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ODE XXXIII.

TO

WILLIAM PULTNEY, ESQ.

BY THE LATE EARL NUGENT.

REMOTE from liberty and truth,
By fortune's crime, my-early youth

Drank error's poison’d springs. Taught by dark creeds and mystic law, Wrapt up in reverential awe,

I bow'd to priests and kings.

Soon reason dawn'd, with troubled sight
I caught the glimpse of painful light,

Afflicted and afraid,
Too weak it shone to mark my way,
Enough to tempt my steps to stray

Along the dubious shade.

Restless I roam'd, when from afar
Lo, Hooker shines! the friendly star

Sends forth a steady ray,
Thus cheer'd, and eager to pursue,
I mount 'till glorious to my view,

Locke spreads the realms of day.

Now warm'd with noble SYDNEY's page,
I pant with all the patriot's rage ;

Now wrapt in PLATO's dream,
With More and HARRINGTON around
I tread fair Freedom's magic ground,

And trace the flattåring scheme.

But soon the beauteous vision flies:
And hideous spectres now arise,

Corruption's direful train:
The partial judge perverting laws,
The priests forsaking virtue's cause,

And senates slaves to gain.

Vainly the pious artist's toil
Would rear to heaven a mortal pile,

On some immortal plan :
Within a sure, though varying date,
Confin'd, alas ! is every state

Of empire and of man.

What though the good, the brave, the wise, With adverse force undaunted rise,

To break th' eternal doom ! Though Caro liv'd, though Tulle spoke, Though Brutus dealt the godlike stroke,

Yet perish'd fated Rome.

To swell some future tyrant's pride, Good Fleury pours the golden tide

On Gallia's smiling shores ; Once more her fields shall thirst in vain For wholesome streams of honest gain,

While rapine wastes her stores.

Yet glorious is the great design,
And such, O Pultney! such is thine,

To prop a nation's frame.
If crush'd beneath the sacred weight,
The ruins of a falling state

Shall tell the patriot's name,

ODE XXXIV.

TO

LORD LONSDALE.

By the Same.

Lonsdale! thou ever honor'd name,
For such is sacred virtue's claim,

Say, why! my noble Friend!
While nature sheds her balmy powers
O'er hill and dale, in leaves and flowers,

Say, why my joys suspend !

Here spreads the lawn high-crown'd with wood,
Here slopes the vale, there winds the flood

In many a crystal maze.
The fishes sport, in silver pride
Slow moves the swan, on either side.

The herds promiscuous graze.

Or if the stiller shade you love,
Here solemn nods th’imbow’ring grove-

O'er innocence and ease ;
Whether with deep reflection fraught,
Or in the sprightly stream of thought,

The lighter trifles please.

And should the shaft of treacherous spleen
Glance venom'd through this peaceful scene,

Unheeded may it fly!
Provok'd, nor tempted to repay,
Though truth severer prompt the lay,

A mean prosaic lye.

Here with the pheasant and the hare,
Unfearful of the human snare,

Have statesmen pass’d a day :
While far from yon forbidden gate,
Pale care and lank remorse await

Their slow-returning prey.

O! blind to all the joys of life,
Who seek them in the storm of strife,

Destroying or destroy'd.
Less wretched they, and yet unbless'd,
Who batten in lethargic rest,

On blessings unenjoy’d.

But come, my friend, the sun invites,
For thee the town hath no delights,

Distasted and aggrievid:
While fools believe, while villains cheat,
Too honest to approve deceit,

Too wise to be deceiv'd.

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