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 wifdom's fhrine,

Beauty with truth I strive to join,

And grave affent with glad applause;
To paint the ftory of the soul,

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.

1

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 defire

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.

M DCC XLVII.

I. I.

THE wife and great of every clime,

Through all the fpacious walks of Time,

Where'er the Mufe her power difplay'd,
With joy have listen'd and obey'd.
For, taught of heaven, the facred Nine
Perfuafive numbers, forms divine,

To mortal fenfe impart :

They beft the foul with glory fire;

They noblest counsels, boldest deeds inspire ;

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

1

Nor lefs prevailing is their charin
The vengeful bofom to difarm;
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 breast the gifts of every Mufe 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 fhall the fervile notes to Celtic kings By flattering minstrels paid in evil hour, Move thee to fpurn the heavenly Mufe's reign. A different ftrain,

And other themes

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

(While men and heroes throng'd around)
How life its nobleft ufe may find,

How well for freedom be refign'd;
And how, by glory, virtue fhall be crown'd.

11. I.

Such was the Chian father's ftrain
To many a kind domestic train,
Whofe pious hearth and genial bowl
Had chear'd the reverend pilgrim's foul
When, every hospitable rite

With equal bounty to requite,

He struck his magic strings;

And pour'd spontaneous numbers forth, And feiz'd their ears with tales of ancient worth, And fill'd their musing hearts with vast heroic things.

II. 2.

Now oft, where happy fpirits dwell,
Where yet he tunes his charming shell,
Oft near him, with applauding hands,
The genius of his country stands.
To liftening gods he makes him known,
That man divine, by whom were sown
The feeds of Grecian fame :

Who first the race with freedom fir'd;

From whom Lycurgus Sparta's fons inspir'd;

From whom Plataan palms and Cyprian trophies came.

II. 3.

O nobleft, happiest age!

When Ariftides rul'd, and Cimon fought; When all the generous fruits of Homer's page Exulting Pindar faw to full perfection brought. O Pindar, oft fhalt thou be hail'd of me: Not that Apollo fed thee from his shrine; Not that thy lips drank sweetness from the bee; Nor yet that, studious of thy notes divine, Pan danc'd their measure with the fylvan throng: But that thy song

Was proud to unfold

What thy bafe rulers trembled to behold;
Amid corrupted Thebes was proud to tell
The deeds of Athens and the Perfian fhame :
Hence on thy head their impious vengeance fell.
But thou, O faithful to thy fame,

The Mufe's law didft rightly know ;
That who would animate his lays,

And other minds to virtue raife,
Muft feel his own with all her spirit glow.

III. 1.

Are there, approv'd of later times,

Whofe verfe adorn'd a* tyrant's crimes?

Who faw majestic Rome betray'd,

And lent the imperial ruffian aid?
Alas! not one polluted Bard,

No, not the strains that Mincius heard,

Or Tibur's hills reply'd,

* Octavianus Cæfar.

Dare