Our fouls, allied to God, within them feel.
The fecret dictates of the Almighty will;
This is his voice, be this our oracle.
When first his breath the feeds of life inftill'd,
All that we ought to know was then reveal❜d..
Nor can we think the Omniprefent mind
Has truth to Libya's defart fands confin'd,
There, known to few, obfcur'd, and loft, to lie-
Is there a temple of the Deity,.
Except earth, fea, and air, yon azure pole;
And chief, his holiest shrine, the virtuous foul?
Where-e'er the eye can pierce, the feet can move,
This wide, this boundless universe is Jove.
Let abject minds, that doubt because they fear,
With pious awe to juggling priests repair;
I credit not what lying prophets tell—
Death is the only certain oracle.
Cowards and brave muft die one deftin'd hour-
This love has told; he needs not tell us more..
WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1734.
Oon, 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 fong.
Yet cease to hope, though grac'd with every charm,
The patriot verfe will cold Britannia warm ;
Vainly thou ftriv'ft our languid hearts to raise,
By great examples drawn from better days:
No longer we to Sparta's fame afpire,
What Sparta fcorn'd, inftructed to admire ;
Nurs'd in the love of wealth, and form'd to bend
Our narrow thoughts to that inglorious end:
No generous purpofe can enlarge the mind,
No focial care, no labour for mankind,
Where mean felf-interest every action guides,
camps commands, in cabinets prefides; Where luxury confumes the guilty store, And bids the villain be a flave for more.
Hence, wretched nation, all thy woes arife, Avow'd corruption, licens'd perjuries,
Eternal taxes, treaties for a day,
Servants that rule, and fenates that obey.
O people, far unlike the Grecian race,
That deems a virtuous poverty difgrace,
That fuffers public wrongs and public shame,
In council infolent, in action tame!
Say, what is now th' ambition of the great?
Is it to raise their country's finking ftate;
Her load of debt to ease by frugal care,
Her trade to guard, her harrafs'd poor to spare?
Is it like honeft Somers, to infpire
The love of laws, and Freedom's facred fire ?
Is it, like wife Godolphin, to fuftain
The balanc'd world, and boundless power reftrain?
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 wantonnefs, the golden fhower,
And, fenc'd by strong corruption, to despise
An injur'd nation's unavailing cries!
Rouze, Britons, rouze! if fenfe of fhame be weak,
Let the loud voice of threatening danger speak.
Lo! France, as Perfia once, o'er every
Prepares to ftretch her all-oppreffing hand.
Shall England fit regardless and sedate,
A calm fpectatrefs of the general fate;
Or call forth all her virtue, and oppose,
Like valiant Greece, her own and Europe's foes?
O let us feize the moment in our power,
Our follies now have reach'd the fatal hour;
No later term the angry gods ordain ;
This crifis loft, we fhall be wife in vain.
And thou, great poet, in whose nervous lines
The native majefty of freedom fhines,
Accept this friendly praise; and let me prove
My heart not wholly void of public love;
Though not like thee I ftrike the founding ftring
To notes which Sparta might have deign'd to fing,
But, idly fporting in the fecret fhade,
With tender trifles foothe fome artlefs maid.
TO WILLIAM PITT, ESQUIRE,
ONG had thy virtues mark'd thee out for fame,
Li Far, far fuperior to a Cornet's name;
This generous Walpole faw, and griev❜d to find
So mean a poft disgrace that noble mind.
The fervile standard from thy freeborn hand
He took, and bade the lead the patriot band.
COME not here your candour to implore
For scenes, whofe author is, alas! no more;
He wants no advocate his cause to plead ;
You will yourselves be patrons of the dead.
No party his benevolence confin'd,
No fect-alike it flow'd to all mankind.
He lov'd his friends (forgive this gufhing tear:
Alas! I feel, I am no actor here)
He lov'd his friends with fuch a warmth of heart,
So clear of intereft, fo devoid of art,
Such generous friendship, fuch unshaken zeal,
No words can fpeak it; but our tears may
O candid truth, O faith without a stain,
O manners gently firm, and nobly plain,
O fympathizing love of others' blifs,
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 crouded houfe, with juft applause,
You heard him teach fair Virtue's pureft laws;
For his chafte Mufe employ'd her heaven-taught lyre
None but the nobleft paffions to inspire,
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