XII.

Oh think, o'er all this mortal stage,
What mournful fcenes arife:
What ruin waits on kingly rage:
How often virtue dwells with woe:
How many griefs from knowledge flow:
How swiftly pleasure flies.

WITH fordid floods the wintery * Urn

Hath ftain'd fair Richmond's level green:

Her naked hill the Dryads mourn,

No longer a poetic fcene.

No longer there thy raptur'd eye
The beauteous forms of earth or sky
Surveys as in their Author's mind:
And London shelters from the year
Those whom thy focial hours to fhare
The Attic Mufe defign'd.

* Aquarius.

II. From

II.

From Hampstead's airy fummit me
Her gueft the city fhall behold,
What day the people's ftern decree
To unbelieving kings is told,

When common men (the dread of fame)
Adjudg'd as one of evil name,
Before the fun, the anointed head.
Then feek thou too the pious town,
With no unworthy cares to crown
That evening's awful fhade.

III.

Deem not I call thee to deplore
The facred martyr of the day,
By faft and penitential lore
To purge our ancient guilt away.
For this, on humble faith I reft
That ftill our advocate, the priest,
From heavenly wrath will fave the land:
Nor ask what rites our pardon gain,
Nor how his potent founds restrain
The thunderer's lifted hand.

IV.

No, Hardinge: peace to church and state! That evening, let the Mufe give law: While I anew the theme relate

Which my first youth inamor'd faw. Then will I oft explore thy thought, What to reject which Locke hath taught,

What to pursue in Virgil's lay:
Till hope afcends to loftieft things,
Nor envies demagogues, or kings
Their frail and vulgar sway.

V.

O vers'd in all the human frame,
Lead thou where'er my labor lies,
And English fancy's eager flame
To Grecian purity chastize:

While hand in hand, at wisdom's shrine,
Beauty with truth I strive to join,

And grave affent with glad applause;

To paint the ftory of the foul,

And Plato's vifions to control

By Verulamian * laws.

COME

Is it an offence to own

That our bofoms e'er incline

Toward immortal glory's throne?

For with me nor pomp, nor pleasure,
Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure,

So

* Verulam gave one of his titles to Francis Bacon, Novum Organum.

So can fancy's dream rejoice,

So conciliate reafon's choice,

As one approving word of her impartial voice.

II.

If to fpurn at noble praise

Be the pass-port to thy heaven,
Follow thou thofe gloomy ways
No fuch law to me was given,
Nor, I truft, fhall I deplore me
Faring like my friends before me;
Nor an holier place desire

Than Timoleon's arms acquire,

And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre.

O DE XVIII.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FRANCIS EARL OF HUNTINGDON,

MDCCXLVII.

I.

1.

THE wife and great of every clime,

Through all the spacious walks of Time,

Where'er the Mufe her power difplay'd,

With joy have liften'd and obey'd.

For, taught of heaven, the facred Nine
Perfuafive numbers, forms divine,

To mortal fenfe impart :

They best the foul with glory fire

They nobleft counfels, boldeft deeds infpire;

And high o'er Fortune's rage inthrone the fixed heart.

I. 2.

Nor less prevailing is their charm
The vengeful bosom to disarm;
To melt the proud with human woe,
And prompt unwilling tears to flow.
Can wealth a power like this afford?
Can Cromwell's arts, or Marlborough's fword,
An equal empire claim?

No, Haftings. Thou my words will own : Thy breaft the gifts of every Muse hath known; Nor fhall the giver's love difgrace thy noble name.

I. 3.

The Mufe's awful art,

And the bleft function of the Poet's tongue, Ne'er fhalt thou blush to honour; to affert From all that scorned vice or flavish fear hath fung. Nor fhall the blandishment of Tuscan strings Warbling at will in pleasure's myrtle bower; Nor shall the fervile notes to Celtic kings By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour, Move thee to fpurn the heavenly Muse's reign. A different ftrain,

And other themes

From her prophetic shades and hallow'd streams
(Thou well canft witness) meet the purged ear:
Such, as when Greece to her immortal shell
Rejoicing liften'd godlike founds to hear;
To hear the sweet instructress tell