Oft from the balmy bleffings of repose, And the cool ftillness of the night's deep shade, Oft in his dreams (no longer clogg'd with fears When harrafs'd Nature finks in turbid fleep) Oft in his dreams he faw diffufive day Through bursting glooms its cheerful beams extend; What marvel then, that man's o'erflowing mind Who that has writh'd beneath the scourge of pain, To Thee, my friend, unwillingly to thee Or speaks the sufferer what, I fear, he feels? No, let me hope ere this in Romely grove Hygeia revels with the blooming Spring, Ere this the vocal feats the Mufes love With hymns of praife, like Pæon's temple, ring. It was not written in the book of Fate That, wand'ring far from Albion's fea-girt plain, It was not written. Many a year shall roll, ELE G Y VI. To another FRIEND. Written at Rome, 1756. EHOLD, my friend, to this fmall orb confin'd BE The genuine features of Aurelius' face; The father, friend, and lover of his kind, The medal of Marcus Aurelius, Not Not fo his fame; for erft did heaven ordain Whilft feas fhould waft us, and whilst funs fhould warm, On tongues of men, the friend of man should reign, And in the arts he loy'd the patron charm. Oft as amidst the mould'ring spoils of Age, Where país his generous acts in fair review, Imagination grafps at many things, Which men, which angels might with rapture see; Then turns to humbler fcenes its safer wings, And, blush not whilft I fpeak it, thinks on thee. With all that firm benevolence of mind, Which pities, whilst it blames, th' unfeeling vain, With all that active zeal to ferve mankind, That tender suffering for another's pain, Why wert not thou to thrones imperial rais'd? Or on thy virtues with indulgence gaz'd, Happy for thee, whofe lefs diftinguished sphere And, Heav'n's divineft gift, fweet Liberty. Happy Happy for me, on life's ferener flood And loft the friend the Universe had gain'd. The LYRIC MUSE to Mr. MASON. On the Recovery of the Right Honourable the Earl of HOLDERNESSE from a dangerous Illness. M By the Same. ASON, fnatch the votive Lyre, Hark, what notes of artless love To the Mafter of the fhade! And shall the Bard fit fancy-proof Beneath the hofpitable roof, Where Where every menial face affords With double transport to her breast. See the lovely Mimic fmile, And, as the heart-felt raptures rife, Does the noify town deny Soothing airs, and extacy? Sion's fhades afford retreat, Thither bend thy pilgrim feet, There bid th' imaginary train, Coinage of the Poet's brain, Not only in effects appear, But forms, and limbs, and features wear. And |