What to pursue in Virgil's lay:

Till hope afcends to loftieft things,
Nor envies demagogues or kings
Their frail and vulgar fway.

V.

O vers'd in all the human frame,

Lead thou where'er my labour lies,
And English fancy's eager flame

To Grecian purity chastize :

While hand in hand, at wisdom's shrine,
Beauty with truth I ftrive to join,
And grave affent with glad applaufe;
To paint the ftory of the foul,
And Plato's vifions to controul
By Verulamian* laws.

COME then, tell me, fage divine,

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,

* 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 defire

Than Timoleon's arms acquire,

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

ODE

XVIII.

TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FRANCIS EARL OF HUNTINGDON.

M. DCC. XLVII.

I. I.

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 beft the foul with glory fire;

They nobleft counfels, boldest deeds inspire ;

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

I. 2. Nor

I. 2.

Nor lefs prevailing is their charm
The vengeful bofom 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 Mufe hath known; Nor fhall the giver's love disgrace 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 shell
Rejoicing liften'd, godlike founds to hear;
To hear the fweet inftructress tell

(While men and heroes throng'd around)
How life its noblest use

may find,
How well for freedom be refign'd;

And how, by glory, virtue fhall be crown'd.

II. 1.

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

With equal bounty to requite,

He ftruck his magic ftrings;

And pour'd fpontaneous numbers forth,

And feiz'd their ears with tales of ancient worth, And fill'd their mufing hearts with vaft heroic things.

II. 2.

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

Who firft the race with freedom fir'd;

From whom Lycurgus Sparta's fons infpir'd;

From whom Plataan palms and Cyprian trophies came.

II. 3. O

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 fhrine; Not that thy lips drank sweetness from the bee; Nor yet that, ftudious of thy notes divine, Pan danc'd their measure with the fylvan throng: But that thy fong

Was proud to unfold

What thy base 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 raise,

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