Classic Poem

I.

Soon as your partial Lays I saw,
I guess'd your crafty Views;
And thought you writ in Verse, to draw
A Bill upon my Muse.

II.

But , since the Treasure you convey,
Comes from the Roman Mine;
Forgive me, if I can't repay
The Value of your Coin.

III.

W HILE on thy manly Lines I dwell,
Lines, that might P OPE employ;
What strange Vicissitudes I feel
Of Sorrow, Love, and Joy.

IV.

N OW Pleasure charms my glowing Soul,
To hear thy pompous Song
In soft, majestic Numbers, roll,
Like F LACCUS , sweet and strong.

V.

But quickly sympathizing Pain
Succeeds my short Delight,
To find thy moving, mournful Strain
Describe thy Loss of Sight.

VI.

I grieve to think, M ACHAON'S Art
Can give thee no Relief;
I weep, and wish my grateful Heart
Could cure, or share, thy Grief.

VII.

No more to me Encomiums send,
In such a learned Strain;
But, if you'd compliment your Friend,
Present him half your Pain .

VIII.

To P HOEBUS make thy Music soar,
To Him direct thy Lays;
Invoke his Aid, and healing Pow'r,
To purge the visual Rays.

IX.

F OR , if your Lyre but strike his Ear,
(The Lyre you lately strung)
The God of Verse and Light must hear
A Suit so sweetly sung.