But wheresoe'er the eye delighted rove,

The Muse still stands beside some earthly Jove,

Fused in one air the universal Powers

That light the ages, or but gild the hours.

Rank then was pleased when Wit its birthright claimed ;
If either cringed-not Swift, be Harley blamed.
In court, in senate, hall, and mart, and street,
Frank Genius came its fellow-chiefs to meet-
Pleasure itself seemed dull and void of ease,
Till some bright spirit taught her how to please;
And no Sir Plume was half so proud as when
The sylph politely shaped him to a pen.

But all too long a truant from my theme,
I mark the sparkles, not pursue the stream.
Now comes the Man who has for verse no ear,
For lore no reverence, and for wit no fear;
Burly and bluff, in St John's vacant place,
The land's new leader lifts his jovial face.
Alas! poor Nine-a dreary time for you!

King George the First, Sir ROBERT WALPOLE too!
Sir Robert waits ;-those shrewd coarse features scan,
How strong the sense, how English is the man !—
English, if left to all plain sense bestows,
And stripp'd of all that Man to genius owes.
He sets no flowers, but each dry stubble gleans-
Statesman in ends, but huxter in the means—
Boldly he nears his hacks, extends the chaff,
And flings the halter with an ostler's laugh.
Corruptly frank, he buys or bullies all,
And is what placemen style "the practical."
Is this man eloquent? The man creates
New ground, now ours-the level of debates.
Eloquent? Yes, in parliamentary sense,
The skilful scorn of what seems eloquence;
Adroit, familiar, fluent, easy, free,

And each quick point as quick to seize as see;
Shielding the friend, but covering from the foe,
And ne'er above his audience nor below :
Arm'd in finance, blow up with facts the speech,
And rows of figures bristle in the breach.
Soft in his tones, seductive in his sighs,
When doom'd to take "a vote upon supplies;"
At times a proser, at no time a prater,
And six feet high-in short, a great debater.

And is that all?—Nay, truth must grant much more; The bluff old Whig was Briton to the core.

With this strong purpose, whatsoe'er he plann'd,

To save from Pope and Papist kings the land.
His heart was mild; it slew not, nor proscribed;
His tenets loose; in clemency he bribed.

A town conspires in secret :-he sends down
Cannon-tut! candidates to buy the town.
Sly Jesuits have a senator misled,

He hints a pension, and he saves a head.
While since adventure outlets must obtain,
In closing war he frees the roads to gain ;
Shows teeming marts, and says to Hope, "Behold,
'Tis Peace that guards the avenues to gold."
So blent with good and evil all the springs
Which move in states the wheels of human things,
That, though the truth must be with pain confest,
Men not too good may suit mankind the best:
So leave Sir Robert " buttoned to the chin,
Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within,"
To tax, to bribe, to coax the public weal
From foreign standards and fraternal steel.

Far livelier wit, which malice more refines, Words better minted, and from wealthier mines, More warmth with dignity, more force with grace, Rank PULTENEY loftier-loftier till in place. His art attack, success his genius ends; Yield him the fort-he's lost when he defends. Yet none so boldly rushed upon the wall, And none so stoutly sapp'd it to its fall; And none e'er wielded with so keen a fence The poniard sarcasm lends to eloquence. See him with Walpole singly hand to hand, How the slight dagger foils the heavy brand; Sharpening to epigram each word of hate, He shines and stabs, the Martial of debate.*

With wit as piercing, but in words more chaste, That steal their blow, and never wound the taste. His Thyrsus sword, in classic wreaths conceal'd, Charms and persuades Hortensian CHESTERFIELD. Too slight to jostle with the Burghers' crowd, With tones too well bred when the roar is loud,

* "How many Martials were in Pulteney lost!"-POPE.

Form'd for the air patrician calm affords,
He rivals Cicero when he speaks to Lords;
Makes commerce courtier-like, and Cocker clear,
And speaks of freedom like a free-born peer.

High above each in genius, lore, and fire,
With mind of muscles which no toil could tire,
With lips that seem'd like Homer's gods to quaff
From nectar-urns the unextinguished laugh,
Frank with the mirth of souls divinely strong,
CARTERET's large presence floats from out the throng.
What earlier school this grand comedian rear'd?
His first essays no crowds less courtly cheer'd.
From learned closets came a sauntering sage,

Yawn'd, smil'd, and spoke, and took by storm the age:
Who that can hear him, and on business, speak,
Would dream he lunch'd with BENTLEY upon Greek,
And will to-night with Hutcheson regale on
The feast of Reason in the tough To Kalon.
With what rich spoils the full life overflows;
His genius gilds, because his nature glows;
Call it not versatile, but, like the sun,
Fix'd and the same whate'er it beams upon;
Fix'd and the same not less because it calls
Colour from things on which, as light, it falls.

Pass by the lesser, not inglorious host; Awed, they shrink back; arise, majestic ghost! Lo, the great Arts' unrivalled master one, The mightier Father of the mighty Son! Like hero myths before the Homeric time, Looms the vast form-if vague, the more sublime ; That pomp of speech but such memorial leaves, As the gone storm with which the wave still heaves; Or as, on hills remote, the cloudy wreath, Flush'd with the giant sun that sank beneath. Yet it is not by words that critics praise, Nor yet by deeds which after-judgment weighs With ounce and scruple in impartial scales, That a great soul, like a great truth, prevails. Apart from what is said and what is done, There is a force by which the world is won, Born in men's destined ruler !-Reason halts To gauge the merits or assess the faults,

While forth unguess'd magnetic influence flows,
Attracts the followers, or unnerves the foes.

Our fathers tell us what their fathers told, How from those lips the glorious cataract roll'd; And while its scorn all barrier swept away,

Each wave the roughest still flash'd back the day.
The effect sublime; the cause why fritter down?
Did stage-craft teach the mode to wear the crown?
Learn'd he from Roscius in what folds to bring
The imperial purple ?-was he less the king?
"Actor" you call him; yes, with inborn ease
What labour made divine Demosthenes;
Tones with the might of music at their choice,
The front august, the eye itself a voice,
These Nature gave; did care the rest impart,
Nature herself were chaos without art.
Was it a fault, if cowering Senates shook,
Thrill'd by a whisper, spellbound by a look?
Or could the gesture dazzle and control,
Save as it launch'd some lightning of the soul?
Others take force from judgment, fancy, thought,
CHATHAM from passion; for its voice he sought
Sounds rolling large as waves of stormy song,
By pride made stately, but by anger strong;
To colder lips he left the words that teach;
He awed and crush'd-the Eschylus of speech.

Hush! let that form the long perspective close,In marble calm the Olympian kings repose; Place on his throne the thunder-lord of all, To end the vista and complete the hall; And as ye turn with reverent steps to tread Galleries that niche the less majestic dead, Retain that noble image in the heart, And, your own selves made nobler, so depart. Thus when the Greek, enshrined in Elis, saw The Zeus that Phidias shaped for human awe, The Power but bent above him from its throne A front that lifted to the stars his own; Back from the shrine to active life he brought The sacred influence in the statelier thought, More nerved to high design and dauntless deed, To front the Agora or repel the Mede.