Page:The Progress of Poetry - Madan (1783).djvu/13

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Tho' all thy shades poetic warmth inspire,Tune the rapt soul, and fan the sacred fire;Tho' Liberty (thy only want!) were there,And gayly open'd with the purple year,Those streams, meads, shades, would touch their certain date,And Liberty itself might stoop to Fate.A nobler boast thy lasting glory yields,That stamps eternal verdure on thy fields;There Virgil his immortal harp has strung,And Addison, great Virgil's rival.
Where courtly ease adorns each happy line,And Pindar's fire, and Sappho's softness join;Where every Grace, and all the Muses breathe,See Horace, shaded by the lyric wreath!

Politely

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