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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 trifes 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.

Or dost thou fear lest dire disease Again thy tortur'd frame may seize;

And hast thou therefore stay'd ? 01 rather haste, where thou shalt find A ready hand, a gentle mind,

To comfort and to aid.

And while by sore afflictions try'd,
You bear without the Stoic's pride,

What Stoic never bore ; 01 may I learn like thee to bear, And what shall be my destin'd share,

To suffer, not explore.

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