And throws new splendour o'er the poet's lines.[51] When specious sophists with presumption scan The source of evil, hidden still from man;[52] Revive Arabian tales[53], and vainly hope To rival St. John, and his scholar, Pope;[54] Though metaphysicks spread the gloom of night, By reason's star he guides our aching sight; The bounds of knowledge marks; and points the way To pathless wastes, where wilder'd sages stray; Where, like a farthing linkboy, Jennings stands, And the dim torch drops from his feeble hands. Impressive truth, in splendid fiction drest,[55] Checks the vain wish, and calms the troubled breast; O'er the dark mind a light celestial throws, And sooths the angry passions to repose; As oil effus'd illumes and smooths the deep,[56] When round the bark the foaming surges sweep.-- But hark, he sings! the strain ev'n Pope admires; Indignant Virtue her own bard inspires; Sublime as Juvenal, he pours his lays,[57] And with the Roman shares congenial praise:-- In glowing numbers now he fires the age, And Shakspeare's sun relumes the clouded stage.[58] So full his mind with images was fraught, The rapid strains scarce claim'd a second thought; And with like ease his vivid lines assume The garb and dignity of ancient Rome.-- Let college _versemen_ trite conceits express, Trick'd out in splendid shreds of Virgil's dress; From playful Ovid cull the tinsel phrase, And vapid notions hitch in pilfer'd lays; Then with mosaick art the piece combine, And boast the glitter of each dulcet line: Johnson adventur'd boldly to transfuse His vigorous sense into the Latian muse; Aspir'd to shine by unreflected light, And with a Roman's ardour _think_ and write. He felt the tuneful Nine his breast inspire, And, like a master, wak'd the[59] soothing lyre: Horatian strains a grateful heart proclaim, While Sky's wild rocks resound his Thralia's name.-- Hesperia's plant, in some less skillful hands, To bloom a while, factitious heat demands; Though glowing Maro a faint warmth supplies, The sickly blossom in the hot-house dies: By Johnson's genial culture, art, and toil, Its root strikes deep, and owns the fost'ring soil; Imbibes our sun through all its swelling veins, And grows a native of Britannia's plains. Soft-ey'd compassion, with a look benign His fervent vows he offer'd at thy shrine; To guilt, to woe, the sacred debt was paid,[60] And helpless females bless'd his pious aid: Snatch'd from disease, and want's abandon'd crew, Despair and anguish from their victims flew; Hope's soothing balm into their bosoms stole, And tears of penitence restor'd the soul. Nor did philanthrophy alone expand His liberal heart, and ope his bounteous hand; His _talents_ ev'n he gave to friendship's claim,[61] And by the gift imparted wealth and fame: His mind exhaustless sped its vivid force, Yet with unbated vigour held its course;