Who fears bright Glory's aweful face to fee,
And Thuns Renown as much as Infamy.
But bleft is he, who exercis'd in cares,
To private Leisure public Virtue bears;
Who tranquil ends the race he nobly run,
And decks Repose with trophies Labour won.
Him Honour follows to the secret shade,
And crowns propitious his declining head;
In his retreats their harps the Mufes ftring,
For him in lays unbought spontaneous fing;
Friendship and Truth on all his moments wait,
Pleas'd with Retirement better than with State;
And round the bow'r where humbly great he lies,
Fair olives bloom, or verdant laurels rise.
So when thy Country shall no more demand
The needful aid of thy sustaining hand;
When Peace reftor'd shall on her downy wing
Secure Repofe and careless Leisure bring;
Then to the shades of learned Ease retir'd,
The world forgetting, by the world admir'd,
Among thy books and friends, thou shalt poffefs
Contemplative and quiet happiness;
Pleas'd to review a life in honour spent,
And painful merit paid with sweet content.
Yet though thy hours unclogg'd with forrow roll,
Though wisdom calm, and fcience feed thy foul;
One dearer blifs remains to be poffefs'd,
That only can improve and crown the rest-
Permit thy friend this fecret to reveal,
Which thy own heart perhaps would better tell;
The point to which our sweetest passions move,
Is to be truly lov'd, and fondly love.
This is the charm that sooths the troubled breast,
Friend to our health, and author of our rest,
Bids every gloomy vexing paffion fly,
And tunes each jarring ftring to harmony.
Ev'n while I write, the name of Love inspires
More pleafing thoughts, and more enliv'ning fires;
Beneath his pow'r my raptur'd fancy glows,
And every tender verse more fweetly flows,
Dull is the privilege of living free;
Our hearts were never form'd for Liberty:
Some beauteous image well imprinted there,
Can best defend them from consuming care,
In vain to groves and gardens we retire,
And nature in her rural works admire;
Though grateful thefe, yet these but faintly charm,
They may Delight us, but can never Warm.
May some fair eyes, my friend, thy bofom fire
With pleasing pangs of ever gay defire;
And teach thee that soft science, which alone
Still to thy fearching mind rests slightly known.
Thy foul, though great, is tender and refin'd,
To friendship fenfible, to love inclin'd;
And therefore long thou canst not arm thy breast
Against the entrance of so sweet a guest.
Hear what th' infpiring Mufes bid me tell,
For Heav'n fhall ratify what they reveal.
A chofen bride fhall in thy arms be plac'd,
With all th' attractive charms of beauty grac'd;
Whose wit and virtue fhall thy own exprefs,
Distinguish'd only by their fofter drefs:
Thy greatness fhe, or thy retreat shall share,
Sweeten tranquillity, or foften care:
Her fmiles the taste of every joy fhall raise,
And add new pleasure to renown and praise;
'Till charm'd you own the truth my
That Happiness is near allied to Love.
VERSES to be written under a Picture of Mr. POYNTZ.
UCH is thy form, O Poyntz! but who shall find
A of
A hand, or colours, to exprefs thy mind?
A mind unmov'd by every vulgar fear,
In a false world that dares to be fincere ;
Wife without art; without ambition great;
Though firm, yet pliant; active, though fedate;
With all the richest stores of Learning fraught,
Yet better ftill by native Prudence taught;
That, fond the griefs of the diftrefs'd to heal,
Can pity frailties it could never feel;
That, when Misfortune fu'd, ne'er fought to know
What fect, what party, whether friend or foe ;
That, fix'd on equal Virtue's temp'rate laws,
Defpifes calumny, and shuns applause;
That, to its own perfections fingly blind,
Would for another think this praise defign'd.
The fairest garlands of th' Aonian grove;
Preferv'd, our drooping genius to restore,
When Addison and Congreve are no more.
After so many stars extinct in night
The darken'd age's last remaining light!
To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ,
Infpir'd by memory of ancient wit;
For now no more these climes their influence boast,
Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue loft ;
From Tyrants and from Priests the Mufes fly,
Daughters of Reafon and of Liberty:
Nor Baiæ now, nor Umbria's plain they love,
Nor on the banks of Nar, or Mincius rove;
To Thames's flow'ry borders they retire,
And kindle in thy breaft the Roman fire.
So in the fhades, where cheer'd with summer rays
Melodious linnets warbled sprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy Winter's unaufpicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful filence faddens all the
grove.
Unhappy Italy! whofe alter'd state
Has felt the worst severity of fate :
Not that Barbarian hands her Fasces broke,
And bow'd her haughty neck beneath their yoke;
Not that her palaces to earth are thrown,
Her cities defart, and her fields unfown;
But that her ancient Spirit is decay'd,
That facred Wisdom from her bounds is fled,
That there the fource of Science flows no more,
Whence its rich ftreams fupply'd the world before.
Illuftrious names! that once in Latium shin'd,
Born to inftruct and to command mankind;
Chiefs, by whofe virtue mighty Rome was rais'd,
And Poets, who thofe Chiefs fublimely prais'd!
Oft I the traces you have left explore,
Your ashes vifit, and your urns adore ;
Oft kifs, with lips devout, fome mould'ring ftone,
With ivy's venerable fhade o'ergrown ;
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