Yet, Hall, while thy judicious ear
Admires the well-dissembled art
That can such harmony impart
To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes;
While wit from affectation clear,
Bright images, and passions true,
Recall to thy assenting view
The envied bards of nobler times;

Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong?
This priest of Pleasure, who aspires
To lead us to her sacred fires,
Knows he the ritual of her shrine?
Say (her sweet influence to thy song
So may the goddess still afford)
Doth she consent to be ador'd
With shameless love and frantic wine?

Nor Cato, nor Chrysippus here
Need we in high indignant phrase
From their Elysian quiet raise:
But Pleasure's oracle alone
Consult; attentive, not severe.

O Pleasure, we blasphene not thee;
Nor emulate the rigid knee
Which bends but at the stoic throne.

We own had Fate to man assign'd
Nor sense, nor wish, but what obey
Or Venus soft or Bacchus gay,
Then might our bard's voluptuous creed
Most aptly govern human kind:
Unless perchance what he hath sung
Of tortur'd joints and nerves unstrung,
Some wrangling heretic should plead.

But now with all these proud desires
For dauntless truth and honest fame;
With that strong master of our frame,
The inexorable judge within,
What can be done? Alas! ye fires
Of love; alas! ye rosy smiles,
Ye nectar'd cups from happier soils,
-Ye have no bribe his grace to win.

ODE VII.

TO THE RIGHT REVEREND

BENJAMIN LORD BISHOP OF WINCHESTER.

M.DCC.LIV. I.

FOR toils which patriots have endur'd, For treason quell'd and laws secur'd, In every nation Time displays The palm of honourable praise. Envy may rail; and Faction fierce May strive; but what, alas! can those (Though bold, yet blind and sordid foes) To gratitude and love oppose, To faithful story and persuasive verse?

O nurse of Freedom, Albion, say,
Thou tamer of despotic sway,
What man, among thy sons around,
Thus heir to glory hast thou found?

What page, in all thy annals bright,
Hast thou with purer joy survey'd
Than that where Truth, by Hoadly's aid,
Shines through Imposture's solemn shade,
Through kingly and through sacerdotal night?

To him the Teacher bless'd,

Who sent Religion, from the palmy field
By Jordan, like the morn to cheer the west,
And lifted up the veil which Heaven from Earth
conceal'd,

To Hoadly thus his mandate he address'd:
"Go thou, and rescue my dishonour'd law
From hands rapacious and from tongues impure:
Let not my peaceful name be made a lure
Fell Persecution's mortal snares to aid:
Let not my words be impious chains to draw
The freeborn soul in more than brutal awe,
To faith without assent, allegiance unrepaid.”

II.

No cold or unperforming hand

Was arm'd by Heaven with this command. The world soon felt it: and, on high,

To William's ear with welcome joy
Did Locke among the blest unfold
The rising hope of Hoadly's name,
Godolphin then confirm'd the fame;
And Somers, when from Earth he came,
And generous Stanhope the fair sequel told.

Then drew the lawgivers around,
(Sires of the Grecian name renown'd)
And listening ask'd, and wondering knew,
What private force could thus subdue
The vulgar and the great combin'd;
Could war with sacred Folly wage;
Could a whole nation disengage

From the dread bonds of many an age,
And to new habits mould the public mind.

For not a conqueror's sword,

Nor the strong powers to civil founders known, Were his but truth by faithful search explor'd, And social sense, like seed, in genial plenty sown. Wherever it took root, the soul (restor❜d To freedom) freedom too for others sought. Not monkish craft, the tyrant's claim divine, Not regal zeal, the bigot's cruel shrine,

Could longer guard from reason's warfare sage; Not the wild rabble to sedition wrought, Nor synods by the papal genius taught, Nor St. John's spirit loose, nor Atterbury's rage.

III.

But where shall recompense be found?
Or how such arduous merit crown'd?
For look on life's laborious scene;
What rugged spaces lie between
Adventurous Virtue's early toils
And her triumphal throne! The shade
Of Death, mean time, does oft invade
Her progress; nor, to us display'd,
Wears the bright heroine her expected spoils.

Yet born to conquer is her power:
-O Hoadly, if that favourite hour
On Earth arrive, with thankful awe
We own just Heaven's indulgent law,

While thus our vows prolong

Thy steps on Earth, and when by us resign'd Thou join'st thy seniors, that heroic throng Who rescued or preserv'd the rights of human kind, O! not unworthy may thy Albion's tongue Thee still, her friend and benefactor, name: O! never, Hoadly, in thy country's eyes, May impious gold, or pleasure's gandy prize, Make public virtue, public freedom, vile; Nor our own manners tempt us to disclaim That heritage, our noblest wealth and fame, Which thou hast kept entire from force and factious guile.

ODE VIII.

I rightly tuneful bards decide,
If it be fix'd in love's decrees,
That beauty ought not to be tried

But by its native power to please, Then tell me, youths and lovers, tell, What fair can Amoret excel?

Behold that bright unsullied smile,

And wisdom speaking in her mien : Yet (she so artless all the while,

So little studious to be seen) We nought but instant gladness know, Nor think to whom the gift we owe.

But neither music, nor the powers

Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, Add half that sunshine to the hours,

Or make life's prospect half so clear, As memory brings it to the eye From scenes where Amoret was by.

Yet not a satirist could there

Or fault or indiscretion find; Nor any prouder sage declare

One virtue, pictur'd in his mind, Whose form with lovelier colours glows Than Amoret's demeanour shows.

This sure is beauty's happiest part:
This gives the most unbounded sway:
This shall enchant the subject heart
When rose and lily fade away;
And she be still, in spite of Time,
Sweet Amoret in all her prime.

ODE IX.

AT STUDY.

WHITHER did my fancy stray?
By what magic drawn away
Have I left my studious theme?
From this philosophic page,
From the problems of the sage,

Wandering through a pleasing dream?

'Tis in vain, alas! I find,

Much in vain, my zealous mind Would to learned Wisdom's throne Dedicate each thoughtful hour: Nature bids a softer power

Claim some minutes for his own.

Let the busy or the wise
View him with contemptuous eyes;
Love is native to the heart:
Guide its wishes as you will;
Without Love, you'll find it still
Void in one essential part.

Me though no peculiar fair
Touches with a lover's care;

Though the pride of my desire Asks immortal friendship's name, Asks the palm of honest fame,

And the old heroic lyre;

Though the day have smoothly gone,
Or to letter'd leisure known,

Or in social duty spent;
Yet at eve my lonely breast
Seeks in vain for perfect rest;
Languishes for true content.

ODE X.

ΤΟ

THOMAS EDWARDS, ESQUIRE,

ON THE LATE EDITION OF MR. POPE'S WORKS.

M.DCC. LI.

BELIEVE me, Edwards, to restrain
The licence of a railer's tongue

Is what but seldom men obtain

By sense or wit, by prose or song: A task for more Herculean powers, Nor suited to the sacred hours Of leisure in the Muse's bowers.

In bowers where laurel weds with palm,
The Muse, the blameless queen, resides;
Fair Fame attends, and Wisdom calm

Her eloquence harmonious guides:
While, shut for ever from her gate,
Oft trying, still repining, wait.
Fierce Envy and calumnious Hate.

Who then from her delightful bounds
Would step one moment forth to heed
What impotent and savage sounds

From their unhappy mouths proceed?
No: rather Spenser's lyre again
Prepare, and let thy pious strain
For Pope's dishonour'd shade complain.

Tell how displeas'd was every bard,
When lately in the Elysian grove
They of his Muse's guardian heard,
His delegate to Fame above;
And what with one accord they said
Of wit in drooping age misled,
And Warburton's officious aid:

How Virgil mourn'd the sordid fate To that melodious lyre assign'd, Beneath a tutor who so late

With Midas and his rout combin'd By spiteful clamour to confound That very lyre's enchanting sound, Though listening realms admir'd around:

How Horace own'd he thought the fire
Of his friend Pope's satiric line
Did further fuel scarce require

From such a militant divine:
How Milton scorn'd the sophist vain,
Who durst approach his hallow'd strain
With unwash'd hands and lips profane.

Then Shakspeare, debonnair and mild,

Brought that strange comment forth to view; Conceits more deep, he said and smil'd,

Than his own fools or madmen knew: But thank'd a generous friend above, Who did with free adventurous love Such pageants from his tomb remove.

And if to Pope, in equal need,

The same kind office thou wouldst pay, Then, Edwards, all the band decreed

That future bards with frequent lay
Should call on thy auspicious name,
From each absurd intruder's claim,
To keep inviolate their fame.

ODE XI.

TO THE

COUNTRY GENTLEMEN OF ENGLAND.

M.DCC. LVIIL

WHITHER is Europe's ancient spirit fled?

Where are those valiant tenants of her shore,
Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped,
Or with firm hand the rapid pole-ax bore?
Freeman and soldier was their common name,
Who late with reapers to the furrow came,
Now in the front of battle charg'd the foe:
Who taught the steer the wintry plough to endure,
Now in full councils check'd encroaching power,
And gave the guardian laws their majesty to know.

But who are ye? from Ebro's loitering sons
To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine;
From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones
And cities looking on the Cimbric main,
Ye lost, ye self-deserted? whose proud lords
Have baffled your tame hands, and given your

swords

To slavish ruffians, hir'd for their command: These, at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod, See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod; These are the public will, the reason of the land.

Thou, heedless Albion, what, alas! the while
Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms,
Yet vain of freedom, how dost thou beguile,
With dreams of hope, these near and loud
⚫alarins ?

Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd,
The praise and envy of the nations round,

The legions gather'd; the bright eagles flew; Barbarian monarchs in the triumph mourn'd; The conquerors to their household gods return'd, And fed Calabrian flocks, and steer'd the Sabine plough.

Shall then this glory of the antique age,

This pride of men, be lost among mankind? Shall War's heroic arts no more engage

The unbought hand, the unsubjected mind? Doth valour to the race no more belong? No more with scorn of violence and wrong Doth forming Nature now her sons inspire, That, like some mystery to few reveal'd, The skill of arms abash'd and aw'd they yield, And from their own defence with hopeless hearts retire?

O shame to human life, to human laws! The loose adventurer, hireling of a day, Who his fell sword without affection draws, Whose God, whose country, is a tyrant's pay, This man the lessons of the field can learn ; Can every palm, which decks a warrior, earn, And every pledge of conquest: while in vain, To guard your altars, your paternal lands, Are social arms held out to your free hands: Too arduous is the lore; too irksome were the pain.

Meantime by Pleasure's lying tales allur'd,

From the bright Sun and living breeze ye stray; And deep in London's gloomy haunts immur'd, Brood o'er your fortune's, freedom's, health's decay.

O blind of choice and to yourselves untrue!
The young grove shoots, their bloom the fields

renew,

The mansion asks its lord, the swains their friend; While he doth Riot's orgies haply share,

Or tempt the gamester's dark, destroying snare, Or at some courtly shrine with slavish incense bend.

And yet full oft your anxious tongues complain

That lawless tumult prompts the rustic throng; That the rude village inmates now disdain

Those homely ties which rul'd their fathers long. Alas! your fathers did by other arts Draw those kind ties around their simple hearts, And led in other paths their ductile will; By succour, faithful counsel, courteous cheer, Won them the ancient manners to revere, To prize their country's peace, and Heaven's due rites fulfil.

But mark the judgment of experienc'd Time,
Tutor of nations. Doth light Discord tear
A state? and impotent Sedition's crime?

The powers of warlike Prudence dwell not
there;

The powers who to command and to obey, Instruct the valiant. There would civil sway The rising race to manly concord tame? Oft let the marshal'd field their steps unite, And in glad splendour bring before their sight One common cause and one hereditary fame.

Nor yet be aw'd, nor yet your task disown,

Though War's proud votaries look on severe; Though secrets taught erewhile to them alone, They deem profan'd by your intruding ear.