Crete,

smart."

PALE Want! thou goddess of consumptive hue, If thou delight to haunt me still in view; If still thy presence must my steps attend, At least continue, as thou art, my friend. When wide example bids me be unjust, False to my word-or faithless to my trust; Bid me the baneful errour, counsell'd, see, And shun the world, to find repose with thee! When Vice to Wealth would turn my partial eye, Or Int'rest shut my ear to Sorrow's cry: Or leading Custom would my reason bend, My foe to flatter, or desert my friend; Present, kind Poverty, thy temper'd shield, And bear me off, unvanquish'd, from the field. If giddy Fortune should return again, With all her idle, restless, wanton train; Her magic glass should false Ambition hold, Or Av'rice bid me put my trust in gold, To my relief, thou virtuous goddess, haste, And with thee bring thy smiling daughters chaste, Health, Liberty, and Wisdom-sisters bright! Whose charms can make the worst condition light; Beneath the hardest fate the mind can cheer, Can heal affliction, and disarm despair; In chains-in torments, pleasure can bequeath, And dress in smiles the tyrant brows of Death.

ON THE

DEATH OF SIR JOHN JAMES, BART.

Homines ad Deos immortales nulla re propius accedunt quam salutem hominibus dando.

A STEADY Virtue form'd for self-command,
A tender eye, and a diffusive hand;
A taste, that only joy'd in doing good!
A temper calm as runs th' untroubled flood,

A soul to which each social tie was known,
A truth that never was defil'd by art,
A thought that saw all merit but thy own!

Cic.

A hermit's temp'rance, with a monarch's heart: Why thus has Heav'n eclips'd the gentle day? When thus thy goodness shed its noontide ray, Forbid Benevolence itself to shine,

And robb'd the world of charity like thine?

Smile ev'n in death, and plume thee for the skies.
Yet dim with grief the Muse beholds thee rise,
Where prayer long since had form'd thy blest abode,
In this fair hope thy blameless life was past,
To live with angels and adore thy God!
And now the glorious prize is thine at last:
This gave thee pomp and pleasure to forego,
For the superior joy-to soften woe,
To ease th' oppress'd-to bless the honest toil,
And bid the unbefriended orphan smile:
A joy to wealth or grandeur seldom known;
A joy which Heav'n allotted as thy own.

This gave thee, calm, life's vanities to view,
Each sense to rule, each passion to subdue:
For Nature's wants just simply to provide,
To ease the wants of numberless beside;
To practice more than Epictetus taught,
Or Cato acted, or Confucius thought:
Which only christian faith the mind can teach,
And christian piety alone can reach.

Forbear, fond Muse, the heav'nly sisters come,
See how, associate, they surround his tomb!
Mark, Charity with wild dejection mourn,
Her flame suppress'd beneath his spotless urn!
There Piety, with look exalted, eyes

His radiant flight, and waits him to the skies!
While Hope, rejoic'd, his bright example views,
And bids mankind th' instructive lines peruse:
A joy which painted grandeur never found,
To steal through life-and bless a world around.

ON FRIENDSHIP.
Nomen inane, vaie.

FRIENDSHIP adieu! thou dear deceitful good,
So much profess'd, so little understood.
How often to thy sacred injur'd name,
A thousand vain pretenders lay their claim!
Like flies, attend the summer of our day,
And in the sunbeams of our fortunes play;
Soon we behold the treach'rous insects gone,
But when life's wintry-evening shades come on,
And find ourselves at once deserted and undone.

532

FRIENDSHIP,

AN ODE.

TO DR. WILLIAM CUMMING, OF DORCHESTER.

EXALTED passion-pure ethereal flame,

Reason's perfection-truest, best delight! Like her great laws unchangeably the same, And like her radiant source serenely bright.

How shall I sing of thee! best of human joys! Thy blameless sweet endearments how rehearse! How aim a flight the soaring seraph tries!

Far too sublime for my unequal verse!

Do thou, Clarissa!-now immortal maid,

Round whose fair brow celestial splendours shine: In Friendship's canse vouchsafe thy fav'ring aid, And teach the trembling lyre to copy thine.

O give the Muse with kindred warmth to glow!
The thoughts inspirit, and the numbers raise,
That all her animated strain may flow,

Suited to godlike Friendship's lasting praise. Friendship! the dearest blessing life can bring; The noblest treasure mortals can enjoy ; Friendship, of happiness th' untroubled spring, Which time, nor death, nor absence can destroy.

Goddess inviolate, she rules the soul

With constancy no falsehood can unbind;
She reigns acknowledg'd far as pole from pole,
Triumphant as her spotless throne the mind.

Here is the joy when souls congenial meet,
Tun'd to one equal tone by sense divine!
When social minds at first acquaintance greet,
An intercourse no language can define.

Here is the sympathetic pleasure found,

When the full heart with kindness overflows; The union her's, by mutual honour bound, The highest bliss that guardian Heav'n bestows.

Of sacred Wisdom, she the blameless child,
Increases every blameless joy below;
Or, join'd with Patience fair, (her sister mild)
Delights to soften ev'ry guiltless woe!

Vice, aw'd by her, amidst the blaze of pow'r, Abash'd, the prevalence of virtue owns; And helpless innocence in trouble's hour, Enjoys a comfort, not the gift of thrones.

She smiles at Envy and corroding Time;

Souls pair'd by her no pow'r can disunite; Her balmy influence gladdens ev'ry clime, And savage nations feel her fetters light.

PERSONAL MERIT:

FROM THE FRENCH OF M. LA MOTTE.

Oh! how I view with raptur'd eyes,
From race ignoble, Horace rise:

Nor yet his source disdain:
But with contempt, amidst the crowd
I view a modern apstart, proud,
Display his gilded train.

By Virtue stagnates blood, or flows,
As she refuses or bestows;
So Castor rose, divine!

And so, though born of heav'nly race,
The Cyclop with his one-ey'd face,
Disgrac'd his sea-born line.

You scorn the false and fawning mind,
Where Art with deadly Malice join'd,
Delights to wither Fame!

As lifts the snake his painted crest,
And to the hospitable breast

Conveys his pois'nous flame.

The wretch who boasts a faithless heart;
The fool who acts a worthless part;
Or miser o'er his brood;
However dignified he be,
Is but a creeping slave to thee,
Though sprung of Cæsar's blood.

But oh! let those whom Learning owns,
Apollo's and the Muses' sons,

Make unity their course:

Nor drop the tongue one wayward strain, To give another's bosom pain,

Or to our own remorse!

Continue friendly, just, and kind,
Honour preserve, with candour join'd,
And fair protection lend;
Where modest worth thy favour sues,
Or genius qualifies the Muse,
To hope a gen'rous friend.

I Polyphemus..

Such once, a worthy youth, I knew,
So still he rises to my view,

Though to himself unknown:
Nor need I blush (since truth secures)
To call the pleasing image your's,
Which likeness makes your own.

Nor vain his arm-when, beaming from afar, O'er the Columbrian sea he wak'd the war! And calm in conquest bid Britannia reign, Acknowledg'd sovereign of the distant main: Then grateful Albion heard the happy sound, The great avenger of her wrongs was found: Each tongue rejoic'd the hero's praise to swell, And infants learn'd how Porto-Bello fell.

Oh! would the fav'ring Muse my voice inspire, To Vernon's worth to tune the sounding lyre, With equal majesty the notes should rise, Should animated reach the vaulted skies; That future times might the resemblance see, And Britons like their ancestors be free.

Great son of Freedom! still victorious shine, Thine be to conquer, and to save be thine: Let the pale ghosts that haunt the Indian shore, Delighted hear thy vengeful thunders roar, And to each other hail the promis'd hour, When Tyranny shall mourn her blasted pow'r : And righteous Freedom with her guardian smile Shall bless, returning, Cuba's fertile soil.

There while the British cross, to thee assign'd,
Displays its form, and wantons in the wind,
May Victory her fairest laurels spread,
To wait thy purpose, and to crown thy head:
May no retarded succours give thee pain:
Thy gen'rous warmth no arts of power restrain!
Warm'd by thy virtue, let all hearts unite,
Led by thy arm, let Britons learn to fight,
Till taught to yield, and humbled in his turn,
The proud Iberian shall his folly mourn;
And curse the hour, when with his wanton dart
He rous'd the gen'rous lion's noble heart.

Then, only then-(if Heav'n shall so ordain)
When honourable peace his sword shall gain;
A peace secur'd by terrour of our arms,
(Not mean conventions, or precarious charms)
When, dear to honour-to his country dear,
Restor'd her Vernon shall again appear:
As loud the peal of gratitude shall rise,
And universal joy ascend the skies:
As round his steps a thankful nation flows
To hail his toils, and bless him as he goes!
Then shall some happier bard, with nobler vein
Record his actions, and embalm his name!
"The honour paid to Vice in smoke decays,
But Virtue purifies the flames of praise:
From her chaste shrine she bids the incense rise,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the skies."

LOCH RIAN.

TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF STAIR.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1734.

[Loch Rian is an arm of the sea which lies to the
north-east, a little below Castle Kennedy, the
seat of the earl of Stair. The Genius of this
bay is supposed to address that nobleman.]
FROM toils of state and an unfaithful court,
Welcome, my lord, to your domestic port!
Here, seated on my hospitable shore,

In safety hear the distant tempest roar.
While gentler cares your future hours demand,
And Nature waits your all-improving hand';

The improvements at Castle Kennedy are very

Thy native majesty attracts the heart,
And shows thy empire o'er the works of art:
So virtue shines in Cobham's steady mind,
And leaves the shadowy forms of pomp behind.
Here Art attends-and waits thy ruling will,
For she at best is but thy handmaid still;
If thou thy state imperial wouldst express,
She looks thy wardrobe, and puts on thy dress!
In the clear wave the crystal mirror holds,
Or rich with gems thy flow'ry robe unfolds:
If ornaments thou slight'st, and pomps displease,
She then retires, and leaves thee to thy ease:
Leaves thee to take thy ev'ning walk unseen,
O'er the sequester'd shade, or lonesome green;
Where meditation soothes thy thoughtful breast,,
And birds and waters lull thec to thy rest:
Where they who never knew thy charms, may know,
For all thy countless charms are seen at Stowe.

Two square pavilions opening to the scene,
First lead the Muse to the enchanted plain.
Whence to the north this Tempe we survey,
Its glories bright'ning to meridian day!
Hence spreads a liquid octagon to view,
And charms the eye with its unclouded blue;
Full in the midst an obelisk ascends,
And high in air the wat'ry column sends:
Two distant rivers winding from the right
Descend-and in one spacious stream unite;
Which gently gliding through its verdant shores,
In the broad octagon its treasure pours.
High on a summit all below commands,
Fair Liberty, thy destin'd temple stands;
Where, like some queen expell'd her lawful throne,
A refuge thou shalt find-thy value known,
And see lost realms-that once were all thy own.
North through an avenue, the growth of years,
The distant mansion to the eye appears;
Which, still transported as it turns around,
Beholds new charms diversify the ground:
Here num'rous herds that range th' adjacent plain,
There hills with bleating flocks adorn the scene:
Or flow'ry lawns, or shades of tufted trees,
Or waters quivering to the temper'd breeze.
Thus all combin'd the ravish'd fancy strike,
And leave it at a loss where most to like.
Directed hence along the carpet grass
By three fair statues to the left we pass,
Where through the Bath, descending, is convey'd
The Bason, falling from a broad cascade;
While through the ruin'd arch the waters break,
And form below a wide extended lake:
Whose distant borders sylvan scenes unfold,
Such as the huntress-goddess us'd of old:
When rash Acteon spy'd the heav'nly maid,
And with his forfeit life the folly paid.

Close by the lake our progress we pursu'd,
To the fair Hermitage conceal'd in wood,
Whence wide beneath, the blue expanse was seen
Reflecting from its wave the trembling green!
Thence through the windings of the artful shade,
Thy Temple, beauteous Venus, we survey'd;
Before, fit emblem of the lover's view,

Stand the first foes which Nature ever knew 1.
Fit emblem, goddess, of thy cruel power,
Which oft has bath'd the warring world in gore:
Has smil'd to set the dearest friends at strife,
And made the brother snatch the brother's life:

The statues of Cain and Abel

Yet mild at first thy savage yoke appears,
And like this scene a beauteous prospect wears:
For scenes like this thy fatal flame inspire,
Unnerve the soul, and kindle soft desire!
While amorous birds with music fill the grove,
And ev'ry breathing zephyr whispers love!
Within the dome see sportive Cupids play,
And clap their silver wings, and seem to say-
"Now let him love, who never felt the pain;
Before who lov'd-here let him love again."
Hence through a wood with opening vistas grac'd,
(At each some rural termination plac'd)
The west pavilion to the eye succeeds,
Whence to the house the fair avénue leads;
Plac'd in the midst-and sacred to his fame,
Rises the pyramid with Vanbrugh's name.
Here, wondrous architect! repos'd, receive
The grateful honours Cobham loves to give;
Here like his gardens shall thy mem'ry bloom,
Nor couldst thou wish a more distinguish'd tomb.
In the next dome, from vulgar thought conceal'd,
This wise inscription stands to sight reveal'd 3,
"Life is a feast-enjoy it while you may,
When age comes on, 'tis time to steal away,
Lest laughing youth remind thee of the rule,
Nothing so foolish as a doating fool."

Now by the wood, which rises to the right,
The opening field relieves the crowded sight,
Here great Alcides, firm in marble plac'd,
Holds the expiring son of Earth embrac'd 4:
Just image, Cobham, of thy victor toil,
Which tam'd the genius of the rugged soil;
Which gave the face of Nature pow'r to warm,
And soften'd every blemish in a charm.
Hence to th' Augustine Cave
sped,

our way we

A moss-grown cell, with grateful umbrage spread;
Such blameless hermits held in days of old,
Ere priestcraft grew, or Heav'n was priz'd for gold.
Plain is the scene, and well befits the heart
That never stain'd its innocence with art.

As the skill'd painter captivates the sight,
By nicely intermingling shade and light;
So in these happy scenes, each object plac'd,
Throws beauty round, and charms the finest taste;
So just the contrasts-and the point so true,
'Tis all that Nature, all that Art can do!
In sweet delusion is the fancy lost,
Nor knows attention where to settle most.

Thus from the cave through the receding green, Thy temple, son of Semele, was seen: Pictur'd within thy mystic rites advance, And nymphs and satyrs round thy Thyrsus dance: Such was the jovial triumph once thou led, When India first ador'd thy mitred head. When thy gay car submissive tigers drew, And men the genial pow'r of Bacchus knew.From hence disclos'd a beauteous prospect lies, West as the setting Sun adorns the skies! Where Aylesbury her golden vale extends, And clos'd with purple hills the landscape ends. But solemn scenes demand th' attentive Muse, Such as the Druids lov'd of old to choose:

2 From Catullus, Nunc amet, &c.

3 From Horace, Lusisti satis, &c.

4 The statues of Hercules and Anteus.

5 St. Augustine's cave.