To
my
much
valu'd
Friend
Moneses
.
Great
Pæan
now
thy
strongest
Rays
dispense
,
Give
Virgils
Flights
and
Dryden's
Eloquence
:
All
the
fam'd
Bards
of
sacred
Poetry
,
Let
their
bright
Flames
revive
again
in
me
.
Inspire
my
Breast
whilst
I
his
Praise
rehearse
,
Whose
worth
deserves
thy
own
immortal
Verse
;
I
sing
Moneses
whom
the
Gods
ordain'd
,
To
show
their
Form
,
e'er
'twas
by
Sin
prophan'd
:
He
is
all
Goodness
,
Mercy
,
Justice
,
Truth
,
Has
all
the
Charms
without
the
vice
of
Youth
.
These
are
the
Native
Beauties
of
his
Soul
,
While
every
Art
and
Grace
adorns
the
whole
:
Obliging
is
his
Mein
,
his
Judgment
strong
,
A
flowing
Wit
directs
his
pleasing
Tongue
;
And
each
inchanting
Accent
which
we
hear
,
Like
airs
Divine
Transport
the
list'ning
Ear
.
Not
Orpheus
Harp
,
not
yet
Amphion's
Lyre
,
Could
with
more
Sweetness
or
more
force
inspire
:
Oh
!
what
Infernal
Magick
Mortals
bind
,
That
his
instructive
Voice
can't
move
the
Mind
,
And
calm
the
raging
Follies
of
Mankind
.
(
The
passive
Stones
obey'd
less
powerful
Sound
,
For
in
their
heaps
was
no
resisting
Atoms
found
;
)
Not
greater
Pride
or
Joys
did
Ammon
move
,
When
by
the
Shrine
,
pronounc'd
the
Son
of
Jove
:
Then
are
the
Transports
my
blest
Soul
attend
,
That
I
can
call
the
brave
Moneses
Friend
.
Moneses
whom
Apollo
has
design'd
,
With
his
own
Arts
,
to
Heal
and
Charm
Mankind
;
Fain
would
I
still
persue
my
wonderous
Song
,
But
oh
!
too
fast
the
bright
Ideas
throng
,
Stifl'd
in
Raptures
e'er
they
reach
my
Tongue
:
So
when
with
greatest
Zeal
we
Heaven
accost
,
Our
Notions
all
in
Extacies
are
lost
,
We
utter
least
,
where
it
deserves
the
most
.