Where (emulous of Chartres' fame)
E'en Chartres' self is scarce a name.
To you (th' all-envied gift of heaven)
Th' indulgent gods, unask'd, have given
A form complete in every part,
And, to enjoy that gift, the art.

What could a tender mother's care
Wish better, to her favourite heir,
Than wit, and fame, and lucky hours,
A stock of health, and golden showers,
And graceful fluency of speech,
Precepts before unknown to teach?
Amidst thy various ebbs of fear,
And gleaming hope, and black despair,
Yet let thy friend this truth impart,
A truth I tell with bleeding heart,
(In justice for your labours past)
That every day shall be your last;
That every hour you life renew
Is to your injured country due.

In spite of fears, of mercy spite,
My genius still must rail, and write.
Haste to thy Twickenham's safe retreat,
And mingle with the grumbling great;
There, half-devoured by spleen, you'll find
The rhyming bubbler of mankind;
There (objects of our mutual hate)
We'll ridicule both church and state.

EPIGRAM

ON ONE WHO MADE LONG EPITAPHS.1

FRIEND, for your epitaphs I'm grieved,
Where still so much is said;
One half will never be believed,

The other never read.

ON AN OLD GATE.

ERECTED IN CHISWICK GARDENS.

O GATE, how cam'st thou here?

Gate. I was brought from Chelsea last year,
Batter'd with wind and weather.
Inigo Jones put me together;

Sir Hans Sloane

Let me alone :
Burlington brought me hither.

A FRAGMENT.

WHAT are the falling rills, the pendant shades,
The morning bowers, the evening colonnades,
But soft recesses for th' uneasy mind
To sigh unheard in, to the passing wind!
So the struck deer, in some sequester'd part,
Lies down to die (the arrow in his heart);
There hid in shades, and wasting day by day,
Inly he bleeds, and pants his soul away.

1 The person here meant was Dr Robert Friend, head master of Westminster School.

TO MR GAY,

WHO HAD CONGRATULATED POPE ON FINISHING HIS
HOUSE AND GARDENS.

'AH, friend! 'tis true-this truth you lovers know-
In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow,
In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes
Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens :
Joy lives not here, to happier seats it flies,
And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes.

6

What are the gay parterre, the chequer'd shade, The morning bower, the evening colonnade,

But soft recesses of uneasy minds,

To sigh unheard in, to the passing winds?
So the struck deer in some sequester'd part
Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart,
He, stretch'd unseen in coverts hid from day,
Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away.'

ARGUS.

WHEN wise Ulysses, from his native coast
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests toss'd,
Arrived at last, poor, old, disguised, alone,
To all his friends, and even his queen unknown:
Changed as he was with age, and toils, and cares,
Furrow'd his reverend face, and white his hairs,
In his own palace forced to ask his bread,
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed,
Forgot of all his own domestic crew;

The faithful dog alone his rightful master kucw:
Unfed, unhoused, neglected, on the clay,
Like an old servant now cashier'd, he lay;

Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man,
And longing to behold his ancient lord again.
Him when he saw he rose, and crawl'd to meet,
('Twas all he could) and fawn'd and kiss'd his feet,
Seized with dumb joy: then falling by his side,
Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died!

PRAYER OF BRUTUS.

FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH.

GODDESS of woods, tremendous in the chase,
To mountain wolves and all the savage race,
Wide o'er th' aerial vault extend thy sway,
And o'er th' infernal regions void of day.
On thy third reign look down; disclose our fate,
In what new station shall we fix our seat?
When shall we next thy hallow'd altars raise,
And choirs of virgins celebrate thy praise?

LINES ON A GROTTO, AT CRUX-EASTON,
HANTS.

HERE shunning idleness at once and praise,
This radiant pile nine rural sisters 1 raise ;
The glitt'ring emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,
And such a polish as disgraces art;

But Fate disposed them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a court.

The Misses Lisie.

THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.

DEO OPT. MAX.

1 FATHER of all! in every age,
In every clime adored,

By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord!

2 Thou great First Cause, least understood,
Who all my sense confined

To know but this, that Thou art good,
And that myself am blind;

3 Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill;
And, binding nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.1

4 What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do,

This, teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.

5 What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away;

For God is paid when man receives ;
T' enjoy is to obey.

6 Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound;

Or think Thee Lord alone of man,

When thousand worlds are round.

There occurred here originally the following lax stanza :-
Can sins of moment claim the rod

Of everlasting fires?