And while unrivall'd beauty bears the sway,
Ev'n tyrants stoop, and conquerors obey!
How many by this fatal strife have fell,
In every age historic records tell,
How many heroes here have met their doom?
This lost great Antony the world of Rome.
'T was this the memorable union ty'd,
Between the Trojan prince and Spartan bride;
For which the God's tremendous rage came down,
And laid in ruins Troy's devoted town:
This fatal shining meteor led astray
The hapless steps of long lamented Gray;
Who chose the lot her judgment disapprov'd,
And only reign'd, because too much she lov'd;
For her eternal shall the Muses mourn,
And bathe with tears the Royal Martyr's urn.
'Twas this that sully'd gallant Mahomet's name,
And robb'd the sultan of his peace and fame:
Here let the Muse an awful instance prove,
How ill ambition shares the throne with love.
Of the illustrious line of Osman born,
Long had he royalty with honour worn;
His growing empire stretch'd from shore to shore,
Where ne'er the silver crescent shone before.
And now from war returning with applause,
(The sure attendant of a prosperous cause!)
To fair Irene's charms he falls a prey,
And throws for love his majesty away!
New passions now his alter'd mind employ,
And fill his bosom with tumultuous joy!
Now with alluring arts he sooths the fair,
His fame forgot, and all the pomp of war;
Each day consum'd in languishing delight,
In pleasing riot spent each happy night!
While still new joys in soft succession move,
And lost in ease, he gives a loose to love!
While thus entranc'd in the delusive scene,
The fond enamour'd prince forgets to reign;
His murm'ring slaves against his life conspire,
The loose militia catch the factious fire;
Loudly the hardy janisars complain,
And tax his pleasures in the boldest strain :
Too late he sees the gath'ring storm appear,
And trembling love first bids the hero fear!
Too late he finds himself involv'd in woe,
He scorns to fly, yet dreads to meet the blow;
Now calls to mind his former triumphs won,
And blushing sees how first his love begun ;
Now weeping beauty rises to his sight,
And puts each stern resolve at once to flight:
While by a thousand struggling passions tost,
He eyes the port, and sighs for safety lost!
Irene now in all her charms appear'd,
And the bright vision all his bosom cheer'd;
So breaks the Sun a moment through the cloud,
Whose gath'ring shades again his lustre shroud,
And darkly brooding o'er th' affrighted skies,
The thunder grumbles and the light'ning flies;
Straight with wild looks, and eyes that fiercely roll,
Which well bespoke the tempest of his soul,
He seiz'd the trembling fair-and by the hand
He led her blushing to the great divan,
Where every eye her faultless form ador'd,
And half absolv'd the weakness of their lord;
There while with deep attention mix'd with dread,
All waited the event!- -The sultan said,
"Regard the beauties of this matchless dame,
And cease, ye abject slaves! your lord to blame!
If I have err'd, such beauty is the cause,
And who so savage not to own its laws?
Yet still himself, your lord, superior knows,
Nor once forgets the source from whence he rose ;
Since then Irene's charms have caus'd your hate
She falls, by me, a victim to the state."
So said:-his shining scymetar display'd,
Full on her snowy neck discharg'd he laid;
Her trembling lips yet murmur'd as they fell,
And seem'd to bid her cruel lord-farewell!
The dreadful task perform'd:-again in arms,
With wasting war the nations he alarms;
There mourns his fatal sacrifice in gore,
Resolv'd to conquer,—but to love no more!
THE FORCE OF LOVE.
A PASTORAL ESSAY.
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1722.
Multa putans, animoque sortem miseratus iniquam.
WHERE Kelvin's winding streams in murmurs play,
And through the meads to join fair Glotta stray;
Beneath the covert of a spreading shade,
In pensive mood a comely youth was laid;
Fix'd on the ground his down-cast eyes were seen
The only mourner on the flow'ry green!
At random o'er the wide extended mead,
His flock regardless of their master stray'd;
The cheerful birds through the surrounding groves,
In gladsome notes, proclaim'd their vernal loves!
While the sad swain no joy, no pleasure knew,
From what inspir'd their songs, his sorrows grew;
And love that bid their tuneful measures flow,
Love, cruel love had caus'd the shepherd's woe;
'T was thus extended on the flow'ry ground,
His alter'd friend the young Alexis found;
With kindly greeting he accosts the swain,
And thus inquires the reason of his pain.
If well known friendship on my side can plead,
Or strong entreaty can thy soul persuade;
To me be just, and to thyself be kind,
And tell the trouble that distracts thy mind;
Long has some secret anguish hurt thy rest,
And like a canker fester'd in thy breast;
Long hast thou left thy pipe and blithsome song,
Thy fellow-shepherds and the rural throng;
Who mourn thy change, and while they share thy
[pain,
Inquire the motives, but inquire in vain ;
Though hid the cause, its sad effects are seen,
In the wan face, and melancholy mien ;
In vain to lonely wilds Menalcas goes,
And seeks in silence to suppress his woes!
His flock neglected, once his fav'rite care,
His silent reed too well those woes declare;
Then tell, my friend, if I mistaken prove,
This wond'rous change is all, The Force of Love.
Beside me, dear Alexis! take a seat,
And hear thy poor Menalcas' hapless fate!
From thee, alas! what sorrows can he hide?
Too well the fatal passion has he try'd !—
Careless I once presum'd to slight its pow'r,
Glad was each morn, and joyful every hour;
Free and unfetter'd as the wanton air,
I pass'd my time, nor knew a thought of care;
But oh! too well has Love reveng'd his cause,
And taught my heart to own his injur'd laws;
Well has the cruel boy perform'd his part,
And pour'd out all his venom through my heart;
From fatal beauty, oh my friend, remove,
And learn by me to dread The Force of Love.
Proceed, my dear Menalcas! to relate,
The sad occasion that brought on thy fate;
And name the fair, whose coldness, or disdain,
Thus fills thy eyes with tears, thy breast with pain?
Hear then, Alexis, what I scarce can tell, So much reflection bids my sorrows swell: Well may'st thou mind the day on Glasgow green, The fair assembly of our nymphs was seen; The beauteous throng indifferent I survey'd, And through the crowd, as chance directed, stray'd; Secure beheld Corinna's piercing eye, And pass'd Melissa's air unheeded by ; Careless I wander'd-all devoid of fear, But oh, the fatal rashness cost me dear! For lovely Flora, on that luckless day, Soon made my heart a weak unguarded prey; Such was her smiling look, her easy grace, And all the charms that revel in her face! Thoughtless I rush'd into the pleasing snare, Nor dreamt that mischief could appear so fair; Then first my soul this new emotion found, And felt the symptoms of its recent wound I gaz'd in transport while the maid was nigh, But when she left me-what a wretch grew I? Soon as the beauteous shepherdess was gone, I felt, but all too late, I was undone ! In vain amidst the silence of the grove, I thought in solitude to vanquish love; In vain the strongest aid of reason try'd, To overcome the passion--or to hide ; Till urg'd at last by the distracting grief, I from the nymph herself implor'd relief; More deaf than rocks, or the tempestuous main, Unmov'd she heard my passion and my pain; All I could urge, her cruel heart to move, She said she pity'd-but deny'd me Love.
I mourn, my friend, a passion so sincere
Should meet returns so distant, so severe;
Hard! that a nymph, who can such graces show,
Should thus refuse to mitigate thy woe;
Then rise, my friend, and break the servile chain,
Assert thy reason, and be free again!
For sooner may'st thou hope the winds to move, As fix inconstant Flora's heart to Love.
Ab! no-in vain I strive my fate to fly,
By Flora's rigour must Menalcas die !
Yet to the fair, let no false charge be laid,
Since dying 1 should wrong her, to upbraid;
What fault can taint such sweetly blooming youth?
All there is innocence and native truth!
What crime in her she cannot ease my pains,
Or smile on him whom destiny disdains?
But oh, her coldness hangs upon my heart,
And strikes a fatal damp through every part!
The deadly chilness seizes every vein,
Ev'n life itself gives way to her disdain!
Adieu ye lawns! and every neighb'ring grove,
Each conscious witness of despairing love;
Ye rocks! whose echos did my sighs repeat;
Ye streams, so oft increas'd by my regret ;
Adieu ye flocks! your master's fond delight,
His charge by day, his tender care by night;
Some happier swain shall lead you o'er the green,
When lost Menalcas shall no more be seen!
Stung with the rage of unremitting pains;
In vain to woods or waves the wretch complains,
In vain around these plains I hopeless rove,
No cure can heal the cruel Force of Love.
Great is the grief, Menalcas, I sustain,
To see thee thus, nor can relieve thy pain!
O could my prayers the scornful virgin move,
Soon should she meet thy vows with equal love!
For well, my friend, I know Love's pow'rful dart,
And feel its force-a stranger to the smart;
Nor long did I its worst of pains endure,
The hand that gave the wound bestow'd the cure:
Soon as I could my secret grief impart,
Emilia, stranger to her sex's art!
Serenely smiling bid my anguish cease,
And yielding sooth'd my troubled soul to peace!
Long have we mutual felt the faithful flame,
Our minds united, and our vows the same!
Yet fate, whose rage no mortal can disarm,
Detains her, still forbid my longing arm;
Constrain'd in flatt'ring hope the time to pass,
Till Heav'n shall give her to my fond embrace!
Thus of our lot, impatient we complain
Of fortune, I; and thou of cold disdain.
Belov'd and loving, yet debarr'd the bliss
So much I prize, so ardently I wish,
I feel the strong emotions of a mind,
Engag'd by fondness, and by fate disjoin'd!
While from successless love thy torment flows,
And cruel beauty causes all thy woes!
O could I touch that too relentless heart,
That thus refuses to relieve thy smart?
But useless here my slender skill would prove,
Since verse itself is but the slave of love;
In vain would tuneful numbers bar its course,
Since tuneful numbers but augment its force;
'T is reason only can restore thy peace,
Can only bid the struggling passions cease;
Alone, can all thy griefs and pains remove,
And triumph o'er the boasted Force of Love!
In vain the wisest arguments I use,
Still where I fly, my evil fate pursues;
No more-these unavailing tears forbear,
Menalcas' only refuge is despair!
In vain I strive to act a manly part,
And drive the lurking poison from my heart;
Still with her image is my soul possess'd,
Still, still, she triumphs in my bleeding breast,
There, there, with arbitrary sway she reigns,
Beats in each nerve, and burns through all my
With force superior I no more contest, [veins!
No more I fondly hope for distant rest;
I go-compell'd by Fate's uncommon rage,
In savage wilds my passion to asswage;
To distant lands by Flora's scorn I fly,
By Flora's scorn in distant lands to die!
Adieu, once more ye meads, ye groves, ye plains,
Ye streams, ye birds, ye flocks, ye friendly swains!
And thou, Alexis, shepherd most belov'd,
Whose faith and tenderness so oft I 've prov'd,
Receive the highest wish I can bestow,
The pains I suffer-may'st thou never know!
Still may thy joys each circling year increase,
With beauty bless'd, and crown'd with lasting peace!
Still in my grateful mind thy name shall live,
Possess'd of all the love I've left to give ;
Nor yet this slender pipe refuse to take,
Nor slight the present for Menalcas' sake!
For useless now the science I decline,
Music has charms for calmer souls than mine!
Adieu! for destiny forbids my stay,
And loudly calls this ling'ring wretch away;
O Love! thou tyrant god! in deserts bred,
In savage wastes by wolves and tygers fed,
By thee tormented, from mankind I rove,
What can resist thy rage, relentless Love!
Forbear, Menalcas, nor with this excess
Of grief, yourself increase your own distress;
Once more let friendship, and let reason move,
And aid you to subdue the Force of Love.
If chance shall guide you to the fatal place,
Where Flora does the bright assembly grace;
Oh tell the maid !—her lost, adoring swain,
Menalcas, begs her pardon to obtain !
Tell her if pity should her bosom touch,
That pity for his fate is not-too much!
Tell her he bless'd her with his parting breath,
In absence loves her, loves her ev'n in death!
For only death the rooted flame can move,
And end the tyrannizing Force of Love.
He said and straight the swain confus'd arose,
For now declining day began to close;
And as along the path the shepherds came,
Which gently winded with the winding stream;
Alexis kindly sought, but sought in vain,
To find some balm to sooth Menalcas' pain;
But he no comfort from his counsels found,
Still were his thoughts in sullen silence drown'd;
And now with easy steps approaching home,
They to their rural cottages were come;
When rising grief did poor Menalcas swell,
Dissolv'd in tears he bids his friend-farewell!
Then turning cry'd,- "No art can passion move,
These endless pains must I for ever prove,
And yield a victim to the Force of Love!"
ON A PIECE OF HIS PAINTING.
As Nature blushing and astonish'd ey'd Young Aikman's draught-surpriz'd the goddess cry'd:
"Where didst thou form, rash youth! the bold design
To teach thy labours to resemble mine?
So soft thy colours, yet so just thy stroke,
That undetermin'd on thy work I look!
To crown thy art, could'st thou but language join,
The form had spoke-and call'd the conquest thine!"
OCCASIONED BY SEEING THE PICTURE OF MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS, IN THE ROYAL GALLERY OF THE PALACE OF HO
LYROOD-HOUSE, EDINBURGH, 1752.
Regnum poteras hoc ore mereri !
Quæ proprior sceptris facies? quis dignior aulâ
Vultus? non labra rosæ, non colla pruinæ,
Non crines æquant violæ, non lumina flammæ!
Claudian.
BEHOLD, Spectator, here a form design'd,
To charm all hearts, and captivate mankind!
See that majestic mien, that matchless face,
What awful beauty mix'd with easy grace!
Mark, from those eyes what lambent glories play,
Pierce through the gloom, and form surrounding
day!
So look'd Maria, when, to gain her love,
Contending kings with fond ambition strove ;
When factions strove to own her sov'reign pow',
All the fond contest, who should first adore!
When cloyster'd zealots left the temple waste,
And crowds stood fix'd to see her as she past,
Through fair Lutetia's streets with regal state,
While every look dispens'd resistless fate;
Nor rank, nor age was from the danger free,
And only those were safe,-who could not see.
Majestic shade !-forgive th' enamour'd Muse, Who while thy sufferings, and thy form she views, In sorrow lost, deplores thy cruel fate; Wretched as fair, unfortunate as great! How strong, mistaken bigots, was that rage Which neither charms, nor virtues could assuage? Which with unwearied insolence pursu'd Thy sacred life, and thirsted for thy blood! First drove thee on the rocks thou sought to shun, Then blam'd thee for the ills themselves had done; With frequent malice all thy steps survey'd, By turns deceiv'd, deserted, or betray'd; To thee, fair queen! the sacred rights of kings, Ev'n youth and innocence were helpless things: By factious hands expell'd thy lawful throne, Pursu'd, revil'd, imprison'd, and undone ! Till forc'd to screen thy persecuted head, Thou to thy greatest foe for safety fled; By whom, all hospitable ties forgot, (Her celebrated reign's eternal blot!) The kindred bands of majesty and blood, New woes inflicted must increase thy load; Confin'd, for years on years, a heavy train, While Heav'n look'd down, and princes su'd in vain; Doom'd unremitting griefs to undergo,
And shine a pattern of imperial woe;
Till to fulfil thy unexampled fate,
Thy life was lost to fix thy rival's state,
And satisfy Eliza's endless hate.
How shall the weeping Muse, with equal lay,
Reveal the horrours of that cursed day,
When barefac'd murder, open and display'd,
Aim'd all its vengeance at thy sacred head,
And, in thy fate, thy great successor bled '!
Sad Muse, proceed, and view the lovely queen,
With undiminish'd charms, and air serene!
Alone, unaided, with intrepid heart,
And native eloquence, her rights assert;
At once her wrongs and innocence expose,
And silence all the malice of her foes;
With solid reason every charge confute,
And speak and look her barb'rous judges mute!
Till half confounded they, with impious breath,
Confirm'd their sentence, and pronounc'd thy
death!
Oh yet forsake not, plaintive Muse, the scene,
Attend the awful moments yet remain !
While yet the sentence sounds in every ear,
While every eye dissolves into a tear,
See bright Maria undisturb'd appear!
Her bosom swells with new untasted joy,
To see the end of all her woes so nigh!
Smiling she chides her faithful servants fears,
Pities their weakness, and dispels their tears;
Tells them their grief for her is wrong and vain,
Why should they weep to see her free from
pain?
Restor❜d to lasting liberty again!
No longer life's deceitful turns to prove,
But gain eternal rest and peace above!
The forms of death with mild composure past,
Self-recollected, equal to the last;
When the black scene of death disclos'd to view,
Her wond'rous conduct prov'd her goodness true!
No fears, no terrours shake her cloudless brow,
Stripp'd of its pomp she sees the deadly show,
And stands prepar'd to meet the dreadful blow!
Charm'd with the prospect of a nobler crown,
Pleas'd she looks forward—and forgets her own!
Comforts her friends, and ev'n her foes forgives,
Since this best gift she from their hate receives;
Surveys the destin'd block, her journey's end,
And death her latest, but sincerest friend!
And now her lovely neck reclin'd with state,
To meet the rigour of approaching fate;
Patient the aggravated wounds she bears,
And finds a joyful period of her cares!
Let others envious blast thy injur'd name,
And with malicious virulence defame;
Long prejudic'd thy merit I survey'd,
And saw thy character through envy's shade!
As clouds a while the darken'd Sun may shield,
Which to superior brightness soon must yield;
So does thy constant death, fair queen, oppose
Th' invenom'd censures of thy keenest foes;
Does, more than endless arguments can say,
Thy character and virtues to display ;
Gilds thy past life with its declining rays,
And shoots new glories into future days!
More glory gives it to your honest name,
Than all the wreaths ambition e'er could claim,
That still the friend of men,—serenely good,
You scorn ev'n empire !-when the price is blood!
Which venal fraud, and lawless force defile;
Retire lamented, from thy native soil,
Which yields no pattern of domestic worth,
But the fond honour that it gave thee birth!
Retire—and taste the peace retirement brings,
Look down with pity on contesting kings;
While the admiring Earth your conduct owns,
Superior to the boasted pride of thrones !
While Heav'n around you forms a placid smile,
And says-You were too great to wear the
style!
And thou fair town! for ancient faith renown'd,
Though now for truth a sacrifice thou falls,
By fame, ev'r in this last misfortune crown'd;
And the rude Vandal lords it in thy walls!
Restor❜d-yet shalt thou raise thy trophy'd head,
And wide thy honours, with thy commerce, spread!
Nations, that to thy crowded marts resort,
And fill with opulence thy ample port,
Shall fond repeat it in thy children's ear,
How much thy loyalty has made thee dear;
While foreign lands, to thy example just,
Extoll'd thy worth, and mourn'd thee in the dust!
HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF ORANGE,
WHEN Heav'n Britannia's further bliss deny'd,
And all of William, that was mortal, dy'd ;
The hero's care for Albion's happy land
Assur'd her sceptre to Augustus' hand:
And phoenix-like, his date of glory run,
Sprung from his ashes a superior sun!
Whose beams united on the world should shine,
And give mankind a George and Caroline!
Safe in his care, and happy in her smile,
Fairest of nations, Heav'n-defended isle !
Britannia views unmov'd a world in arms,
And sits herself secure from all alarms.
Young prince, whose early rays of merit shine,
With lustre long familiar to thy line;
Where more than Roman virtue charms the
And chiefs and patriots in succession rise!
THE RETREAT OF KING STANISLAUS, Heroes who smil'd to shed the noblest blood,
AND THE SURRENDRY OF DANTZICK, 1734.
An noceat vis ulla bono? Fortunaque perdat
Oppositâ virtute minas?—laudandaque velle
Sit satis? et nunquam successu crescat honestum.
Lucan.
RETIRE, great prince! since Heav'n will have it so,
For the world's peace, thy second claim forego!
Crowns would to you but wretched splendour boast,
If your dear subjects' happiness were lost;
The firm assertors of the public good!
And true to liberty, with equal pride,
Or triumph'd in its cause, or greatly dy'd.
With grateful joy, oh favour'd prince receive The prize, for which contending kings might strive,
Which only thou could'st hope, and Brunswick
give.
Again, behold the kindred branches twine,
Thus Heav'n rewards thy worth with equal law,
Emblem propitious to thy future line!
So Britain pays the debt she ow'd Nassau!
So while you beauty treat with such regard, Your theme like virtue shall itself reward; Venus shall from the shepherd's debt be free,
AUTHOR OF THE POLITE PHILOSOPHER. And by the fav'rite fair repay the gift to thee!
Velat materno tempora myrto.
WHEN Vice the shelter of a mask disdain'd,
When folly triumph'd, and a Nero reign'd;
Petronius rose, satyric, yet polite,
And show'd the glaring monster full in sight;
To public mirth expos'd th' imperial beast,
And made his wanton court the common jest.
In your correcter page his wit we see,
And all the Roman lives restor'd in thee!
So is the piece proportion'd to our times,
For every age diversifies its crimes;
And Proteus-like, vice does in one conceal,
What in the next she boldly shall reveal;
In different shapes pursues the lasting trade,
And makes the world one changing masquerade!
The griping wretch, whose av'rice robs the town,
To gain his point a holy look puts on;
To earth his hands directs, to Heav'n his eyes,
And with a show of grace defrauds and lies:
Th' ambitious courtier, but for different ends,
With seeming zeal the public good defends;
Disdains the low concerns of worldly pelf,
He serves his country-to advance himself:
The pettifogger still supports the cause
Howe'er unjust, and wrests the injur'd laws:
Th' enthusiast thinks to him the standard giv'n
Of truth divine, the master-key of Heav'n!
To courage, bullies; fops to wit pretend;
And all can prostitute the name of friend;
The jilt swears honesty; the bankrupt faith;
And every mountebank can save from death:
Yet though men want but eyes to see the cheat,
They choose to wink, and help their own deceit ;
The herd of fools resign themselves a prey,
Which every knave pursues his private way!
The question, Forrester! is something hard,
How shall the wise the motley scene regard?
While men ourselves can we unmov'd stand by?
Pain'd shall we smile?-or honest should we cry?
Humanity to grief would give the rule,
But stronger reason sides with ridicule!
Oh that thy piece, instructive yet refin'd, The image of thy philosophic mind; Which, like the statues wrought by Phidian art, Is one fair whole, complete in every part; May cure the lighter follies of the age, Cool bigot zeal, and banish party rage; Expose ill-nature, pedantry o'ercome, Strike affectation dead, and scandal dumb; Restore fair converse to its native light, And teach mankind with ease to grow polite ! Then round thy brow the myrtle garland twine, The grateful recompence of toils like thine! Go on in all your fair designs to please, Join wit to sense, with understanding ease. Already here your just applauses rise, And the belles read you with impatient eyes! Some in the sweetest notes repeat your lays, All join harmonious in the author's praise; All to approve with equal zeal conspire, What more can Fortune give?-or you desire? As Paris, lost in passionate surprize, To love's resistless queen assign'd the prize;
HIS GRACE COSMO DUKE OF GORDON,
ON HIS RETURN to scotland, 1734.
Homines ad Deos immortales nulla re propius ac-
cedunt quam salutem hominibus dando.
ILLUSTRIOUS prince, whose dawning years display
The fairest hopes of virtue's lasting day;
Return'd in safety to your native soil,
Disdain not on an exil'd Muse to smile;
And with mild goodness condescending hear
The artless numbers that approach your ear.
Let other pens by servile flatt'ry please,
Heav'n keep your ear unvex'd with that disease!
Which rais'd by vanity, by folly nurs'd,
Spoils the best tempers, and confirms the worst;
The faithful Muse shall act a juster part,
Nor prostitute the honours of her art;
Shall choose a theme may suit your blameless taste,
To noble minds, praise should be always chaste!
While pleasure plays before your eager eyes, And scenes of joy, as yet untasted, rise; While groupes of entertaining forms combin'd, With artful lustre, lure the yielding mind; Let reason's cool reflective voice be heard, And weigh each object with a just regard: Assign the bounds of virtue and of vice, Ask whence th'enjoyment comes, and what the price? With fix'd composure, and unbiass'd sight, Examine every form of new delight; Know whence the picture all its worth receives, If false the rate, or such as judgment gives? So shall fair Truth establish Reason's sway, And each instructed passion mild obey!
If wealth allure thee, or the charms of pow'r, .
Think Crassus bleeds-and Cæsar is no more!
Behold the Lydian monarch mount the pile,
Or Pompey's trunk deform the faithless Nile!
If softer scenes of blandishment invite,
See Antony the victim of delight!
Mark Horace idoliz'd by old and young,
Mute are the tuneful accents of his tongue,
Deaf are the objects of his deathless song.
So all the fleeting forms of bliss decay,
And so the lovely phantom dies away!
Must then life pass neglected like a dream,
Must human conduct wear no certain aim?
One lasting joy the Muse directs to find,
A pleasure of the purest noblest kind,
That spreads a day diffusive o'er the mind!
Benevolence! the godlike skill to raise
From a consenting world unblemish'd praise!
Gordon, be this thy care, this happy art,
To fix a pow'r eternal in the heart;
Well be this glorious science understood,
The secret charm of doing constant good;
Hence rose rever'd the Greek and Roman name,
Chiefs lov'd by men, and deify'd by fame;
So the great Fabii common worth surpass'd,
So the first Brutus shone, and-so the last!
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