Page:Vida's Art of Poetry.djvu/25

 While this, an empty tide of sound affords, And roars and thunders in a storm of words. Some, musically dull, all methods try To win the ear with sweet stupidity; Unruffled strains for solid wit dispense, And give us numbers, when we call for sense. 'Till from th' hesperian plains and Tyber chas'd, From Rome the banisht sisters fled at last; Driv'n by the barb'rous nations, who from far Burst into Latium with a tide of war. Hence a vast change of their old manners sprung, And forc'd the slaves to speak their master's tongue; No honours now were paid the sacred muse, But all were bent on mercenary views; Till Latium saw with joy th' Aonian train By the great Medici, restor'd again; Th' illustrious Medici of Tuscan race, Were born to cherish learning in disgrace, New life on every science to bestow, And lull the cries of Europe in her woe. With pity they beheld those turns of fate, And prop'd the ruins of the Grecian state; For