Fame heard with pleasure—straight replied,
"First on my roll stands Wyndham's bride;
My trumpet oft I 've rais'd, to sound
Her modest praise the world around!
But notes were wanting—Canst thou find
A Muse to sing her face, her mind?
Believe me, I can name but one,
A friend jf yours—'tis Lyttelton."




A Thousand thanks to your lordship for your addition to my verses. If you can write such extempore, it is well for other poets, that you chose to be lord chancellor, rather than laureat. They explain to me a vision I had the night before.

Methought I saw before my feet,
With countenance serene and sweet,
The Muse, who, in my youthful days,
Had oft inspir'd my careless lays.
She smil'd, and said, "Once more I see
My fugitive returns to me;
Long had I lost you from mv bower,
You scom'd to own my gentle power;
With me no more your genius sported,
The grave historic Muse you courted;
Or, rais'd from Earth, with straining eyes;
Pursued Urania through the skies;
But now, to my forsaken track,
Fair I'gremont has brought you back:
Nor blush, by her and Virtue led,
That soft, that pleasing path, to tread;
For there, beneath to morrow's ray,
Ev'n Wisdom's self shall deign to play.
Lo! to my flowery groves and springs
Her favourite son the goddess brings,
The council's and the senate's guide,
Law's oracle, the nation's pride:
He comes, he joys with thee to join,
In singing Wyndham's charms divine:
To thine he adds his nobler lays;
F.v'n thee, my friend, he deigns to praise.
Enjoy that praise, nor envy Pitt
His fame with burgess or with cit;
For sure one line from such a bard,
Virtue would think her best reward."


Macam, before your feet I lay
This ode upon your wedding-day,
The first indeed I ever made,
For writing odes is not my trade:
My head is full of household cares,
And necessary dull affairs;
Besides that sometimes jealous frumps
Will put me into doleful dumps.
And then no clown beneath the sky
Was e'er more ungaliant than I;

For you alone I now thmk fit
To turn a poet and a wit— •
For you whose charms, I know not how,
Have power to smooth my wrinkled brow,
And make me, though by nature stupid,
As urisk, and as alert, as Cupid.
These obligations to repay,
Whene'er your happy nuptial day
Shall with the circling years return,
For you my torch shall brighter burn
Than when you first my power ador'd,
Nor will I call myself your lord,
But am, (as witness this my hand)
Your humble servant at command.


Dear child, let Hymen not beguile
You, who are such a judge of style,
To think that he these verses made,
Without an abler penman's aid;
Observe them well, you Ml plainly see,
That every line was writ by me.




Such were the notes that struck the wondering ear

Of silent Night, when, on the verdant banks

Of Siloe's hallow'd brook, celestial harps,

According to seraphic voices, sung

Glory to God on hi^h, and on the earth

Peace and good-will to men /.—Resume the lyre,

Chauntress divine, and every Briton call

Its melody to hear—so shall thy strains,

More powerful than the song of Orpheus, tame

The savage heart of brutal Vice, and bend

At pure Religion's shrine the stubborn knees

Of bold Impiety.—Greece shall no more

Of Lesbian Snppho boast, whose wanton Muse,

Like a false Syren, while she charm'd, sedue'd

To guilt and ruin. For the sacred head

Of Britain's poetess, the Virtues twine

A nobler wreath, by them from Eden's grove

Unfading gather'd, and direct the hand

Of to fix it on her brows.


The gods, on thrones celestial seated,

By Jove, with bowls of nectar heated,

All on Mount Edgceunibe turn'd their eyes;

"That place is mine," great Neptune cries:

"Behold! how proud o'er all the main

Those stately turrets seem to rc'gn!

No views so grand on Farth you see!

The master too belongs to me:

I grant hiin my domain to share,

I bid his hand my trident bear."

"The sea is your's, but mind the land," Pallas replies; "by me were plann'd Those towers, that hospital, those docks, That tort, which crowns those island rocks: The lady too is of my choir, I taught her hand to touch the lyre;


With every charm her mind I grae'd,
I gave her prudence, knowledge, taste."

u Hold, madam," interrupted Venus, "The lady must he shard between us: And surely mine is yonder grove, So fine, so dark, so fit for love; Trees, such as in th' Idaiian glade, Or Cyprian lawn, my palace shade."

Then Oreads, Dryads, Naiads, came; Each nymph alleg'd her lawful claim.

But Jove, to finish the debate, Thus spoke, and what he speaks is fate: "Nor god nor goddess, great or small, That dwelling his or her's may call; I made Mount Edgecumhe for you all."



Whin Peace shall, on her downy wing,
To France and England Friendship hring,
Corne, Aiguillon, and here receive
That homage we delight to give
To foreign talents, foreign charms,
To worth which Envy's self disarms
Of jealous hatred: come and love
That nation which you now approve.
So shall by France amends be made
(If such a deht can e'er be paid)
For having with seducing art
From Britain stol'n her Hervey's heart.



Dicmcotn, whose ancestors from Alhion's shore

Their conquering standards to Hihcmia hore,

Though now thy valour, to thy country lost,

Shines in the foremost ranks of Gallia's host,

Think not that France shall horrow all thy fame—

From British sires deriv'd thy genins came:

It* force, its energy, to these it ow'd,

But the fair polish Gallia's clime hestow'd:

The Graces there each ruder thought refin'd,

And liveliest wit with soundest sense comhin'd.

They taught in sportive Fancy's gay attire

To dress the gravest of th' Aonian choir,

And gave to soher Wisdom's wrinkled cheek

The smile that dwells in Hehe's dimple sleek.

Pay to each realm the debt that each may ask:

Be thine, and thine ajone, the pleasing task,

In purest elegance of Gallic phrase

To clothe the spirit of the British lays.

Thus every flower which every Muse's hand

Has rais'd profuse in Britain's favourite land,

By thee transplanted to the hanks of Seine,

In sweetest native odours shall retain.

And when thv nohle friend, with olive crown'd,

hi Concord's golden chain has firmly hound

The rival nations, thou for hoth Shalt raise

The grateful song to his immortal praise.

Alhion shall think she hears her Prior sing;

And France, that lioileau strikes the tuneful string,


Then shalt thou tell what various talents join'd,

Adorn, emhellish, and exalt his mind;

Learning and wit, with sweet politeness grae'd;

Wisdom hy guile or ennning undehas'd;

By pride unsullied, genuine dignity;

A nohler and suhlime simplicity.

Such in thy verse shall Nivernois he shown:

France shall with joy the fair resemhlance own;

And Alhion sighing hid her sons aspire

To imitate the merit they admire.



Ye weeping Muses, Graces, Virtues, tell
If, since your all-accomplish'd Sydney fell,
You, or afflicted Britain, e'er deplor'd
A loss like that these plaintive lays record!
Such spotless honour; such ingenuous truth;
Such ripen'd wisdom in the bloom of youth!
So mild, so gentle, so compos'd a mind,
To such heroic warmth and courage join'd;
He too, like Sydney, nurs'd in Learning's arms,
For nohler War forsook her softer charms:
Like him, possess'd of every pleasing art,
The secret wish of every female's heart:
Like him, cut off in youthful glory's pride,
He, unrepining,/or Aii country tty'd.



Tett me, ye sons of Phrehus, what is this
Which all admire, hut few, too few, possess?
A virtue 'tis to ancient maids unknown,
And prudes, who spy all faults except their own.
Lov'd and defended hy the brave and wise,
Though knaves abuse it, and like fools despise.
Say, Wyndham, if'tis possible to tell,
What is the thing in which you most excel?
Hard is the question, for in all you please;
Yet sure good-nature is your noblest praise;
Secur'd hy this, your parts no envy move,
For none can envy him whom all must love.
This magic power can make ev'n folly please,
This to Pitt's genius adds a brighter grace,
And sweetens every charm in Cselia's face.

i These verses having heen originally written when the author was in opposition, concluded thus, (much better, perhaps, than at present):

But nohler far, and greater is the praise
So hright to shine in these degenerate days:
An age of heroes kindled Sidney's fire;
His inhorn worth alone could Grenville's deeds in-

But some years after, when his lordship was with ministry, he erased these four lines. See Gent . Malf. vol. xlix. p. 60I. A.





When now Astolfo, stor'd within a vase,
Orlando's wits had safely brought away;

He tum'd his eyes towards another place, Where, closely cork'd, imiiiiniber'd bottles lay.

Of finest crystal were those bottles made, Yet what was there enclos'd he could not see:

Wherefore in humble wise the saint he pray'd,
To tell what treasure there conceal'd might be.

"A wondrous thing it is," the saint replied,
"Yet undefin'd by any mortal wight;

An airy essence, not to be descried,

Subtle and thin, that Maidenhead is hight

"From Earth each day in troops they hither come,

And fill each hole and corner of the Moon; For they are never easy while at home,

Nor ever owner thought them gone too soon.

"When here arriv'd, they are in bottles pent,
For fear they should evaporate again;

And hard it is a prison to invent,
So volatile a spirit to retain.

"Those that to young and wanton girls belong
Leap, bounce, and fly, as if they 'd burst the
glass: But those that have below been kept too long
Are spiritless, and quite decay'd, alas I"

So spake the saint, and wonder seiz'd the knight,
As of each vessel he th' inscription read;For various secrets there were brought to light;
Of which report on Earth had nothing said.

Virginities, that close confm'd he thought
In t' other world, he found above the sky;His sister's and his cousin's there were brought,
Which made him swear, though good St. John
was by.

But much his wrath increas'd, when he espied
That which was Chloe's once, his mistress dear:

"Ah, false and treacherous fugitive!" he cried, "Little I deem'd that I should meet thee here.

"Did not thy owner, when we parted last, Promise to keep thee safe for me alone?

Scarce of our absence three short months are past, And thou already from thy post art flown.

"Be not enrag'd," replied th' apostle kind—
"Since that this maidenhead is thine by right,

Take it away; and, when thou hast a mind,
Carry it thither whence it took its flight."

"Thanks, holy father!" quoth the joyous knight, "The Moon shall be no loser by your grace:

Let me but have the use on't for a night,
And I '11 restore it to its present place."



In tender Otway's moving scenes we find
What power the gods have to your sex assign'd:
Venice was lost, if on the brink of fate
A woman had not propt her sinking state:
In the dark danger of that dreadful hour,
Vain was her senate's wisdom, vain its power;
But, sav'd by Belvidera's charming tears,
Still o'er the subject main her towers she rears,
And stands a great example to mankind,
With what a boundless sway you rule the mind.
Skilful the worst or noblest ends to serve,
And strong alike to ruin or preserve.

In wretched Jaffier, we with pity view
A mind, to honour false, to virtue true,
In the wild storm of struggling passions tost,
Yet saving innocence, though fame was lost;
Greatly forgetting what he ow'd his friend—
His country, which had wrong'd him, to defend.

But she, who urg'd him to that pious deed, Who knew so well the patriot's cause to plead, Whose conquering love her country's safety won, Was, by that fatal love, herself undone. 1 " Hence may we learn, what passion fain would hide, That Hymen's bands by prudence should be tied, Venus in vain the wedded pair would crown, If angry Fortune on their union frown: Soon will the flattering dreams of joys be o'er, And cloy'd imagination cheat no more; Then, waking to the sense of lasting pain, With mutual tears the bridal couch they stain: And that fond love, which should afford relief, Does but augment the anguish of their gTicf: While both could easier their own sorrows bear, Than the sad knowledge of each other's care."

May all the joys in Love and Fortune's power Kindly combine to grace your nuptial hour! On each glad day may plenty shower delight. And warmest rapture bless each welcome night! May Heaven, that gave you Belvidera's charms, Destine some happier Jaffier to your arms, Whose bliss misfortune never may allay, Whose fondness never may through care decay; Whose wealth may place you in the fairest light, And force each modest beauty into sight! So shall no anxious want your peace destroy, No tempest crush the tender buds of joy; But all your hours in one gay circle move, Nor Reason ever disagree with Love!


Tell me, my heart, fond slave of hopeless love,
And doom'd its woes, without its joys to prove,
Canst thou endure thus calmly to erase
The dear, dear image of thy Delia's face?

1 The twelve following lines, with some small variations, already have been printed in Advice to a Lady, p. 175; but, as lord Lyttelton chose to introduce them here, it was thought more eligible to repeat these few lines, than to suppress the rest of the poem.



Canst thou exclude that hahitant divine,
To place some meaner idol in her shrine?
O task, for feeble reason too severe!
O lesson, nought could teach me but despair!
Must I forhid my eyes that heavenly sight.
They've view'd so oft with languishing delight?
Must my ears shun that voice, whose charming sound
Seem'd to relieve, while it increas'd, my wound?

0 Waller! Petrarch! you who tun'd the lyre
To the soft notes of elegant desire;
Though Sidney to a rival gave her charms,
Though Laura dying left her lover's arms,
Yet were your pains less exquisite than mine,
Tis easier far to lose, than to resign!




He« wit and beauty for a court were made: But truth and goodness fit her for a shade.



Sat, my Cerinthus, does thy tender breast
Feel the same feverish heats that mine molest?
Alas! I only wish for health again,
Because I think my lover shares my pain:
For what would health avail to wretched me,
If you could, unconcem'd, my illness see }


I 'h weary of this tedious dull deceit;
Myself I torture, while the world I cheat:
Though Prudence hids me strive to guard my fame,
lave sees the low hypocrisy with shame;
love hids me all confess, and call thee mine,
Worthy my heart, as I am worthy thine:
Weakness for thee I will no longer hide;
Weakness for thee is woman's noblest pride.



(Quid quaeri, Lahiene, juhes, 4cc.)

What, Lahieous, would thy fond desire,
Of homed Jove's prophetic shrine inquire?
Whether to seek in arms a glorious doom,
fir hasely live, and be a king in Rome?
If life he nothing more than death's delay;
If impious force can honest minds dismay,
Or prohity may Fortune's frown disdain;
If well to mean is all that virtue can;
And right, dependant on itself alone,
.Oains uu addition from success ?—Tis known:

Fix'd in my heart these constant truths I hear, And Ammon cannot write them deeper there.

Our souls, allied to God, within them feel The secret dictates of the almighty will: This is his voice, he this our oracle. When first his hreath the seeds of life instill'd. All that we ought to know was then reveal'd. Nor can we think the omnipresent mind Has truth to Lihya's desert sands confin'd, There, known to few, ohscur'd, and lost, to lie—I Is there a temple of the Deity, Except earth, sea, and air, yon azure pole; And chief, his holiest shrine, the virtuous soul? Where'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move, This wide, this houndless universe is Jove. Let ahject minds, that douht hecause they fear. With pious awe tojuggling priests repair; I credit not what lying prophets tell— Death is the only certain oracle. Cowards and hrave must die one destin'd hour— This Jove has told; he needs uot tell us more.


Go on, my friend, the noble task pursue,
And think thy genius is thy country's due;To vulgar wits inferior themes belong,
But liberty and virtue claim thy song.
Yet cease to hope, though grac'd with every charm,
The patriot verse will cold Britannia warm;Vainly thou striv'st our languid hearts to raise,
By great examples drawn from hetter days:
No longer we to Sparta's fame aspire,
What Sparta scorn'd, instructed to admire;
Nurs'd in the love of wealth, and form'd to bend
Our narrow thoughts to that inglorious end:
No generous purpose can enlarge the mind,
No social care, no lahour for mankind,
Where mean self-interest every action guides,
In camps commands, in cahinets presides;
Where Luxury consumes the guilty store,
And hids the villain be a slave for more.

Hence, wretched nation, all thy woes arise,
Avow'd corruption, licens'd perjuries,
Eternal taxes, treaties for a day,
Servants that rule, and senates that ohey.

O people, far unlike the Grecian race,
That deems a virtuous poverty disgrace.
That suffers puhlic wrongs and public shame,
In council insolent, in action tame!
Say, what is now tht amhition of the great?
Is it to raise their country's sinking state;
Her load of debt to case hy frugal care.
Her trade to guard, her harass'd poor to spare?
Is it, like honest Somers, to inspire
The love of laws, and freedom's sacred fire?
Is it, like wise Godolphin, to sustain
The halane'd world, and houndless power restrain?
Or is the mighty aim of all their toil,
Only to aid the wreck, and share the spoil?
On each relation, friend, dependant, pour,
With partial wantonness, the golden shower,
And, fene'd hy strong corruption, to despise
An injur'd nation's unavailing cries!

Rouze, Britons, rouze! if sense of shame be weak,
Let the loiul voire of threatening dander speak.
Lo! France, as Persia once, o'er every land
Prepares to stretch her all-oppressing hand.
Shall England sit regardless and sedate,
A calm spectatress of the general fate;
Or call forth all her virtue, and oppose,
Like valiant Greece, her own and Europe's foes?
O let us seize the moment in our power,
Our follies now have reach'd the fatal hour;
No later term the angry gods ordain;
This crisis lost, we shall he vise in vain.

And thou, great poet, in whose nervous lines
The native majesty of freedom shines,
Accept this friendly praise; and let me prove
My heart not wholly void of public love;
Though not like thee I strike the sounding string
To notes which Sparta might have deign'd to sing,
But, idly sporting in the secret shade,
With tender trifles soothe some artless maid.



Love had thy virtues mark'd thee out for fame,
Far, far superior to a cornet's name;
This generous Walpole saw, and griev'd to find
So mean a post disgrace that noble mind.
The servile standard from thy freehom hand
He took, and bade thee lead the patriot hand.



I Come not here your candour to implore For scenes, whose author is, alas! no more;

lie wants no advocate his cause to plead;You will yourselves he patrons of the dead. No party his henevolence confin'd,

No sect—alike it flow'd to all mankind. He lov'd his friends (forgive this gushing tear: Alas! I feel I am no actor here) He lov'd his friends with such a warmth of heart, So clear of interest, so devoid of art, Such generous friendship, such unshaken zeal, No words can speak it: but our tears may tell.— O candid truth, O faith without a stain, O manners gently firm, and nobly plain, O sympathizing love of othera' hliss,

Where will you find another breast like his?Such was the man—the poet well you know: Oft has he touch'd your hearts with tender woe:Oft in this crowded house, with just applause, You heard him teach fair Virtue's purest laws;For his chaste Museemploy'd her heaven-taught lyre

None but the nohlest passions to inspire, Not one immoral, one corrupted thought, One line, which dying he could wish to hlot.

'Oh! may to-night your favourable doom Another laurel add, to grace his tomh: Whilst he, superior now to praise or hlame, Hears not the feeble voice of human fame.

Yet, if to those whom most on Earth he lov'd,
From whom his pious care is now remov'd,
With whom his liheral haud, and hounteous heart,
Shar'd all his little fortune could impart;
If to those friends your kind regard shall gJve
What they no longer can from his receive;
That, that, ev'n now, ahove yon starry pole,
May touch with pleasure his immortal soul.


You, who, supreme o'er every work of wit,
In judgment here, unaw'd, unhiass'd, sit,
The palatines and guardians of the pit;
If to your minds this merely modem play
No useful sense, no generous warmth convey;
Iffustian here, through each unnatural scene,
In stra'm'd conceits sound high, and nothing mean
If lofty dullness for your vengeance call:
Lihe Elmerich judge, and let the guilty fall.
But if simplicity, with force and fire,
I'nlahour'd thoughts and artless words inspire:
If, like the action which these scenes relate,
The whole appear irregularly great;
If master-strokes the nobler passions move;
Then, like the king, acquit us, and approve.

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