Page:The Works of Alexander Pope (1717).djvu/28

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To Mr. POPE,

In imitation of a Greek Epigram on Homer.

When Phœbus, and the nine harmonious maids,Of old assembled in the Thespian shades;What Theme, they cry'd, what high immortal air,Befit these harps to sound, and thee to hear?Reply'd the God; Your loftiest notes employ,To sing young Peleus, and the fall of Troy.The wond'rous song, with rapture they rehearse;Then ask, who wrought that miracle of verse?He answer'd with a frown; I now revealA truth, that Envy bids me not conceal:Retiring frequent to this Laureat vale,I warbled to the Lyre that fav'rite tale,Which, unobserv'd, a wand'ring Greek, and blind,Heard me repeat, and treasur'd in his mind;And, fir'd with thirst of more than mortal praise,From me, the God of Wit, usurp'd the bays.But let vain Greece indulge her growing fame,Proud with celestial spoils to grace her name;Yet when my arts shall triumph in the West,And the white Isle with female pow'r is blest;Fame, I foresee, will make reprizals there,And the Translator's Palm to me transfer.With less regret my claim I now decline,The World will think his English Iliad mine.E. Fenton.

To

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