Wonders with Pain receiv'd for true,
At once find Credit, and renew;
No Charms like Celia's Voice surprize,
Except the Magick of her Eyes.
To my Friend Mr. Dryden, on his Excellent Translations.
AS Flow'rs transplanted from a Southern Sky
But hardly bear, or in the Raising die,
Missing their native Sun, at best retain
But a faint Odour, and survive with Pain:
Thus ancient Wit, in modern Numbers taught,
Wanting the Warmth with which its Author wrote,
Is a dead Image, and a senseless Draught:
While we transfuse, the nimble Spirit flies,
Escapes unseen, evaporates, and dies.
Who then to copy Roman Wit desire,
Must imitate with Roman Force and Fire;
In Elegance of Style and Phrase the same,
And in the sparkling Genius and the Flame:
Whence we conclude from thy translated Song,
So just, so smooth, so soft, and yet so strong,
Celestial Charmer! Soul of Harmony!
That ev'ry Genius was reviv'd in thee.
Thy