Page:An Essay on Translated Verse - Roscommon (1684).djvu/14

Horace, if living, by exchange of fate,
Wou'd give no Laws, but only yours translate.

 Hoist Sail, bold Writers, search, discover far,
You have a Compass for a Polar-Star.
Tune Orpheus Harp, and with enchanting Rhymes
Soften the savage humour of the Times.

 Tell all those untouch'd Wonders which appear'd
When Fate it self for our Great Monarch fear'd:
Securely thro the dangerous Forrest led
By guards of Angels when his own were fled.
Heaven kindly exercis'd his Youth with Cares
To crown with unmix'd joyes his riper years.
Make Warlike James's peaceful vertues known,
The Second Hope and Genius of the Throne.
Heaven in compassion brought him on our Stage
To tame the fury of a monstrous Age.
But what blest voice shall your Maria sing?
Or a fit offering to her Altars bring?
In joys, in grief, in triumphs, in retreat,
Great alwayes, without aiming to be Great.
True Roman Majesty adorns her Face;
And every gesture's form'd by every Grace.
Her beauties are too Heavenly, and refin'd,
For the Gross Senses of a Vulgar mind.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$It is your part, (you Poets can divine)
To prophecy how she by Heavens design
Shall give an Heir to the Great Brittish Line,

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