Page:The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift, Volume 18.djvu/461



ATRON of the tuneful throng, O! too nice, and too severe! Think not, that my country song Shall displease thy honest ear. Chosen strains I proudly bring, Which the Muses, sacred choir! When they gods and heroes sing, Dictate to th' harmonious lyre. Ancient Homer, princely bard! Just precedence still maintains; With sacred rapture still are heard Theban Pindar's lofty strains. Still the old triumphant song, Which, when hated tyrants fell, Great Alcæus boldly sung, Warns, instructs, and pleases well. Nor has Time's all darkening shade In obscure oblivion press'd What Anacreon laugh'd and play'd; Gay Anacreon, drunken priest! Gentle Sappho, love-sick muse, Warms the heart with amorous fire; Still