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Search, with thy more than mortal eye,
What there has got poffeffion.
For principle, profession.
From these, the pests of human kind,
Protect our parent King :
And crush them ere they sting.
If such his trust and honours share,
Each venom'd heart disclose ;
He cannot fear his foes,
Whoe'er fhall at the helm prefide,
To stain the troubled wave;
" And dares to scorn a knave."
No selfish views t'oppress mankind,
To purchase fame with blood ;
Is only to be good.
To hear no lawless paffion's call,
Such was thy glorious plan!
The Minister and Man.
Unite, ye kindred fons of worth;
Be Britain's weal your view !
And Pelham live in you.
BY RICHARD WEST, ESQ.
* Born 1716; dyed 1742. This poem is in imitation of the 5th Elegy of the 3d book of Tibullus, and of a letter of Mr. Pope, in sickness, 10 Mr. Steel. “ Almost all Tibullus's
Elegy," Mr. Mafon observes, " is imitated in ibis little piece, from whence the transition to Mr. Popes letter is very artfully contrived, and bespeaks a degree of judgment much beyond Mr. Weft's years." It was written before 21.
The reader may compare this with another imitation of the fame eleg y by Mr. Hammond. (See p. 35:)
From you remote, methinks, alone I stand
15 Like some fad exile in a defert land ; Around no friends their lenient care to join In mutual warmth, and mix their hearts with mine. Or real pains, or those which fancy raise, For ever blot the sunshine of my days; 20 To fickness still, and still to grief a prey, Health turns from me her rosy face away.
Just heav'n! what fin, ere life begins to bloom, Devotes my head untimely to the tomb ? Did e'er this hand against a brother's life Drug the dire bowl, or point the murd'rous knife ? Did e'er this tongue the flanderer's tale proclaim, Or madly violate
Maker's name? Did e'er this heart betray a friend or foe, Orknow a thought but all the world might know? 30 As yet just started from the lists of time, My growing years have scarcely told their prime; Useless, as yet, through life I've idly run, No pleasures tasted, and few duties done. Ah, who, ere autamn's mellowing suns appear, 35 Would pluck the promise of the vernal year; Or, ere the grapes their purple hue betray, Tear the crude cluster from the mourning spray. Stern Power of Fate, whose ebon sceptre rules The Stygian deserts and Cimmerian pools, 40 Forbear, nor rafhly smite my youthful heart, A victim yet unworthy of thy dart;
Ah, stay till age shall blaft my withering face,
How weak is Man to Reason's judging eye!
But why repine, does life deserve my figh?