Infulted by a peevish, noify wife,
Or at the bar foredoom'd to lofe his life;
What moving words flow from his artless tongue,
Sublime with ease, with condefcenfion strong!
Yet fcorn'd to flatter vice, or virtue blame ;
Nor chang'd to please, but pleas'd because the fame ;
The fame by friends caress'd, by foes withstood,
Still unaffected, cheerful, mild, and good.
Behold one pagan, drawn in colours faint,
Outfhine ten thousand monks, tho' each a faint!
Here let us fix our foot, hence take our view,
And learn to try false merit by the true.
We fee, when reafon ftagnates in the brain,
The dregs of fancy cloud its purest vein ;
But circulation betwixt mind and mind
Extends its course, and renders it refin❜d.
When warm with youth we tread the flow'ry way,
All nature charms, and ev'ry scene looks
Each object gratifies each sense in turn,
Whilst now for rattles, now for nymphs we burn`;
Enslav'd by friendship's or by love's soft smile,
We ne'er fufpect, because we mean no guile :
Till, flufh'd with hope from views of paft fuccefs,
We lay on fome main trifle all our stress;
When lo! the mistress or the friend betrays,
And the whole fancied cheat of life displays:
Stun'd with an ill that from ourselves arose;
For inftinct rul'd, when reafon fhould have chose;
We fly for comfort to fome lonely scene,
Victims henceforth of dirt, and drink, and spleen,
But let no obstacles, that cross our views,
Pervert our talents from their deftin'd ufe;
For, as upon life's hill we upwards prefs,
Our views will be obftructed lefs and lefs.
Be all falfe delicacy far away,
Left it from nature lead us quite aftray;
And for th' imagin'd vice of human race,
Destroy our virtue, or our parts debase :
Since God with reason joins to make us own,
That 'tis not good for man to be alone.
On the Death of Col. CHARLES Ross, in the Action at Fontenoy. Written May 1745
WHILE, loft to all his former mirth,
BRITANNIA'S genius bends to earth,
And mourns the fatal day;
While, ftain'd with blood, he strives to tear
Unfeemly from his fea-green hair
The wreaths of cheerful May;
The thoughts which mufing pity pays,
And fond remembrance loves to raise,
Your faithful hours attend ;
Still fancy, to herself unkind,
Awakes to grief the foften'd mind,
And points the bleeding friend.
III.
By rapid Scheld's defcending wave
His country's vows fhall bless the grave,
Where-e'er the youth is laid :
That facred fpot the village hind
With ev'ry fweetest turf shall bind,
And peace protect the fhade.
O'er him, whofe doom thy virtues grieve,
Aerial forms fhall fit at eve
And bend the penfive head!
And, fall'n to fave his injur'd land,
Imperial Honour's aweful hand
Shall point his lonely bed!
The warlike dead of ev'ry age,
Who fill the fair recording page,
Shall leave their fainted reft:
And, half-reclining on his spear,
Each wond'ring Chief by turns appear,
To hail the blooming guest.
Old EDWARD's fons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from CRESSY's laurell'd field,
And gaze with fix'd delight;
Again for Britain's wrongs they feel,
Again they fnatch the gleamy fteel,
And wish th' avenging fight.
If, weak to footh so soft an heart,
These pictur'd glories nought impart
To dry thy constant tear;
If yet in forrow's distant eye,
Expos'd and pale thou feeft him lie,
Wild war infulting near :
Where-e'er from time thou court'st relief,
The Muse shall still with focial grief
Her gentle promise keep :
Ev'n humble HARTING's cottag'd vale
Shall learn the fad repeated tale,
And bid her shepherds weep.
Written in the fame Year.
WOW fleep the brave, who fink to reft,
By all the country's wishes bleft!
When Spring with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mold,
She there fhall drefs a fweeter fod,
Than FANCY's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is fung;
There HONOUR comes, a PILGRIM grey,
To blefs the turf that wraps
their clay,
And FREEDOM fhall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping HERMIT there!
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