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IT O MR.

POYNT Z.

Ambaffador at the Congrefs of SOISSONS,

in 1728.

Written at Paris.

THOU, whofe friendship is my joy and pride,
Whofe virtues warm me, and whofe precepts
guide;

Thou to whom greatnefs, rightly understood,
Is but a larger power of being good;

Say, Poyntz, amidst the toil of anxious state,
Does not thy fecret foul defire retreat?
Doft thou not wish (the task of glory done)
Thy bufy life at length might be thy own;
That, to thy lov'd philofophy refign'd,
No care might ruffle thy unbended mind?
Juft is the wish. For fure the happiest meed,
To favour'd man by fmiling Heaven decreed,
Is, to reflect at ease on glorious pains,
And calmly to enjoy what virtue gains.

Not him I praife, who, from the world retir'd,
By no enlivening generous paffion fir'd,

On flowery couches flumbers life

away,

And gently bids his active powers decay.;

Who

Who fears bright-Glory's awful face to fee,
And shuns renown as much as infamy.
But bleft is he, who, exercis'd in cares,
To private leisure public virtue bears;
Who tranquil ends the race he nobly run,
And decks repose with trophies Labour won.
Him Honour follows to the secret shade,
And crowns propitious his declining head;
In his retreats their harps the Muses string,
For him in lays unbought fpontaneous fing;
Friendship and Truth on all his moments wait,
Pleas'd with retirement better than with state;
And round the bower, where humbly great he lies,
Fair olives bloom, or verdant laurels rise.

So when thy country fhall no more demand
The needful aid of thy fuftaining hand;
When peace reftor'd fhall, on her downy wing,
Secure repofe and careless leifure bring;
Then, to the shades of learned ease retir'd,
The world forgetting, by the world admir'd,
Among thy books and friends, thou shalt poffefs
Contemplative and quiet happiness:

Pleas'd to review a life in honour spent,

And painful merit paid with fweet content.
Yet, though thy hours unclogg'd with forrow roll,
Though wisdom calm, and science feed thy foul,
One dearer bliss remains to be possest,

That only can improve and crown the reft.-
Permit thy friend this fecret to reveal,
Which thy own heart perhaps would better tell ;

The

The point to which our fweetest paffions move
Is, to be truly lov'd, and fondly love.

This is the charm that smooths the troubled breast,
Friend of our health, and author of our reft:
Bids every gloomy vexing paffion fly,

And tunes each jarring string to harmony.
Ev'n while I write, the name of Love infpires
More pleafing thoughts, and more enlivening fires;
Beneath his power my raptur'd fancy glows,
And every tender verfe more fweetly flows.
Dull is the privilege of living free;

Our hearts were never form'd for liberty:
Some beauteous image, well imprinted there,
*Can beft defend them from confuming care.
In vain to groves and gardens we retirę,
And Nature in her rural works admire;
Though grateful thefe, yet thefe but faintly charm;
They may delight us, but can never warm.
May fome fair eyes, my friend, thy bofom fire
With pleafing pangs of ever-gay defire;

And teach thee that soft science, which alone
Still to thy fearching mind refts flightly known!
Thy foul, though great, is tender and refin’d,
To friendship fenfible, to love inclin'd,
And therefore long thou canst not arm thy breaft
Against the entrance of fo fweet a guest.
Hear what th' infpiring Mufes bid me tell,
For Heaven fhall ratify what they reveal :

"A chofen bride fhall in thy arms be plac'd,
"With all th' attractive charms of beauty grac'd,

"Whofe

"Whose wit and virtue shall thy own exprefs, "Distinguish'd only by their fofter dress : “'Thy greatness she, or thy retreat, shall share; "Sweeten tranquillity, or soften care; "Her fmiles the taste of every joy shall raise, "And add new pleasure to renown and praise; "Till charm'd you own the truth my verfe would 66 prove,

"That happiness is near allied to love."

VERSES to be written under a PICTURE of Mr. PoYNTZ.

UCH is thy form, O Poyntz, but who shall find

SUCH

A hand, or colours, to express thy mind?
A mind unmov'd by every vulgar fear,
In a falfe world that dares to be fincere;
Wife without art; without ambition great;
Though firm, yet pliant; active, though sedate;
With all the richest stores of learning fraught,
Yet better ftill by native prudence taught;
That, fond the griefs of the diftreft to heal,
Can pity frailties it could never feel;

That, when Misfortune fued, ne'er fought to know
What fect, what party, whether friend or foe;
That, fix'd on equal virtue's temperate laws,
Defpifes calumny, and fhuns applaufe ;
That, to its own perfections fingly blind,
Would for another think this praise 'defign'd.

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AN EPISTLE TO MR. POP E.

From Rome, 1730.

IMMORTAL bard! for whom each Mufe has wove
The fairest garlands of th' Aonian grove;
Preferv'd our drooping genius to restore,
When Addison and Congreve are no more;
After fo many stars extinct in night,
The darken'd age's laft remaining light!

To thee from Latian realms this verfe is writ,
Infpir'd by memory of antient wit;

For now no more thefe climes their influence boast,
Fall'n is their glory, and their virtue loft;
From tyrants, and from priests, the Muses fly,
Daughters of Reason and of Liberty!

Nor Baïx now nor Umbria's plain they love,
Nor on the banks of Nar or Mincio rove;
To Thames's flowery borders they retire,
And kindle in thy breaft the Roman fire.
So in the fhades, where, chear'd with summer rays,
Melodious linnets warbled fprightly lays,
Soon as the faded, falling leaves complain
Of gloomy Winter's unaufpicious reign,
No tuneful voice is heard of joy or love,
But mournful filence faddens all the grove,
Unhappy Italy! whofe alter'd state

Has felt the worst severity of fate

Not

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