Fairly design'd! to charm our civil rage
With verse, and plant bays in an iron age!
But hath steel'd Mars so ductible a soul,
That love and poesy may it control?
Yes! brave Tyrtaeus, as we read of old,
The Grecian armies as he pleas'd could mould;
They march'd to his high numbers, and did fight
With that instinct and rage, which he did write.
When he fell lower, they would straight retreat,
Grow soft and calm, and temper their bold heat.
Such magic is in Virtue! See here a young
Tyrtaeus too, whose sweet persuasive song
Can lead our spirits any way, and move
To all adventures, either war or love.
Then veil the bright Etesia, that choice she,
Lest Mars—Timander's friend—his rival be.
So fair a nymph, dress'd by a Muse so neat,
Might warm the North, and thaw the frozen Gete.
Tho. Powell, D.D.