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How Adulation drops hep courtly dow
See from the depths of his exhaustlefs mine,
His glitt'ritig stores the tuneful fpendthrift throws: j Where fear or int'rest bids, beholds they ihine;
Now grace a Cromwell's now a Charles's brows. Born with too geu'rous or too mean a heart,
Dryden! in vain to thee thofe stores wera lent; Thy fweetest numbers but a trifling art 5
Thy strongest diction idly eloquent.
The fimplest, lyre, if Truth directs its lays,
Not to disgust with falfe and venal praife,
Was Faruell's modest fame, and may be mine. '
Go then, my friend, nor let thy candid breast
Go to the wayward world; complete the rest;
Be still thyfelf: that open path of truth,
Which led thee here, let manhood sirm purfue; .1 Retain the fweet fimplicity of youth;
And all thy virtue dictates, dare to do.
Still fcorn, with confcious pride, the malk of art;
On Vice's front let fearful caution low'r } And teach the diffident, difcreeter part
Of knaves that plot, and fools that fawn for pow'r. So, round thy brow when Age's honours fpread,
When Death's cold hand unstrmgs thy Mafon's Iyre#. £A When the green turf lies lightly on his head.
Thy worth fhall fome fuperior bard infpire;
He to the ample!! bounds of Time's domain
On Rapture's plume shall give thy name to fly;' For trust, with revVence trust, this Sabine strain,
"The Mufe forbids the virtuous man to die."
-s- s~ ^
TO A FRIEND,
AH! ceafe this kind perfualive strain,
Which, when it flows from Friendlhip's tongue,
However weak, however vain,
O'erpow'rs beyond the Siren's fong:
Leave me, my friend, indulgent go,
And let me mufe upon my woe.
Why lure me from thefe pale retreats? »
Why rob me of thefe penfive fweets?
Can Music's voice, can beauty's eye,
Can Painting's glowing hand fupply
A charm fo fuited to my mind,
As blows this hollow gust of wind,
As drops this little weeping rill,
Soft tinkling down the mofs-grown hill, ^'
While thro' the west, where sinks the crimfon day, Meek Twilight stowly fails, and waves her banners gray!
Say, from Affliction's various fource
Say, mid that grove, in love-lorn state,
While yon poor Ringdove mourns her mate.
Is all that meets the fhepherd's ear,
Infpir'd by anguilh,and defpair?
Ah, no! fair Fancy rules the fong:
She fwells her throat; fhe 'guides her tongue;
She bids the waving afpin fpray
Quiver in cadence to her lay;
She bids the fringed osiers bow,
And rustle round the lake below. To fuit the tenor of her gurgling sighs, And foothe her throbbing breast with folemn fympathies.
To thee, whofe young and polifh'd brow
But fuch terrisic charms as these,
The fainter forms of fadnefs pleafe; *
My forrows are of fofter kind.
Through this still valley let me stray,
Rapt in fome strain of penfve Gray:
Whofe lofty genius hears along"
The confcious dignity of fong j
And fcorning from the facred store
To waste a note on Pride or Power,
Roves through the glimmering twilight gloom,
And warhles round each rustic tomh:
He too, perchance (for well I know,
His heart can melt with fiiendly woe), He loo, perchance, when thefe poor limhs are laid, Will heare one tuneful sigh, and foothe my hovering fhade,
HEN in the crimfon cloud of even,
His glittering gem difplays;
I.elide a lulling stream,
Indulged his tender theme.
Ye woods, along whofe wmding wild
Murmurs the folemn gale;
And Woe retires to weep,
Gleams on the western deep .
To you, ye wastes, whose artless charms
Ne'er drew Ambition's eye,
To your retreats I fly.
Let me at last recline,
Leans on her ivy'd fhrine.
Thy heavenly fmile how win;
And stills the storm within? O wilt thou to thy fav'rite grove
Thine ardent votary bring,
Serene, on silent wing!
With dreams of former days,
He fram'd his infant lays;
Nor cold Distrust alarm'd,