VII.

As when the Theban hymns divine
Make proud Olympian victors fhine
In an eternal blaze,

The varying measures, ever new,
Unbeaten tracks of fame pursue,

While through the glorious maze

The poet leads his heroes to renown,

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And weaves in verse a never-fading crown.

56.

To Mifs MARGARET PULTENEY, Daughter of

DANIEL PULTENEY, Efq; in the Nursery.

IMPLY damfel, fweetly smiling,

DI

APRIL 27, 1727.

All careffing, none beguiling,

Bud of beauty, fairly blowing,
Every charm to Nature owing,
This and that new thing admiring,
Much of this and that enquiring,
Knowledge by degrees attaining,
Day by day fome virtue gaining,
Ten years hence, when I leave chiming,
Beardless poets, fondly rhyming,
(Fefcued now, perhaps, in spelling,)
On thy riper beauties dwelling,
Shall accufe each killing feature
Of the cruel, charming, creature,
Whom I knew complying, willing,
Tender, and averfe from killing.

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16

Το

To Mifs CHARLOTTE PULTENEY,

TIM

in her Mother's Arms.

MAY 1, 1724,

IMELY bloffom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn, and every night,
Their folicitous delight,
Sleeping, waking, ftill at ease,
Pleafing, without skill to please,
Little goffip, blithe and hale,
Tattling many a broken tale,
Singing many a tuneless fong,
Lavish of a heedlefs tongue,
Simple maiden, void of art,
Babbling out the very heart,
Yet abandon'd to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,
Yet too innocent to blush,
Like the linnet in the bush.
To the mother-linnet's note
Moduling her flender throat,
Chirping forth thy petty joys,
Wanton in the change of toys,
Like the linnet green, in May,
Flitting to each bloomy (pray,
Wearied then, and glad of reft,
Like the linnet in the neft.

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4

This thy prefent happy lot,
This, in time, will be forgot:
Other pleasures, other cares,
Ever-bufy time prepares ;

And thou shalt in thy daughter fee,
This picture, once, resembled thee.

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TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE

ROBERT WALPOLE, ESQUIRE.

VOT

JUNE 15, 1724.

OTARY to publick zeal,
Minifter of England's weal,

Have you leifure for a song,
Tripping lightly o'er the tongue,
Swift and fweet in every measure,

Tell me, Walpole, have you

leifure?

Nothing lofty will I fing,
Nothing of the favourite king,
Something, rather, fung with eafe,
Simply elegant to please.

Fairy Virgin, British Mufe,
Some unhear'd-of story chufe:
Chufe the glory of the fwain,
Gifted with a magic ftrain,
Swaging grief of every kind,
Healing, with a verfe, the mind:
To him came a man of power,

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To him, in a cheerless hour;

When

When the fwain, by Druids taught,

Soon divin'd his irksome thought,
Soon the maple harp he ftrung,
Soon, with filver-accent, fung.
"Steerer of a mighty realm,
"Pilot, waking o'er the helm,
"Bleffing of thy native foil,
"Weary of a thanklefs toil,
"Caft repining thought behind,
"Give thy trouble to the wind.
"Mortal, deftin'd to excel,
"Bear the blame of doing well,
"Like the worthies great of old,
"In the lift of fame enroll'd.

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"What, though titles thou decline? "Still the more thy virtues shine.

"Envy, with her serpent eye,

"Marks each praise that foars on high.

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"Urgeth on, through clouds, his way:

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Quick, the blissful scene prepare,

Sooth the patriot's heavy care: "Visions, cheering to the fight, "Give him earnest of delight.

"Wife difpofer of affairs, "View the end of all thy cares! "Forward caft thy ravish'd eyes,

See the gladdening harvest rise.: "Lo, the people reap thy pain! "Thine the labor, theirs the gain. "Yonder turn, awile, they view, "Turn thee to yon spreading yew, Once the gloomy tree of fate, "Once the plighted virgin's hate: “Now, no longer, does it grow, "Parent of the warring bow:

See, beneath the guiltless shade, "Peasants fhape the plow and spade, "Rescued, ever, from the fear "Of the whistling shaft and spear. "Lo, where plenty comes, with peace! "Hear the breath of murmur cease: "See, at last, unclouded days; "Hear, at laft, unenvied praise.

"Nothing fhall thy foul moleft; "Labour is the price of reft.

"Mortal, deftin'd to excel, 4 Blefs the toil of doing well!”

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