Page:Satires, Epistles, Art of Poetry of Horace - Coningsby (1874).djvu/190

 Might model him, none but Apelles draw. But take this mind, in paintings and in bronze So ready to distinguish geese from swans, And bid it judge of poetry, you'd swear "Twas born and nurtured in Boeotian air.
 * Still, bards there are whose excellence commends

The sovereign judgment that esteems them friends, Virgil and Varius; when your hand confers Its princely bounty, all the world concurs. And, trust me, human features never shone With livelier truth through brass or breathing stone Than the great genius of a hero shines Through the clear mirror of a poet's lines. Nor is it choice (ah, would that choice were all!) Makes my dull Muse in prose-like numbers crawl, When she might sing of rivers and strange towns, Of mountain fastnesses and barbarous crowns, Of battles through the world compelled to cease, Of bolts that guard the God who guards the peace, And haughty Parthia through defeat and shame By Caesar taught to fear the Roman name: 'Tis strength that lacks: your dignity disdains The mean support of ineffectual strains, And modesty forbids me to essay A theme whose weight would make my powers give way. Officious zeal is apt to be a curse To those it loves, especially in verse; For easier 'tis to learn and recollect What moves derision than what claims respect.