During the Author's stay at Naples he received at the hands of the Marquis a thousand kind offices and civilities, and, desirous not to appear ungrateful, sent him this poem a short time before his departure from that city. These verses also to thy praise the Nine2 Oh Manso! happy in that theme design, For, Gallus and Maecenas3 gone, they see None such besides, or whom they love as Thee, And, if my verse may give the meed of fame, Thine too shall prove an everlasting name. Already such, it shines in Tasso's page (For thou wast Tasso's friend) from age to age, And, next, the Muse consign'd, not unaware How high the charge, Marini4 to thy care, 10 Who, singing, to the nymphs, Adonis' praise, Boasts thee the patron of his copious lays. To thee alone the Poet would entrust His latest vows, to thee alone his dust, And Thou with punctual piety hast paid In labour'd brass thy tribute to his shade. Nor this contented thee-but lest the grave Should aught absorb of their's, which thou could'st save, All future ages thou has deign'd to teach The life, lot, genius, character of each, 20 Eloquent as the Carian sage,5 who, true To his great theme, the Life of Homer drew. I, therefore, though a stranger youth, who come Chill'd by rude blasts that freeze my Northern home, Thee dear to Clio confident proclaim, And Thine, for Phoebus' sake, a deathless name. Nor Thou, so kind, wilt view with scornful eye A Muse scarce rear'd beneath our sullen sky, Who fears not, indiscrete as she is young, To seek in Latium hearers of her song. 30 We too, where Thames with his unsullied waves The tresses of the blue-hair'd Ocean laves, Hear oft by night, or, slumb'ring, seem to hear O'er his wide stream, the swan's voice warbling clear, And we could boast a Tityrus6 of yore, Who trod, a welcome guest, your happy shore. Yes, dreary as we own our Northern clime, E'en we to Phoebus raise the polish'd rhyme, We too serve Phoebus; Phoebus has receiv'd, (If legends old may claim to be believ'd) 40 No sordid gifts from us, the golden ear, The burnish'd apple, ruddiest of the year, The fragrant crocus, and, to grace his fane, Fair damsels chosen from the Druid train- Druids, our native bards in ancient time, Who Gods and Heroes prais'd in hallow'd rhyme. Hence, often as the maids of Greece surround Apollo's shrine with hymns of festive sound, They name the virgins who arriv'd of yore With British off'rings on the Delian shore, 50 Loxo, from Giant Corineus sprung, Upis, on whose blest lips the Future hung, And Hecaerge7 with the golden hair, All deck'd with Pic'ish hues, and all with bosoms bare. Thou therefore, happy Sage, whatever clime Shall ring with Tasso's praise in after-time, Or with Marini's, shalt be known their friend, And with an equal flight to fame ascend. The world shall hear how Phoebus and the Nine Were inmates, once, and willing guests of thine. 60 Yet Phoebus, when of old constrain'd to roam