ill.
Unshaken then _Seth's_ stony Column stood,
Surviving the Destruction of the Flood.
His Father's Fall was letter'd on the Stone,
Thence Arts, Inventions, Sciences were Known.
Thence Divine _Moses_, with exalted thought,
In _Hebrew_ Lines the _Worlds Beginning_ wrote.

[_The Progress of Poetry._]

The Gift of Verse descended to the Jews,
Inspir'd with something nobler than a Muse.
Here _Deborah_ in fiery rapture sings,
The Rout of Armies, and the Fall of Kings.
Thy Torrent, _Kison_, shall for ever flow,
Which trampled o'er the Dead, and swept away the Foe.

With Songs of Triumph, and the Maker's praise,
With Sounding Numbers, and united Lays,
The Seed of _Judah_ to the Battle flew,
And Orders of Destroying Angels drew
To their Victorious side: Who marching round
Their Foes, touch'd Myriads at the signal Sound,
By Harmony they fell, and dy'd without a Wound.
So strong is Verse Divine, when we Proclaim
Thy Power, Eternal Light, and Sing thy Name!

[_Orpheus._]

Nor does it here alone it's Magick show,
But works in Hell, and binds the Fiends below.
So powerful is the Muse! When _David_ plaid,
The Frantick _Daemon_ heard him, and obey'd.
No Noise, no Hiss: the dumb Apostate lay
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 _Caesar_ darted on him, like the Sun.
Nor did _Mecaenas_, gain a less repute,
When Tuneful _Flaccus_ touch'd the _Roman_ Lute.

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