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That power alone, whose all-combining eye
Beholds what he ordains, futurity,

Could that tremendous truth reveal,

That ere six suns had round the zodiac roll'd Their beams, astonish'd Europe should behold All Gallia one immense Bastile3?

III. 1.

Is it not virtue to repine,

When thus transform'd the scene? ' Ah! no,' replied, in strain divine, The heaven-descending Queen. And as she sung she shot a ray, Mild as the orient dawn of May,

Enlightening while it calm'd my brain: Now purged, my son! from error, own My blessings ne'er were meant to crown The vicious or the vain.

III. 2.

"Tis only those of purer clay'

From sensual dross refined,

In whom the passions pleased obey
The God within the mind',

3 There were in the prisons of Paris alone, when this was written, above six thousand prisoners.

But who loves

4 Cui meliore Luto finxit præcordia Titan. So Milton in his twelfth sonnet, speaking of liberty, says, that must first be wise and good.'

5 Mr. Pope uses this Platonic phrase for conscience.-See Essay on Man, Ep. ii. p. 204, with Warburton's note upon it, where the learned critic says justly that it admits a double meaning. It is in its latter practical, or rather Christian sense, that I here employ it, to convey the important truth delivered by St. Paul, where the spirit of the Lord is, there is liberty.'

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Who share my delegated aid,

Through Wisdom's golden mean convey'd
From the first source of sovereign good:
All else to horrid license tends,
Springs from vindictive pride, and ends
In anarchy and blood.

III. 3.

Had France possess'd a sober patriot band, True to their own and nation's weal, Such as, fair Albion, bless'd thy favour'd land, When Nassau came thy rights to seal; She might but why compare such wide extremes, Why seek for reason in delirious dreams? Rather consign to exile and to shame Her coward princes, her luxurious peers, Who fed the hell-born hydra with their fears, That now usurps my hallow'd name.'

ELEGIES.

TO A YOUNG NOBLEMAN

LEAVING THE UNIVERSITY.

ERE yet, ingenuous youth, thy steps retire
From Cam's smooth margin, and the peaceful

vale,

Where Science call'd thee to her studious choir, And met thee musing in her cloisters pale; Oh! let thy friend (and may he boast the name) Breathe from his artless reed one parting lay; A lay like this thy early virtues claim,

And this let voluntary friendship pay.

Yet know, the time arrives, the dangerous time When all those virtues, opening now so fair, Transplanted to the world's tempestuous clime, Must learn each passion's boisterous breath to There, if Ambition, pestilent and pale,

[bear. Or Luxury should taint their vernal glow; If cold Selfinterest, with her chilling gale, Should blast the' unfolding blossoms ere they blow;

If mimic hues, by Art or Fashion spread,

Their genuine, simple colouring should supply, Oh! with them may these laureate honours fade; And with them (if it can) my friendship die.

Then do not blame, if, though thyself inspire,

Cautious I strike the panegyric string; The Muse full oft pursues a meteor fire,

And, vainly venturous, soars on waxen wing. Too actively awake at Friendship's voice, The poet's bosom pours the fervent strain, Till sad Reflection blames the hasty choice,

sage;

And oft invokes Oblivion's aid in vain. Call we the shade of Pope from that bless'd bower Where throned he sits with many a tuneful Ask if he ne'er bemoans that hapless hour When St. John's name ' illumined Glory's page? Ask, if the wretch who dared his memory stain, Ask, if his Country's, his Religion's foe Deserved the meed that Marlborough fail'd to gain,

The deathless meed he only could bestow? The bard will tell thee the misguided praise Clouds the celestial sunshine of his breast; E'en now, repentant of his erring lays,

He heaves a sigh amid the realms of rest. If Pope through friendship fail'd, indignant view, Yet pity, Dryden; hark, whene'er he sings, How Adulation drops her courtly dew

On titled rhymers and inglorious kings. See, from the depths of his exhaustless mine, His glittering stores the tuneful spendthrift throws;

Where fear or interest bids, behold, they shine; Now grace aCromwell's,now aCharles's brows.

Alluding to this couplet of Mr. Pope's:

To Cato Virgil paid one honest line,

O, let my country's friends illumine mine.

Born with too generous, or too mean a heart,
Dryden! in vain to thee those stores were lent:
Thy sweetest numbers but a trifling art;

Thy strongest diction idly eloquent.
The simplest lyre, if truth directs its lays,
Warbles a melody ne'er heard from thine;
Not to disgust with false or venal praise

Was Parnell's modest fame, and may be mine.
Go then, my friend, nor let thy candid breast
Condemn me if I check the plausive string;
Go to the wayward world; complete the rest;
Be what the purest Muse would wish to sing.
Be still thyself; that open path of truth
Which led thee here, let manhood firm
Retain the sweet simplicity of youth,

pursue;

And all thy virtue dictates dare to do. Still scorn with conscious pride the mask of Art; On Vice's front let fearful Caution lour,

And teach the diffident discreeter part

Of knaves that plot, and fools that fawn for power.

So round thy brow when Age's honours spread, When Death's cold hand unstrings thy Mason's

lyre,

When the green turf lies lightly on his head, Thy worth shall some superior bard inspire: He to the amplest bounds of Time's domain

On Rapture's plume shall give thy name to fly For trust, with reverence trust this Sabine strain2: The Muse forbids the virtuous man to die.'

2

Dignum laude virum
Musa vetat mori.

VOL. 1.

Η

HORACE.

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