With friendship, tenderness, respect, and love;
The Mufe had wifh'd, on this returning day,
Something most worthy of herself to say:
To Jove the offer'd up an humble prayer,
To take the noble Warwick to his care.
Give him, fhe faid, whate'er diviner grace
Adorns the foul, or beautifies the face:
Let manly conftancy confirm his truth,
And gentlest manners crown his blooming youth.
Give him to fame, to virtue to afpire,
Worthy our fongs and thy informing fire:
All various praise, all honours, let him prove,
Let men admire, and fighing virgins love :
With honeft zeal inflame his generous mind,
To love his country, and protect mankind.
Attentive to her prayer, the god reply'd,
Why doft thou ask what has not been deny'd?
Jove's bounteous hand has lavish'd all his power,
And making what he is, can add no more.
Yet fince I joy in what I did create,
I will prolong the favourite Warwick's fate,
And lengthen out his years to fome uncommon date.
TO LADY JANE WHARTON, ON HER STUDYING THE GLOBE.
'HILE o'er the globe, fair nymph, your searches
And trace its rolling circuit round the fun,
You feem'd the world beneath you to furvey,
With eyes ordain'd to give its people day.
With two fair lamps methought your nations thone,
While ours are poorly lighted up by one.
How did thofe rays your happier empire gild!
How clothe the flowery mead and fruitful field!
Your earth was in eternal fpring array'd,
And laughing joy amidst its natives play'd.
Such is their day, but chearless is their night,
No friendly moon reflects your abfent light:
And oh when yet ere many years are past,
Those beams on other objects fhall be plac'd,
When fome young hero, with refiftless art,
Shall draw thofe eyes, and warm that virgin heart:
How shall your creatures then their lofs deplore,
And want those funs that rife for them no more?
The blifs you give will be confin'd to one,
And for his fake your world must be undone.
TO MRS. PULTENEY, UPON HER GOING
IR'D with the frequent mifchiefs of her eyes,
To diftant climes the fair Belinda flies.
She fees her spreading flames confume around,
And not another conqueft to be found.
Secure in foreign realms at will to reign,
She leaves her vaffals here with proud difdain.
One only joy which in her heart she wears,
The dear companion of her flight the bears.
Eneas thus a burning town forfook,
Thus into banishment his gods he took :
But, to retrieve his native Troy's difgrace,
Fix'd a new empire in a happier place.
ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR, 1716.
HAIL to thee, glorious rifing year,
With what uncommon grace thy days appear!
Comely art thou in thy prime,
Lovely child of hoary Time;
Where thy golden footsteps tread,
Pleafures all around thee spread;
Blifs and beauty grace thy train;
Muse, ftrike the lyre to fome immortal firain.
But oh what skill, what master hand,
Shall govern or constrain the wanton band!
Loose like my verse they dance, and all without command.
Images of faireft things,
Crowd about the speaking strings;
Peace and sweet prosperity,
Faith and chearful loyalty,
With fmiling love and deathlefs poefy.
Ye fcowling fhades who break away,
Well do ye fly and fhun the purple day.
Every fiend and fiend-like form,
Black and fullen as a ftorm,
Jealous fear, and false furmise,
Danger with her dreadful eyes,
Faction, fury, all are fled,
And bold rebellion hides her daring head.
Behold, thou gracious year, behold,
To whom thy treasures all thou fhalt unfold,
For whom thy whiter days were kept from times of old!
See thy George, for this is he!
On his right hand waiting free,
Britain and fair Liberty :
Every good is in his face,
Every open honeft grace.
Thou great Plantagenet! immortal be thy race!
See the facred fcyon fprings,
See the glad promise of a line of kings!
Royal youth! what bard divine,
Equal to a praise like thine,
Shall in fome exalted measure
Sing thee, Britain's deareft treasure?
Who her joy in thee shall tell,
Who the fprightly note shall swell
His voice attempering to the tuneful shell ?
Thee Audenard's recorded field,
Bold in thy brave paternal band, beheld, And faw with hopeless heart thy fainting rival yield: Troubled he, with fore difmay,
To thy ftronger fate gave way,
Safe beneath thy noble fcorn,
Wingy-footed was he borne,
Swift as the fleeting fhades upon the golden corn.
What valour, what distinguish'd worth,
From thee fhall lead the coming ages forth?
Crested helms and fhining fhields,
Warriors fam'd in foreign fields;
Hoary heads with olive bound,
Kings and lawgivers renown'd;
Crowding ftill they rise anew,
Beyond the reach of deep prophetic view.
Young Auguftus! never cease!
Pledge of our present and our future peace,
pour the bleffings forth, and give thy great increase.
All the stock that fate ordains
To fupply fucceeding reigns,
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