish'd he applies himself to King Turnus, in whofe Court, he and his Son Laufus take Sanctuary. Turnus for the Love of Lavinia making War with Eneas, Mezentius ingages in the cause of his Benefactor, and performs many great actions, particularly in revenging himself on his late Subjects, who now affifted Eneas out of hatred to him. Mezentius is every where defcrib'd by Virgil as an Atheist; his Son Laufus is made the Pattern of filial Piety and Virtue: And the death of thofe two is the Subject of this Noble Episode.

THus equal Deaths are dealt, and equal chance; By turns they quit their ground, by turns advance:

Victors and vanquifh'd in the various field,

Nor wholly overcome, nor wholly yeild:
The Gods from Heav'n furvey the doubtful strife,
And mourn the Miseries of human life.

Above the rest two Goddeffes appear
Concern'd for each: Here Venus, Juno there.
Amidst the Crowd, infernal Atè shakes

Her Scourge aloft, and hiffing Crest of Snakes.
Once more Mezentius, with a proud disdain,
Brandish'd his Spear, and rufh'd into the Plain:
Where, tow'ring in the midmoft ranks, he stood,
Like vaft Orion stalking o're the flood,

When with his brawny Breast he cuts the waves,
His Shoulders scarce the topmost Billow laves.
Or like a Mountain Ash, whose roots are spread,
Deep fix'd in earth; in clouds he hides his head.
Thus arm'd, he took the field:

The Trojan Prince beheld him from afar,
With joyful eyes; and undertook the War.
Collected in himself, and like a Rock

Poiz'd on his bafe, Mezentius ftood the fhock
Of his great Foe: Then meafuring with his eyes
The space his fpear cou'd reach, aloud he

cryes:

My