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Nor there in sprightly Pleasure's genial train,
OF A BEAUTY IN THE COUNTRY.
WAITTEN AT ETON SCHOOL
'Twas night; and Flavia, to her room retird, While, glowing in her cheeks, with tender love, With evening chat and sober reading tird; Sweet virgin modesty reluctant strove!
There, melancholy, pensive, and alone, And hail to thee, fair queen of young desires ! She meditates on the forsaken town: Long shall my heart preserve thy pleasing tires, On her rais d arm reclin'd her drooping head, Since Delia now can all its warmth return, She sign'd, and thus in plaintive accents said: As fondly languish, and as fiercely burn.
“Ah! what avails it to be young and fair; “O the dear bloom of last propitious night! To move with pegligence, to dress with care? O shade more charming than the fairest light! What worth have all the charms our pride can Then in my arms I clasp'd the melting maid,
boast, Then all my pains one moment overpaid;
If all in envious solitude are lost? Then first the sweet excess of bliss 1 pror'd, Where none admire, 'tis useless to excel; Which none can taste but who like me have lov'd. Where none are beaux, 'tis vain to be a belle; Thou too, bright goddess, once, in Ida's grove, Beauty, like wit, to judges should be shown; Didst not disdain to meet a shepherd's love; Both most are valued, where they best are known. With him, while frisking lambs around you play'd, With every grace of Nature or of Art, Conceal'd you sported in the secret shade: We cannot break one stubborn country heart: Scarce could Anchises' raptures equal mine, The brutes, insensible, our power defy : And Delia's beauties only yield to thine.
To love, exceeds a 'squire's capacity. “ What are ye now, my once most valued joys? The town, the court, is Beauty's proper sphere; Insipid trifles all, and childish toys-
That is our Heaven, and we are angels there: Friendship itself ne'er knew a charin like this, In that gay circle thousand Cupids rove, Nor Colin's talk could please like Delia's kiss. The court of Britain is the court of Love.
“ Ye Muses, skill'd in every winning art, How has my conscious heart with triumph glon'd, Teach me more deeply to engage her heart; How have my sparkling eyes their transport shuad, Ye nymphs, to her your freshest roses bring, At each distinguish'd birth-night ball, to see And crown her with the pride of all the Spring: The homage, due to empire, paid to me! On all her days let health and peace attend; When every eye was tix'd on me alone, May she ne'er want, nor ever lose, a friend! And dreaded mine more than the monarch's May some new pleasure every hour employ:
frown; But let her Damon be her highest joy!
When rival statesmen for my favour strove, “ With thee, my love, for ever will I stay, Less jealous in their power than in their love. All night caress thee, and admire all day; Chang'd is the scene; and all my glories die, In the same field our mingled Bocks we 'll feed, Like flowers transplanted to a colder sky: To the same spring our thirsty heifers lead, Lost is the dear delight of giving pain, Together will we share the harvest toils,
The tyrant joy of hearing slaves complain. Together press the vine's autumnal spoils.
Io stupid indolence my life is spent, Delightful state, where Peace and Love combine, Supinely calm, and dully innocent: To bid our tranquil days unclouded shine! Unblest I wear my useless time away; Here limpid fountains roll through flowery meads; Sleep (wretched maid !) all night, and dream all Here rising forests lift their verdant heads;
day ; Here let me wear my careless life away,
Go at set hours to dinner and to prayer And in thy arms insensibly decay.
(For dullness ever must be regular.) “When late old age our heads shall silver o'er, Now with mamma at tedious whist I play; And our slow pulses dance with joy no more ; Now without scandal drink insipid tea; When Time no longer will thy beauties spare, Or in the garden breathe the country air, And only Damon's eye shall think thee fair; Secure from meeting any tempter there; Then may the gentle hand of welcome Death, From books to work, from work to books, I rove, At one soft stroke, deprive us both of breath! And am, alas! at leisure to improve ! May we beneath one common stone be laid, Is this the life a beauty ought to lead ? And the same cypress both our ashes shade! Were eyes so radiant only made to read ? Perhaps some friendly Muse, in tender verse, These fingers, at whose touch ev'n age would Shall deign our faithful passion to rehearse
glow, And future ages, with just envy mov'd,
Are these of use for nothing but to sew ?
Sure erring Nature never conld design
Such beauty boasts. Amid the mazy gloom
Of this romantic wilderness once stood
The bower of Rosamonda, hapless fair,
Sacred to grief and love; the crystal fount
In which she us'd to bathe her beauteous limbs YEAR 1727.
Still warbling flows, pleas'd to reflect the face PARENT of arts, whose skilful hand first taught Of Spencer, lovely maid, when tir'd she sits The towering pile to rise, and form'd the plan Beside its flowery brink, and views those charms With fair proportion; architect divine.
Which only Rosamond conld once excel. Minerva, thee to my adventurous lyre
But see where, flowing with a nobler stream, Assistant I invoke, that means to sing
A limpid lake of purest waters rolls Blenheim, proud monument of British fame, Beneath the wide-stretch'd arch, stupendous work, Thy glorious work! for thou the lofty towers Through which the Danube might collected pour Didst to his virtue raise, whom oft thy shield His spacious urn! Silent a while and smooth In peril guarded, and thy wisdomn steerd
The current glides, till with an headiong force Thmugh all the storms of war.—Thee too I call, Broke and disorder'd, down the steep it falls Thalia, sylvan Muse, who lov'st to rove
In loud cascades; the silver-sparkling foam
Of Churchill, from the toils of war and state,
Splendidly private, and the tranquil joy Paint with melodious praise the pleasing scene, Of contemplation felt, while Blenheim's dome And equal these to Pindus' honour'd shades. Triumphal ever in his mind renew'd
When Europe freed, confess'd the saving power The memory of his fame, and sooth'd his thoughts Of Marlborough's hand; Britain, who sent him forth With pleasing record of his glorious deeds. Chief of confederate hosts, to fight the cause So, by the rage of Faction home recall’d, Of Liberty and Justice, grateful rais'd
Lucullus, while he wag'd successful war This palace, sacred to her leader's fame:
Against the pride of Asia, and the power A trophy of success; with spoils adorn'd
Of Mithridates, whose aspiring mind Of conquer'd towns, and glorying in the name No losses could subdue, enrich'd with spoils Of that auspicious field, where Churchill's sword Of conquer'd nations, back return’d to Rone, Vanquish'd the might of Gallia, and chastis'd And in magnificent retirement past Rebel Bavar.-Majestic in its strength,
The evening of his life.—But not alone, Stands the proud dome, and speaks its great design. In the calm shades of honourable ease,
(ven Hail, happy chief, whose valour could deserve Great Marlborough peaceful dwelt: indulgent HeaReward so glorious! grateful nation, hail,
Gave a companion to his softer hours,
Found greatness equal to his own, and lov'd
Like two fair stars, with intermingled light,
Aiding each other's brightness, till the cloud
Tore from thy consort's side, and call'd thee hence Still thy obdurate heart against the sense
To the sublimer seats of joy and love; Of obligation infinite; and know,
Where Fate again shall join her soul to thine, Britain, like Heaven, protects a thankless world Who now, regardful of thy fame, erects For her own glory, nor expects reward.
The column to thy praise, and soothes her woe Pleas'd with the noble theme, her task the Muse With pious honours to thy sacred name Pursues untir'd, and through the palace roves Immortal. Lo! where, towering in the height With ever-new delight. The tapestry rich Of yon aërial pillar, proudly stands With gold, and gay with all the beauteous paint Thy image, like a guardian god, sublime, Of various colour'd silks, dispos'd with skill, And awes the subject plain : beneath his feet, Attracts her curious eye. Here Ister rolls
The German eagles spread their wings; his hand His purple wave; and there the Granick flood Grasps Victory, its slave. Such was thy brow With passing squadrons foams: here hardy Gaul Majestic, such thy martial port, when Gaul Flies from the sword of Britain; there to Greece Fled from thy frown, and in the Danube sought Ifieminate Persia yields. In arms oppos'd, A refuge froin thy sword.—There, where the field Marlborough and Alexander vie for fame
Was deepest stain'd with gore, on Hochstet's plain, With glorious competition; equal both
The theatre of thy glory, once was rais'd In valour and in fortune: but their praise
A meaner trophy, by the imperial hand;
Of malice impotent, beseeming ill
Mean insult ! This, with better auspices,
How Marlborough fought, for whom, and how repaid
His services. Nor shall the constant love
Not, like a cloyster'd drone, to read and dose, Of her who rais'd this monument be lost
In undeserving, undeserv'd, repose; In dark oblivion : that shall be the theme
But reason's influence to diffuse; to clear Of future bards in ages yet unburn,
Th' enlighten'd world of every gloomy fear; Inspir'd with Chaucer's fire, who in these groves Dispel the mists of errour, and unbind First tun'd the British harp, and little deem'd Those pedant chains that clog the freeborn mind. His humble dwelling should the neighbour be Happy who thus his leisure can employ! Of Blenheim, house superb; to which the throng
He knows the purest hours of tranquil joy ; Of travellers approaching shall not pass
Nor vext with pangs that busier bosoms tear, His roof unnoted, but respectful hail
Nor lost to social virtue's pleasing care; With reverence due. Such honour does the Muse Safe in the port, yet labouring to sustain Obtain her favourites. But the noble pile
Those who still Noat on the tempestuous main. (My theme) demands my voice.-0 shade ador'd, So Locke the days of studious quiet spent; Marlborough! who now above the starry sphere So Boyle in wisdom found divine content; Dwell'st in the palaces of Heaven, enthron'd So Cambray, worthy of a happier doom, Among the demi-gods, deign to defend
The virtuous slave of Louis and of Rome. This thy abode, while present here below,
Good Worster' thus supports his drooping age, And sacred still to thy immortal fame,
Far from court-flattery, far from party-rage; With tutelary care. Preserve it safe
He, who in youth a tyrant's frown defy'd, From Time's destroying hand, and cruel stroke Firin and intrepid on his country's side, [guide! Of factious Envy's more relentless rage.
Her boldest champion then, and now her mildest Here may, long ages hence, the British youth, O generous warmth! O sanctity divine ! When Honour calls them to the field of war, To emulate his worth, my friend, be thine: Behold the trophies which thy valour rais'd;
Learn from his life the duties of the gown; The proud reward of thy successful toils
Learn, not to flatter, ncr insult the crown; For Europe's freedom, and Britannia's fame; Nor, basely servile, court the guilty great, That fir'd with generous envy, they may dare
Nor raise the church a rival to the state: To emulate thy deeds. -So shall thy name,
To errour mild, to vice alone severe, Dear to thy country, still inspire her sons
Seek not to spread the law of love by fear. With martial virtue; and to high attempts The priest who plagues the world can never mend: Excite their arms, till other battles won,
No foe to man was e'er to God a friend. And nations sav'd, new monuments require, Let reason and let virtue faith maintain; And other Bleuheims shall adorn the land,
All force but theirs is impious, weak, and vain.
Me other cares in other climes engage,
In various knowledge to improve my youth,
And conquer prejudice, worst foe to truth;
Enlarge my notions, and my views extend;
The useful science of the world to know,
Whom noblest sentiments of glory fire, Of wise Antiquity's immortal lore,
Yet taught, by custom's force and bigot fear, Where virtue, by the charms of wit refin'd, To serve with pride, and boast the yoke they bear: At once exalts and polishes the mind ?
Whose nobles, born to cringe and to command, How different from our modern guilty art,
(In courts a mean, camps a generous band) Which pleases only to corrupt the heart ;
From each low tool of power, content receive Whose curst refinements odious vice arlorn, Those laws, their dreaded arms to Europe give. And teach to honour what we ought to scorn! Whose people (vain in want, in bondage blest; Dost thou in sage historians joy to see
Though plunderd, gay; industrious, though opprest) How Roman greatness rose with liberty :
With happy follies rise above their fate, How the same hands that tyrants durst control The jest and envy of each wiser state. Their empire stretched from Atlas to the pole; Yet here the Muses deign'd a while to sport Till wealth and conquest into slaves refin'd
In the short sunshine of a favouring court: The proud luxurious masters of mankind ?
Here Boileau, strong in sense and sharp in wit, Dost thou in letter'd Greece each charm admire, Who, from the ancients, like the ancients writ, Each grace, each virtue, Freedom could inspire; Permission gain'd inferior vice to blame, Yet in her troubled state see all the woes,
By flattering incense to his master's fame. And all the crimes, that giddy Faction knows; Here Moliere, first of comic wits, excelled Till, rent by parties, by corruption sold,
Whate'er Athepian theatres beheld; Or weakly careless, or too rashly bold,
By keen, yet decent, satire skill'd to please, She sunk beneath a mitigated doom,
With morals mirth uniting, strength with ease. The slave and tutoress of protecting Rome? Now, charmid, I hear the bold Corneille inspire Does calm Philosophy her aid impart,
Heroic thoughts, with Shakspeare's force and fire! To guide the passions, and to mend tbe heart? Now sweet Racine, with milder influence, move Taught by her precepts, hast thou learnt the end The soften'd heart to pity and to love. To which alone the wise their studies bend; For which alone by Nature were design'd The powers of thought-to benefit mankind ?
With mingled pain and pleasure, I survey
On flowery couches slumbers life away, The pompous works of arbitrary sway;
And gently bids bis active powers decay ;
And shuns renown as much as infamy.
Him Honour follows to the secret shade,
In his retreats their harps the Muses string, And life's great scene in quiet virtue clos'd. For him in lays unbought spontaneous sing ;
With shame that other fam'd retreat I see, Friendship and Truth on all his moments wait, Adorn'd by art, disgrac'd by luxury 4 :
Pleas'd with retirement better than with state ; Where Orleans wasted every vacant hour,
And round the bower, where humbly great he lies, In the wild riot of unbounded power;
Fair olives bloom, or verdant laurels rise. Where feverish debauch and impious love
So when thy country shall no more demand Stain'd the mad table and the guilty grove.
The needful aid of thy sustaining hand ; With these amusements is thy friend detain'd,
When Peace restor'd shall, on her downy wing, Pleas'd and instructed in a foreign land;
Secure repose and careless leisure bring; Yet oft a tender wish recalls my mind
Then, to the shades of learned ease retir'd, From present joys to dearer left behind.
The world forgetting, by the world admir'd, O natire isle, fair Freedom's happiest seat! Among thy books and frieuds, thou shalt possess At thought of thee, my bounding pulses beat;
Contemplative and quiet happiness : At thought of thee, my heart impatient burns,
Pleas'd to review a life in honour spent, And all my country on my soul returns.
And painful merit paid with sweet content. When shall I see thy fields, whose plenteous grain
Yet, though thy hours unclogg'd with sorrow roll, No power can ravish from th' industrious swain? Though wisdom calm, and science feed thy soul, Wben kiss, with pious love, the sacred earth
One dearer bliss remains to be possest, That gave a Burleigh or a Russel birth?
That only can improve and crown the rest. Wben, in the shade of laws, that long have stood, Permit thy friend this secret to reveal, Propt by their care, or strengthen’d by their blood, Which thy own heart perhaps would better tell; Of fearless independence wisely vain,
The point to which our sweetest passions move The proudest slave of Bourbon's race disdain ? Is, to be truly lov’d, and fondly love.
Yet, oh! what doubt, what sad presaging voice, This is the charm that smooths the troubled breast, Whispers within, and bids me not rejoice ;
Friend of our health, and author of our rest: Bids me contemplate every state around,
Bids every gloomy vexing passion fly, From sultry Spain to Norway's icy bound;
And tunes each jarring string to harmony. Bids their lost' rights, their ruin'd glory see;
Ev'n while I write, the name of Love inspires
Beneath his power my raptur'd fancy glows,
Dull is the privilege of living free;
Our hearts were never form'd for liberty :
Some beauteous image, well imprinted there, AMBASSADOR AT THE CONGRESS OF Soissons, in 1728.
Can best defend them from consuming care.
And Nature in her rural works admire;
With pleasing pangs of ever-gay desire; Say, Poyntz, amidst the toil of anxious state, And teach thee that soft science, which alone Dos not thy secret soul desire retreat ?
Still to thy searching mind rests slightly known ! Dost thou not wish (the task of glory done) Thy soul, though great, is tender and refin'd, Thy busy life at length might be thy own; To friendship sensible, to love inclin'd, That, to thy lov'd philosophy resign’d,
And therefore long thou canst not arm thy breast No care might ruffle thy unbended mind?
Against the entrance of so sweet a guest. Just is the wish. For sure the happiest meed, Hear what th' inspiring Muses bid me tell, To favour'd man by smiling Heaven decreed, Por Heaven shall ratify what they reveal : Is, to reflect at ease on glorious pains,
A chosen bride shall in thy arms be plac'd, Ånd calmly to enjoy what virtue gains.
With all th' attractive charms of beauty gracid, Not him I praise, who, from the world retir'd, Whose wit and virtue shall thy own express, By no enlivening generous passion fir’d,
Distinguish'd ovly by their softer dress:
Thy greatness she, or thy retreat, shall share; * The victories of Louis the Pourteenth, painted Sweeten tranquillity, or soften care ; in the galleries of Versailles.
Her smiles the taste of every joy shall raise,
And add new pleasure to renown and praise;
Tillcharm'd you own the truth my verse would prove, * St. Cloud.
That happiness is gear allied to luve."
WRITTEN AT PARIS.
As late on Virgil's tomb fresh Aowers I strow'd,
While with th' inspiring Muse my bosom glow'd, VERSES
Crown'd with eternal bays, my ravish'd eyes TO BE WRITTEN UNDER A PICTURE OF MR. POYNTZ. Beheld the poet's awful form arise:
“Stranger," he said, “whose pious band has paid Such is thy form, O Poyntz, but who shall find These grateful rites to my attentive shade, A hand, or colours, to express thy mind ?
When thou shalt breathe thy happy native air, A mind unmov'd by every vulgar fear,
To Pope this message from his master bear: In a false world that dares to be sincere;
“ Great bard, whose numbers I myself inspire, Wise without art; without ambition great; To whom I gave my own harmonious lyre, Though firm, yet pliant; active, though sedate ; If, high exalted on the throne of wit, With all the richest stores of learning fraught, Near me and Homer thou aspire to sit, Yet better still by native prudence taught; No more let meaner satire dim the rays That, fond the griefs of the distrest to heal, That flow majestic from thy nobler bays; Can pity frailties it could never feel;
In all the flowery paths of Pindus stray, That, when Misfortune sued, ne'er sought to know But shun that thorny, that unpleasing way; What sect, what party, whether friend or foe; Nor, when each soft engaging Muse is thine, That, fix'd on equal virtue's temperate laws, Address the least attractive of the Nine. Despises calumny, and shuns applause :
“ Of thee more worthy were thy task, to raise That, to its own perfections singly blind,
A lasting column to thy country's praise ;
That liberty corrupted Rome has lost;
Such was the theme for which my lyre I strung,
Such was the people whose exploits I sung;
Brave, yet refind, for arms and arts renown'd,
With different bays by Mars and Phæbus crown'd; IMMORTAL bard! for whom each Muse has wove Dauntless opposers of tyrannic sway, The fairest garlands of th' Aonian grove;
But pleas'd a mild Augustus to obey. Preserv'd our drooping genius to restore,
“ If these commands submissive thou receive, When Addison and Congreve are no more;
Immortal and unblam'd thy name shall live, After so many stars extinct in night,
Envy to black Cocytus shall retire; The darken'd age's last remaining light !
And howl with furies in tormenting fire ;
And join the patriot's to the poet's praise."
TO LORD HERVEY.
IN THE YEAR 1730.
FROM WORCESTERSHIRE. Nor on the banks of Nar or Mincio rove;
Strenua nos exercet inertia : uavibus atque To Thames's flowery borders they retire,
Quadrigis petimus bene vivere: quod petis, hic est; And kindle in thy breast the Roman fire.
Hor. So in the shades, where, cheer?d with summer rays, Favourite of Venus and the tuneful Nine,
Est ulubris, animus si te non deficit æquus.
Pollio, by Nature form'd in courts to shine,
Wilt thou once more a kind attention lend, No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
To thy long absent and forgotten friend ; But mournful silence saddens all the grove. Who, after seas and inountains wander'd o'er, Unhappy Italy! whose alter'd state
Return'd at length to his own native shore, Has felt the worst severity of Fate :
From all that's gay retird, and all that's great, Not that barbarian hands her fasces broke,
Beneath the shades of his paternal seat, And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke; Has found that happiness he sought in vain Nor that her palaces to earth are thrown,
On the fam'd banks of Tiber and of Seine ? Her cities desert, and her fields unsown;
'Tis not to view the well-proportion'd pile, But that her ancient spirit is decay'd,
The charms of Titian's and of Raphael's style; That sacred Wisdom from her bounds is fled; At soft Italian sounds to melt away ; That there the source of science flows no more, Or in the fragrant groves of myrtle stray ; Whence its rich streams supplied the world before. That lulls the tumults of the soul to rest,
Illustrious names! that once in Latium shin’d, Or makes the fond possessor truly blest. Born to instruct and to command mankind; In our own breasts the source of pleasure lies, Chiefs, by whose virtue mighty Rome was rais'd, Still open, and still flowing to the wise; And poets, who those chiefs sublimely prais'd; Not forc'd by toilsome art and wild desire Oft I the traces you have left explore,
Beyond the bounds of Nature to aspire, Your ashes visit, and your urns adore;
But, in its proper channels gliding fair; Oft kiss, with lips devout, some mouldering stone, A common benefit, which all may share. With ivy's venerable shade o'ergrown;
Yet half mankind this easy good disdain, Those horrid ruins better pleas'd to see
Nor relish happiness unbought by pain; [is rain. Than all the pomp of modern luxury.
False is their taste of bliss, and thence their search