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To you my secret transports I disclose,

While every hour, from thence, his high commands, That rise above the languid powers of prose.

By speedy winds convey'd to various lands, But, while these artless numbers you peruse,

Control affairs; give weighty councils birth; Think 't is my heart that dictates, not the Muse; And sway the mighty rulers of the Earth. My heart, which at the name of Brunswick fires, Were he, our island's glory and defence, And no assistance from the Muse requires.

To reign unactive, at the worldl's expense; Believe me, sir, your breast, that glows with Say, generous Craggs, who then should quell the zeal

Of lawless Faction, and reform the age ? [rage For George's glory, and the public weal,

Who should our dear-bought liberties maintain? Your breast alone feels more pathetic heats ; Who fix our leagues with France, and treat with Your heart alone with stronger raptures beats.

Spain? When I review the great examples past,

Who check the headstrong Swede; assuage the Czar; And to the former ages join the last;

Secure our peace, and quench the northern war? Still, as the godlike heroes to me rise,

The Turk, though he the Christian name defies, In arms triumphant, and in councils wise,

And curses Eugene, yet from Eugene fljes, The king is ever present to my mind;

His cause to Brunswick's equity dare trust; His greatness, trac'd in every page, í fud: He knows him valiant, and concludes him just : The Greek and Roman pens his virtues tell, He knows his fame in early youth acquir'd, And under shining names on Brunswick dwell. When turban'd hosts before his sword retir'd. At Hampton while he breathes untainted air,

Thus while his influence to the poles extends, And seems, to vulgar eyes, devoid of care; Or where the day begins, or where it ends, The british Muses to the grove will press,

Far from our coasts he drives off all alarms;
Tune their melodious harps, and claim access: And those his power protects, his goodness charms.
But let them not too rashly touch the strings; Great in himself, and undebas'd with pride,
For Fate allows no solitude to kings.

The sovereign lays his regal state aside,
Hail to the shades, where William, great in arms, Pleas'd to appear without the bright disguise
Retir'd from conquest to Maria's charms!

Of pomp ; and on bis 'inborn worth relies.
Where George serene in majesty appears,

His subjects are his guests; and daily boast And plans the wonders of succeeding years! The condescension of their royal host : There, as he walks, his comprehensive mind While crowds succeeding crowds on either hand, Surveys the globe, and takes-in all inankind : A ravish'd multitude, admiring stand. While, Britain, for thy sake he wears the crown; His manly wit and sense, with candour join'd, To spread thy power as wide as his renown: His speech with every elegance refin'd, To make thee umpire of contending states, His winning aspect, his becoming ease, And poise the balance in the world's debates. Peculiar graces all, conspire to please,

From the smooth terrass as he casts his eye, And render him to every heart approv'd; And sees the current sea-ward rolling by;

The king respected, and the man belov'd. What schemes of commerce rise in his designs ! Nor is his force of genius less admir'd: Pledges of wealth ! and unexhausted mines ! When most from crowds or public cares retir'd, Through winds and waves, beneath inclement skies, The learned arts, by turns, admittance find; Where stars, distinguish'd by no name, arise, At once unbend and exercise his mind. Our feets shall undiscover'd lands explore, The secret springs of Nature, long conceald, And a new people hear our cannons roar.

And to the wise by slow degrees reveal’d, The rivers, long in ancient story fam’d,

(Delightful search!) his piercing thought descries. Shall flow obscure, nor with the Thames be nam'd: Oft through the concave azure of the skies Nor sball our poets copy from their praise,

His soul delights to range, a boundless space, And Nymphs and Syrens to thy honour raise; Which myriads of celestial glories grace; Nor make thy banks with Tritons' shells resound, Worlds behind worlds, that deep in ether lie, Nor bind thy brows with humble sedges round: And suns, that twinkle to the distant eye; But paint thee as thou art • a peopled stream! Or call them stars, on which our fates depend, The boast of merchants, and the sailors' theme ! And every ruling star is Brunswick's friend. Whose spreading foods unnumber'd ships sustain, Soon as the rising Sun shoots o'er the stream, And pour whole towns afloat into the main; And gilds the palace with a ruddy beam, While the redundant seas waft up fresh stores, You to the healthful chase attend the king, The daily tribute of far-distant shores.

And hear the forest with the huntsmen ring: Back to thy source I try thy silver-train, While in the dusty town we rule the state, That gently winds through many a fertile plain; And from gazettes determine England's fate. Where tlocks and lowing herds in plenty feed, Our groundless hopes and groundless fears prevail And shepherds tune at ease the vocal reed: As artful brokers comment on the mail. Ere yet thy waters meet the briny tide,

Deafen'd with news, with politics opprest, Add freighted vessels down thy channel ride; I wish the wind ne'er varied from the west. Ere yet thy billows leave their banks behind, Secure, on George's councils I rely, Swell into state, and foam before the wind : Give up my cares, and Britain's foes defy. Thy sovereign's emblem! in thy course complete! What though cabals are form’d, and impious leagues? When I behold him in his lov'd retreat,

Though Rome fills Europe with her dark intrigues ? Where rural scenes their pleasing views disclose, His vigilance, on every state intent, A sylvan deity the monarch shows;

Defeats their plots, and over-rules th' event, And if he only knew the woods to grace,

But whither do my vain endeavours tend? To rouse the stag, and animate the chase: Or how shall I my rash attempt defend?

Divided in my choice, from praise to praise Yet would I hope, yet hope I know not why, I rove, bewilder'd in the pleasing maze.

(But hopes and wishes in one balance lie) One virtue mark’d, another I pursue,

Thou mayst revisit, with thy wonted smiles, While yet another rises to my view.

Tërna, island set around with isles : Unequal to the task, too late I find

May the same heart, that bids thee now adieu, The growing theme unfinish'd left behind.

Salute thy sails, and hail thee into view !
Thus, the deluded bee, in hopes to drain
At once the thymy treasure of the plain,
Wide ranging, on her little pinions toils,
And skims o'er hundred Aowers for one she spoils :
When, soon o'erburthen'd with the fragrant weight,

ODES
Homeward she fjes, and flags beneath her freight.

TO

SONG.
FR

ROM White's and Will's

To purling rills
LORD CARTERET,

The love-sick Strephon flies;
DEPARTING FROM DUBLIN. 1726.

There, full of woe,

His numbers flow,
Behold, Britannia waves her flag on high,

And all in rhyme he dies.
And calls forth breezes from the western sky,
And beckons to her son, and smooths the tide,

The fair coquet,
That does Hibernia from her cliffs divide.

With feign'd regret, Go, Carteret, go; and, with thee, go along Invites him back to town; The nation's blessing, and the poet's song;

But, when in tears Loud acclamations, with melodious lays,

The youth appears, The kindest wishes, and sincerest praise.

She meets him with a frown. Go, Carteret, go; and bear my joys away!

Full oft the maid So speaks the Muse, that fain would bid thee stay :

This prank had play'd, So spoke the virgin to the youth unkind,

Till angry Strephon swore, Who gave his vows, and canvass, to the wind,

And, what is strange, And promis'd to return; but never more

Though loth to change,
Did he return to the Threïcian shore.

Would never see her more.
Go, Carteret, go: alas, a tedious while
Hast thou been absent from thy mother-isle;
A slow-pac'd train of months to thee and thine,
A flight of moments to a heart like mine,
That feels perfections, and resigns with pain

SONG.
Enjoyments I may never know again.

Why

Hy we love, and why we hate, 0, while mine eye pursues the fading sails,

Is not granted us to know:
Smooth roll, ye waves, and steady breathe, ye gales, Random chance, or wilful fate,
And urge with gentle speed to Albion's strand

Guides the shaft from Cupid's bow.
A household fair, amidst the fairest land,
In every decency of life polite,

If on me Zelinda frown,
A freight of virtues, wafting from my sight!

Madness 't is in me to grieve: And now farewell, ( early in renown,

Since her will is not her own, Illustrious, young, in labours for the crown,

Why should I uneasy live? Just, and benign, and vigilant, in power,

If I for Zelinda die, And elegant to grace the vacant hour,

Deaf to poor Mizella's cries, Relaxing sweet! Nor are we born to wear

Ask not me the reason why:
The brow still bent, and give up life to care.

Seek the riddle in the skies.
And thou, mild glory, beaming round his fame,
Francisca, thou, his first, his latest flame;
Parent of bloom! in pleasing arts refin'd!
Farewell thy hand, and voice, in music join'd;

TO SIGNORA CUZZONI.
Thy courtesy, as soothing as thy song,
And smiles soft-gleaming on the courtly throng :

MAY 25, 1724.
And thou, Charissa, hastening to thy prime,

Little Syren of the stage, And Carolina, chiding tardy Time,

Charmer of an idle age,
Who every tender wish of mine divide,

Empty warbler, breathing lyre,
For whom I strung the lyre, once laid aside, Wanton gale of fond desire,
Receive, and bear in mind, my fond farewell, Bane of every manly art,
Thrive on in life! and, thriving on, excell! Sweet enfeebler of the heart!

Accept this token, Carteret, of good-will, O, tuo pleasing in thy strain,
The voice of nature, undebasid by skill,

Hence, to southern climes again;
These parting numbers, cadenc'd by my grief, Tuneful mischief, vocal spell,
For thy lov'd sake, and for my own relief,

To this island bid farewell;
If aught, alas, thy absence may relieve,

Leave us as we ought to be,
Now I am left, perhaps, through life to grieve: Leave the Britons rough and free.

TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE
EARL OF HALIFAX.

JUNE 30, 1718.
WEEPING o'er thy sacred urn,
Ever shall the Muses mourn;
Sadly shall their numbers flow,
Ever elegant in woe.

Thousands, nobly born, shall die,
Thousands in oblivion lie,
Names, which leave no trace behind,
Like the clouds before the wind,
When the dusky shadows pass,
Lightly fleeting o'er the grass.

But, o Halifax, thy name
Shall through ages rise in fame :
Sweet remembrance shalt thou find,
Sweet in every noble mind.

And the store of charms which shine
Above, in lineaments divine,
Crowded in a narrow space
Co complete the desperate face,
These alluring powers, and more,
Shall enamour'd youths adore;
These, and more, in courtly lays,
Many an aching heart shall praise.

Happy thrice, and thrice again,
Happiest he of happy men,
Who, in courtship greatly sped,
Wins the damsel to his bed,
Bears the virgin-prize away,
Counting life one nuptial day:
For the dark-brown dusk of hair,
Shadowing thick thy forehead fair,
Down the veiny temples growing,
O'er the sloping shoulders flowing,
And the smoothly pencil'd brow,
Mild to him in every vow,
And the fringed lid below,
Thin as thinnest blossoms blow,
And the hazely-lucid eye,
Whence heart-winning glances fly,
And that cheek of health, o'erspread
With soft-blended wbite and red,
And the witching smiles which break
Round those lips, 'which sweetly speak,
And thy gentleness of mind,
Gentle from a gentle kind,
These endowments, heavenly dower!
Brought him in the promis'd hour,
Shall for ever bind him to thee,
Shall renew him still to woo thee,

TO THE HONOURABLE

ON THE DEATH OF THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

WILLIAM EARL COWPER. 1723.

STROPHE I.

MISS CARTERET.
Bloom of beauty, early flower
Of the blissful bridal bower,
Thou, thy parents pride and care,
Fairest offspring of the fair,
Lovely pledge of mutual love,
Angel seeming from above,
Was it not thou day by day
Dost thy very sex betray,
Female more and more appear,
Female, more than angel dear,
How to speak thy face and mjen,
(Soon too dangerous to be seen)
How shall I, or shall the Muse,
Language of resemblance choose ?
Language like thy mien and face,
Full of sweetness, full of grace!

By the next returning spring,
When again the linnets sing,
When again the lambkins play,
Pretty sportlings full of May,
When the meadows next are seen,
Sweet enamel! white and green,
And the year in fresh attire
Welcomes every gay desire,
Blooming on shalt thou appear
More inviting than the year,
Fairer sight than orchard shows,
Which beside a river blows :
Yet another spring I see,
And a brighter bloom in thee :
And another round of time,
Circling, still improves thy prime:
And, beneath the vernal skies,
Yet a verdure more shall rise,
Ere thy beauties, kindling slow,
In each finish'd feature glow,
Ere, in smiles and in disdain,
Thou exert thy maiden reign,
Absolute to save, or kill,
Fond beholders, at thy will.

Then the taper-moulded waist
With a span of ribbon brac'd,
And the swell of either breast,
And the wide high-vaulted chest,
And the neck so white and round,
Litue neck with brilliants bound,

WAKE the British harp again,
To a sad melodious strain;
Wake the harp, whose every string,
When Halifax resign'd his breath,
Accus'd inexorable Death;
For I,.once more, must in affliction sing,
One song of sorrow more bestow,
The burthen of a heart o'ercharg'd with woe:
Yet, O my soul, if aught may bring relief,
Full many, grieving, shall applaud thy grief,
The pious verse, that Cowper does deplore,
Whom all the boasted powers of verse cannot re-
store.

ANTISTROPHE I.
Not to ber, his fondest care,
Not to his lov'd offspring fair,
Nor his country ever dear,
From her, from them, from Britain torn:
With her, with them, does Britain mourn:
His name, from every eye, calls forth a tear;
And, intermingling sighs with praise,
All good men wish the number of his days
Had been to him twice told, and twice again,
In that seald book, where all things which per-

tain To mortal man, whatever things befall, Are from eternity confirm'd, beyond recall :

EPODE 1.

STROPHE 11.

When next, thou sea-surrounded land, Where every loss, and every gain,

Thy nobles meet at Brunswick's high command, Where every grief, and every joy,

In vain they shall the charmer's voice desire, Every pleasure, every pain,

In vain those lips of eloquence require, Each bitter, and each sweet alloy,

That mild conviction, which the soul assails To us uncertain though they flow,

By soft alarms, and with a gentle force prevails ! Are pre-ordain'd, and fix'd, above.

EPÚDE 111. Too wretched state, did man foreknow

To such persuasion willing yields Those ills, which man cannot remove !

The liberal mind, in freedom train'd, Vain is wisdom for preventing

Freedom, which, in crimson'd fields, What the wisest live lamenting.

By hardy toil our fathers gain'd,

Inheritance of long descent! Hither sent, who knows the day

The sacred pledge so dearly priz'd When he shall be call'd away?

By that blest spirit we lament: Various is the term assign'd:

Grief-easing lays, by grief devis'd, An hour, a day, some months, or years,

Plaintive numbers, gently flowing, The brcathing soul on Earth appears :

Sooth the sorrows to him owing!
But, through the swift succession of mankind,

STROPHE IV.
Swarm after swarm, a busy race,
The strength of cities, or of courts the grace,

Early on his growing heir
Or who in camps delight, or who abide

Stamp what time may not impair, Diffus'd o'er lands, or float on oceans wide,

As he grows, that coming years, Of them, though many here long-lingering dwell,

Or youthful pleasures, or the vain And see their children's children, yet, how few excel! Gigantic phantom of the brain,

Ambition, breeding monstrous hopes and fears, ANTISTROPHE II.

Or worthier cares to youth unknown, Here we come, and hence we go,

Ennobling manhood, Hower of life full-blown, Shadows passing to and fro,

May never wear the bosom-image faint: Seen a while, forgotten soon:

0, let him prove what words but weakly paint, But thou, to fair distinction born,

The lively lovely semblance of his sire,
Thou, Cowper, beamy in the morn

A model to his son! that ages may admire!
Of life, still brightening to the pitch of noon,
Scarce verging to the steep decline,

ANTISTROPHE IV.
Hence summon'd while thy virtues radiant shine,

Every virtue, every grace, Thou singled out the fosterling of Fame,

Still renewing in the race, Secure of praise, nor less secur'd from blame, Once thy father's pleasing hope, Shall be remember'd with a fond applause,

Thy widow'd mother's comfort now, So long as Britons own the same indulgent laws.

No fuller bliss does Heaven allow,

While we behold yon wide-spread azure cope, United in one public weal,

With burning stars thick-luster'd o'er, Rejoicing in one freedom, all,

Than to enjoy, and to deserve, a store Cowper's hand applied the seal,

Of treasur'd fame, by blameless deeds acquir'd, And levell’d the partition-wall.

By all unenvied, and by all desir'd, The chosen seeds of great events

Free-gift of men, the tribute of good-will!
Are thinly sown, and slowly rise :

Rich in this patrimony fair, increase it still.
And Time the harvest-scythe presents,
In season, to the good and wise:

The fullness of content remains
Hymning to the harp my story,

Above the yet unfathom'd skies, Fajn would I record his glory.

Where, triumphant, gladness reigns,

Where wishes cease, and pleasures rise Pouring forth, with heavy heart,

Beyond all wish; where bitter tears Truth unleaven'd, pure of art,

For dying friends are never shed; Like the hallow'd bard of yore,

Where, signing, none desire past years Who chianted in authentic rhymes

Recall'd, or wish the future fied. The worthies of the good old times,

Mournful measures, O relieve me!
Ere living Vice in verse was varnish'd o'er,

Sweet remembrance! cease to grieve me.
And Virtue died without a song.
Support of friendless right, to powerful wrong He the robe of justice wore
A check, behold him in the judgment-seat!

Sullied not as heretofore,
Twice, there, approv’d, in righteousness complete: When the magistrate was sought
In just awards, how gracious! tempering law

With yearly gifts. Of what avail
With mercy, and reproving with a winning awe.

Are guilty hoards ? for life is frail;
ANTISTROPHE II.

And we are judg’d where favour is not bought. Hear him speaking, and you hear

By him fore warn’d, thou frantic isle, Reason tuneful to the ear!

How did the thirst of gold thy sons beguile! Lips with thymy language sweet,

Beneath the specious ruin thousands groan'd, Distilling on the hearer's mind

By him, alas, forewarn’d, by him bemoan'd. The balm of wisdom, speech refin'd,

Where shall his like, on Earth, be found? oh, when Celestial gifts 1-Oh, when the nobles meet, Shall I, once more, behold the most belov'd of men'

EPODE 11.

E PODE IV.

STROPAE III.

STROPHE V.

ANTISTROPHE V.

Th’ungifted tribe in metre pass away, Winning aspect! winning mind!

Oblivion's sport, the poets of a day. Soul and body aptly join'd!

What laws shall o'er the Ode preside? Searching thought, engaging wit,

In vain would Art presume to guide Enabled to instruct or please,

The chariot-wheels of Praise, Uniting dignity with ease,

When Fancy, driving, ranges free, By Nature form'd for every purpose fit,

Fresh flowers selecting, like the bee, Endearing excellence !-0, why

And regularly strays, Is such perfection born, and born to die!

While Nature does, disdaining aids of skill, Or do such rare endowments still survive,

The mind with thought, the ears with numbers As plants, remov'd to milder regions, thrive

fill. In one eternal spring? and we bewail The parting soul, new-born to life that cannot fail,

As when the Theban hymns divine

Make proud Olympian victors shine
EPODE v.

In an eternal blaze,
Where sacred friendship, plighted love,

The varying measures, ever new, Parental joys unmixt with care,

Unbeaten tracks of Fame pursue, Through perpetual time improve?

While through the glorious maze Or do the deathless blessed share

The poet leads his heroes to renown,
Sublimer raptures, unreveal'd,

And weaves in verse a never-fading crown.
Beyond our weak conception pure ?
But, while those glories lie conceal'd,
The righteous count the promise sure,
Trials to the last enduring,
To the last their hope securing.

TO MISS MARGARET PULTENEY,

(DAUGHTER OF DANIEL PULTENEY, ESQ.)
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

IN THE NURSERY.
WILLIAM PULTEN EY, ESQ.

April 27, 1727.
MAY 1, 1723.

Dimply damsel, sweetly smiling,
Wuo, much distinguish'd, yet is blest?

All caressing, none beguiling, Who, dignified above the rest,

Bud of beauty, fairly blowing, Does still unenvied live?

Every charm to Nature owing, Not to the man whose wealth abounds,

This and that new thing admiring, Nor to the man whose fame resounds,

Much of this and that inquiring, Does Heaven such favour give,

Knowledge by degrees attaining, Nor to the noble-born, nor to the strong,

Day by day some virtue gaining, Nor to the gay, the beautiful, or young.

Ten years hence, when I leave chiming, Whom then, secure of happiness,

Beardless poets, fondly rhyming, Does every eye beholding bless,

(Pescued now, perhaps, in spelling,) And every tongue commend?

On thy riper beauties dwelling, Him, Pulteney, who, possessing store,

Shall accuse each killing feature Is not solicitous of more,

Of the cruel, charming creature, Who, to mankind a friend,

Whom I knew complying, willing, Nor envies, nor is envied by, the great,

Tender, and averse from killing.
Polite in courts, polite in his retreat:

Whose unambitious, active soul
Attends the welfare of the whole,

When public storms arise,
And, in the calm, a thousand ways

TO
Diversifies bis nights and days,

MISS CHARLOTTE PULTENEY, IN HER Still elegantly wise;

MOTHER'S ARMS.
While books, each morn, the lightsome soul invite,
And friends, with season'd mirth, improve the night.

May 1, 1724.
In him do men no blemish see;

Timely blossom, infant fair, And factions in his praise agree,

Fondling of a happy pair, When most they vex the state:

Every morn, and every night, Distinguish'd favourite of the skies,

Their solicitous delight,
Belov'd he lives, lamented dies :

Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Yet, shall he not to Fate

Pleasing, without skill to please,
Submit entire; the rescuing Muse shall save

Little gossip, blithe and hale, His precious name, and win him from the grave.

Tattling many a broken tale, Too frail is brass and polish'd stone;

Singing many a tuneless song,
Perpetual fame the Muse alone

Lavish of a heedless tongue,
On Merit can bestow:

Simple maiden, void of art,
Yet, must the time-enduring song,

Babbling out the very heart,
The verse unrival'd by the throng,

Yet abandon'd to thy will,
From Nature's bounty flow:

Yet imagining no ill,

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