Tell me, ye victors, what strange charms ye find
In conqueft, that deftruction of mankind!
Unenvy'd may your laurels ever grow,
That never flourish but in human woe,
If never earth the wreath triumphal bears,
Till drench'd in heroes' blood, or orphans' tears.
Let Ganges from afar to flaughter train
His fable warriors on th' embattled plain;
Let Volga's fons in iron fquadrons rife,
And pour
in millions from her frozen fkies:
Thou, gentle Thames, flow thou in peaceful streams,
Bid thy bold fons restrain their martial flames.
In thy own laurel's fhade, great Marlborough, ftay,
There charm the thoughts of conquer'd worlds away:
Guardian of England! born to fcourge her foes,
Speak, and thy word gives half the world repofe;
Sink down, ye hills; eternal rocks, fubfide;
Vanish, ye forts; thou, ocean, drain thy tide:
We fafety boast, defended by thy fame,
And armies-in the terror of thy name!
Now fix o'er Anna's throne thy victor blade.
War, be thou chain'd! ye ftreams of blood, be ftay'd!
Though wild Ambition her juft vengeance feels,
She wars to fave, and where she strikes, fhe heals.
So Pallas with her javelin fmote the the ground, And peaceful olives flourish'd from the wound.
To the Right Honourable
CHARLES LORD CORNWALLIS,
Baron of Eyre, Warden, Chief Juftice, and Justice in Eyre of all His Majefty's Forefts, Chafes, Parks, and Warrens, on the South Side of Trent.
THOU whofe virtues fanctify thy ftate!
O great, without the vices of the great!
Form'd by a dignity of mind to please,
To think, to act with elegance and eafe!*
Say, wilt thou liften while I tune the ftring,
And fing to thee, who gav'ft me eafe to fing?
Unfkill'd in verfe, I haunt the filent grove;
Yet lowly fhepherds fing to mighty Jove;
And mighty Jove attends the fhepherds' vows,
And gracious what his fuppliants afk beftows:
So by thy favour may the Mufe be crown'd,
And plant her laurels in more fruitful ground;
The grateful Muse shall in return bestow
Her spreading laurels to adorn thy brow.
Firm to thy king, and to thy country brave;
Loyal, yet free; a fubject, not a flave;
Thus, guarded by the tree of Jove, a flower
Shoots from the earth, nor fears th' inclement shower; And, when the fury of the ftorm is laid,
Repays with sweets the hofpitable fhade.
Severe their lot, who, when they long endure
The wounds of fortune, late receive a cure!
Like ships in ftorms o'er liquid mountains toft,
Ere they are fav'd must almost first be loft;
But you with speed forbid diftrefs to grieve:
He gives by halves,* who hesitates to give.
Thus, when an angel views mankind distrest,
He feels compaffion pleading in his breaft;
Inftant the heavenly guardian cleaves the skies,
And, pleas'd to fave, on wings of lightning flies.+
Few know to afk, or decently receive;
And fewer ftill with dignity to give :
If earn'd by flattery, gifts of highest price
Are not a bounty, but the pay of vice.
Some wildly lavish, yet no friend obtain;
Nor are they generous, but abfurd and vain.
Some give with furly pride and boisterous hands,
As Jove pours rain in thunder o'er the lands.
When merit pleads, you meet it and embrace,
And give the favour luftre by the grace;
So Phœbus to his warmth a glory joins,
Bleffing the world, and while he bleffes fhines.
*The Lord Cornwallis, in a moft obliging manner, recom
mended the author to the rectory of Pulham.
Some the vain promises of courts betray;
And gayly ftraying, they are pleas'd to ftray;
The flattering nothing still deludes their eyes,
Seems ever near, yet ever diftant flies:
As perfpectives prefent the object nigh,
Though far remov'd from the mistaking eye;
Against our reafon fondly we believe,
Affift the fraud, and teach it to deceive:
As the faint traveller, when night invades,
Sees a falfe light relieve the ambient fhades,
Pleas'd he beholds the bright delufion play,
But the falfe guide shines only to betray:
Swift he pursues, yet ftill the path mistakes,
O'er dangerous marshes, or through thorny brakes;
Yet obftinate in wrong he toils to ftray,
With many a weary ftride, o'er many a painful way.
So man pursues the phantom of his brain,
And buys his difappointment with his pain:
At length when years invidicufly destroy
The power to taste the long-expected joy,
Then fortune envious fheds her golden showers,
Malignly fmiles, and curfes him with ftores.
Thus o'er the urns of friends departed weep
The mournful kindred, and fond vigils keep;
Ambrofial ointments o'er their ashes shed,
And fcatter ufelefs rofes on the dead;
And when no more avail the world's delights,
The spicy odours, and the folemn rites,
With fruitless pomp they deck the senseless tombs,
And waste profufely floods of vain perfumes.
To the Right Honourable the Lady JANE
UEEN of fragrance, lovely Rose,
The beauties of thy leaves difclofe!
The winter 's past, the tempests fly,
Soft gales breathe gently through the sky;
The lark fweet warbling on the wing
Salutes the gay return of spring:
The filver dews, the vernal fhowers,
Call forth a bloomy waste of flowers;
The joyous fields, the fhady woods,
Are cloath'd with green, or fwell with buds
Then hafte thy beauties to disclose,
Queen of fragrance, lovely Rose!
Thou, beauteous flower, a welcome guest,
Shalt flourish on the fair-one's breast,
grace her hand, or deck her hair,
The flower moft fweet, the nymph most fair.
Breathe foft, ye winds! be calm, ye skies!
Arife, ye flowery race, arife!
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