250

255

His nofe in air erect; from ridge to ridge
Panting he bounds, his quarter'd ground divides
In equal intervals, nor carelefs leaves
One inch untry'd. At length the tainted gales
His noftrils wide inhale; quick joy elates
His beating heart, which, aw'd by difcipline
Severe, he dares not own; but cautious creeps
Low cowering, ftep by step; at last attains
His proper diftance; there he ftops at once,
And points with his inftru&ive nofe upon
The trembling prey. On wings of wind upborn
The floating net unfolded flies; then drops,
And the poor fluttering captives rife in vain. 260
Or haply on fome river's cooling bank,
Patiently mufing all intent I ftand

To hook the fcaly glutton. See! down finks
My cork, that faithful Monitor; his weight
My taper angle bends; furpriz'd, amaz'd,
He glitters in the fun, and firuggling pants
Fer liberty, till in the purer air

265

He breathes no more. Such are our pleafing cares, And sweet amusements, fuch each bufy drudge Envioys mult with, and all the wife enjoy.

In

270

Thus, moft illuftrious Prince, have I prefum'd my obfcure fojourn to fing at eafe

Rural delights, the joy, and fweet repast

Of noble mind: and now perchance
every
Untimely fing; fince from yon neighbouring hore
The grumbling thunder rolls; calm peace alarm'd
Starts from her couch, and the rude din of war
Sounds harfh in every ear. But righteous heaven!
Britain deferted, friendlefs, and alone,
Will not as yet defpair: fhine but in arms,
O Prince, belov'd by all! patron profefs'd
Of liberty! with every virtue crown'd!

I conn'd each line with joyous care,
As I can fuch from fun to fun;
And, like the glutton o'er his fare
Delicious, thought-them too foon done.
The witty smile, nature and art,

In all your numbers fo combine,

As to complete their juft defert,

And grace them with uncommon fhine. Delighted we your Mufe regard,

When he like Pindar's spreads her wings; And virtue, being its own reward, Expreffes by the Sifter Springs. Emotions tender croud the mind, When with the royal bard you go, To figh in notes divinely kind,

"The mighty fall n on mount Gilbo." Much furely was the virgin's joy,,

Who with the Iliad had your lays;
For e'er, and fince the fiege of Troy,
We all delight in love and praife.
Thefe heaven-born paffions, fuch defire,
I never yet could think a crime,
But first-rate virtues which inspire

The foul to reach at the fublime.

But often men miftake the way,

And pump for fame by empty boast, Like your "gilt Afs," who food to bray, Till in a flame his tail he loft.

Milions fhall crowd her fraud, and her white

of Xerxes.

Ver. 103. The place where the hern takes his fand, watching his prey.

Ver. 169. This is done to prevent his hurting the hawk: they generally alfo break their legs. Ver. 172. The reward of the hawk made of the brains, marrow, and blood, which they call in Italian, Seppa.

Ver. 174. No man was permitted to fhoot within 600 yards of the eyrie, or neft of an hørn, under great penalties.

Ver. 176. The hern's top worn at coronations here, and by the great men in Afia in their turbans.

Fontaine and Prior, who have fung Blyth tales the beft; had they heard thine On Lob, they'd own'd themselves out-done. The plot's purfued with fo much glee,

The too officious "Dog and Priest," The "Squire opprefs'd," I own for me, I never heard a better jeft.

Pope well defcrib'd an Omber Game,

And

King revenging Captive Queen;" He merits; but had won more fame, If author of your "Bowling-green." You paint your parties, play each bowl,

30 natural, just, and with fuch ease, That, while I read, upon my fou!!

I wonder how I chance to pleafe.
Yet I have pleas'd, and please the best;
And fure to me laurels belong,
Since British fair, and 'mongit the beft,
Somervile's confort likes my fong.

Ravish'd I heard th harmonious fair
Sing, like a dweller of the fky,
My verfes with a Scotian air;

Then fants were not fo biest as I.
In her the valued charms unite;
She really is what all would feem,
Gracefully handfome, wife and fweet!
'lis merit to have her cfteem.

Your

Or faithful Ariftides, fent, For being juft, to banishment, He writ the rigid fentence down, He pitied the mifguided clown: Or him, who, when brib'd orators milled The factious tribes, to hofile Sparta fled; The vile ingrateful crowd, Proclaim'd their impious joy aloud, But foon the fools difcover'd to their coft, Athens in Alcibiades was loft. Or, if a Roman name delight thee more, The great Dictator's fate deplore, Camillus against noify faction bold, In victories and triumphs old. Ungrateful Rome!

Punish'd by heaven's averging doom, Soon fhall thy ardent vows invite him home, The mighty chieftain foon recall, To prop the falling capitol,

And fave his country from the perjur'd Gaul, Search, Mufe, the dark records of time, And every fhameful story trace, Black with injuftice and difgrace, When glorious merit was a crime; Yet thefe, all thefe, but faintly can exprefs Folly without excufe, and madness in excefs.

The nobleft object that out our eyes can blefs, Is the brave man triumphant in distress;

Above the reach of partial fate, Above the vulgar's praife or hate, Whom no feign'd fmiles can raife, no frowns deprefs.

View him, ye Britons, on the naked fhore,
Refolv'd to truft your faithlefs vows no more,
That mighty man! who for ten glorious years
Surpafs'd our hopes, prevented all our prayers.
A name, in every clime renown`d,

By nations blefs'd, by monarchs crown'd.
In folemn jubilees our days we spent,
Our hearts exulting in each grand event.

Factions applaud the man they hate,

And with regret, to pay their painful homage

wait.

Fly, goddefs, fly this inaufpicious place;
Spurn at the vile degenerate race,
Attend the glorious exile, and proclaim
In other climes his lafting fame,
Where honeft hearts, unknowing to forget
The bleffings from his arms receiv'd,
Confefs with joy the mighty debt,
Their altars refcued, and their gods reliev'd.
IV.

Nor fails the hero to a clime unknown, Cities preferv'd, their great deliverer own: Impatient crowds about him prefs, And with fincere devotion blefs. Those plains, of ten years war the bloody ftage, (Where panting nations ftruggled to be free And life exchang'd for liberty) Retain the marks of ftern Bellona's rage. The doubtful hind miftakes the field His fruitlefs toil fo lately till'd: Here deep intrenchments funk, and vales appear, The vain retreats of Gallic fear; There now-created hills deform the plain, Big with the carnage of the flain: Thefe monuments, when faction's spight Has fpit its poifonous foam in vain, To endlefs ages fhall proclaim The matchlefs warrior's might.

The graves of flaughter'd foes fhall do his valour right.

Thefe when the curious traveller Amaz'd fhall view, and with attentive care Trace the fad foothieps of deftructive war; Succeffive bards fhali tell,

How Marlborough fought, how gasping tyrants
fell.

Alternate chiefs confefs'd the victor's fame,
Pleas'd and excus'd in their fucceffor's fhame.
In every change, in every form,

The Proteus felt his conquering arm : Convinc'd of weaknefs, in extreme-despair, They lurk'd behind their lines, and wag'd a lazy

war.

Nor lines nor forts conld calm the foldier's fear, Surpriz'd he found a Marlborough there. Nature, nor art, his eager rage withstood, He meafur'd diftant plains, he forc'd the rapid flood,

It

He fought, he conquer'd, he pursued. In years advanc'd, with youthful vigour warm', The work of ages in a day perform'd: When kindly gleams diffolve the winter fnows From Alpine hills, with fuch impetuous hafte

The icy torrent flows;

In vain the rocks oppofe, drives along enlarg'd, and lays the region waste.

Stop, goddess, thy prefumptuous flight, Nor foar to fuch a dangerous height, Raile not the ghost of his departed fame, To pierce our confcious fouls with guilty fhame: But tune thy harp to hambler lays, Nor meditate offenfive praife.

ΤΟ

In heaven he fings; on earth your Muse supplies
Th' important lofs, and heals our weeping eyes.
Correctly great, fhe melts each flinty heart,
With equal genius, but fuperior art.
Hail, happy pair! ordain'd by turns to b'cfs,
And fave a finking nation in diftrefs.
By great examples to reform the crowd,
Awake their zeal, and warm their frozen blood.
When Brutus ftrikes for liberty and laws,
Nor fpares a father in his country's caufe
Juftice fevere applauds the cruel deed,
A tyrant fuffers, and the world is freed,
But, when we fee the godlike Cato bleed,
The nation weeps; and from thy fate, oh Rome!
Learns to prevent their own impending doom.
Where is the wretch a worthlefs life can prize,
When Senates are no more, and Cato dies?
Indulgent forrow, and a pleasing pain,
Heaves in cach breaft, and beats in every vein.
Th' expiring patriot animates the crowd,
Bold they demend their ancient rights aloud,
The dear-bought purchase of their father's blood.
Fair Liberty her head majestic rears,
Ten thoufand bleffings in her bofom bears;
Serene the fmiles, revealing all her charms,
And calls her free-born youth to glorious arms.
Faction'srepell'd, and grumbling leaves her prey,)
Forlorn fhe fits, and dreads the fatal day,
When eastern gaies fhall sweep her hopes away.
Such ardent zeal your Mufe alone could raife,
Alone reward it with immortal praise.
Ages to come fhall celebrate your fame,
And refcued Briton blefs the poet's name.
So when the dreaded powers of Sparta fail'd,
Tyrtæus and Athenian wit prevail'd,
Too weak the laws by wife Lycurgus made,
And rules fevere without the Mufes' aid:
He touch'd the trembling ftrings, the poet's fong
Reviv'd the faint, and made the feeble strong;
Recall'd the living to the dufty plain,
And to a better life reftor'd the flain.
The victor-host amaz'd, with horror view'd
Th' affembling troops, and all the war renew'd;
To more than mortal courage quit the field.
And to their focs th' unfinish'd trophies yield.

Inimitably great!

Bow low, ye bards, at his exalted throne,
And lay your labours at his feet;
Capacious foul! whofe boundless thoughts furvey
Heaven, hell, earth, fea;

Lo! where the embattled gods appear,

The mountains from their feats they tear, And shake th'empyreal heavens with impious war, Yet, nor fhall Milton's ghoft repine

At all the honours we beftow

On Addison's deserving brow,

By whom convinc'd, we own his work divine, Whofe fkiiful pen has done his merit right, And fet the jewel in a fairer light.

Enliven'd by his bright Effay

Each flowery scene appears more gay,
New beauties fpring in Eden's fertile groves,
And by his culture Paradife improves.
Garth, by Apoflo doubly blefs'd,
Is by the god entire poffefs'd:
Age, unwilling to depart,
Begs life from his prevailing fkill;
Youth, reviving from his art,
Borrows its charms and power to kill :
But when the patriot's injur'd fame,
His country's honour, or his friends,
A more extenfive bounty claim,
With joy the ready Mufe attends,
Immortal honours the bestows,

A gift the Mufe alone can give ;

She crowns the glorious victor's brows,
And bids expiring virtue live.

Nymphs yet unborn fhall meit with amorous flames
That Congreve's lays inspire;

And Philips warm the gentle fwains

To love and foft defire.

Ah! fhun, ye fair, the dangerous founds,
Alas! each moving accent wounds,

The fparks conceal'd revive again
The god reftor'd, refumes his reign,
in ki ling joys and pleafing pain.

Thus does each bard in different garb appear,
Each Mufe has her peculiar air,
And in propriety of drefs becomes more fair;
To sach, impartial Providence

Well-chofen gifts bestows,

He varies his munificence, And in divided ftreams the heavenly bleffing flows.

11.

If we look back on ages paft and gone,
When infant Time his race begun,
The diftant view ftill leffens to our fight,
Obfcur'd in clouds, and veil'd in fhades of night.
The Mufe alone can the dark scenes difplay,
Enlarge the profpect, and disclose the day.
'Tis the the records of times paft explores,
And the dead hero to new life restores,
To the brave man who for his country died,
Erects a lafting pyramid,

Supports his dignity and fame,
When mouldering pillars drop his name.
In full proportion leads her warrior forth,
Difcovers his neglected worth,

Brightens