Nor has it left the usual bloody scar, For, though with loss, or victory, a while VI. Only the laurel got by peace No thunder e'er can blast: Th' artillery of the skies Shoots to the earth and dies: And ever green and flourishing 'twill last, About the head crown'd with these bays, Nor, its triumphal cavalcade to grace, Makes up its solemn train with death; It melts the sword of war, yet keeps it in the sheath. VII. The wily shifts of state, those juggler's tricks, Because the cords escape their eye, How plain I see through the deceit ! Look where the pulley's tied above! The thoughts of monarchs and designs of states; How the mouse makes the mighty mountains shake! Scar'd at the unheard-of prodigy, See how they tremble! how they quakel Out starts the little mouse, and mocks their idle fears. VIII. Then tell, dear favourite Muse! And on the terrace light. See where she lies! See how she rears her head, And rolls about her dreadful eyes, To drive all virtue out, or look it dead! Made up of virtue and transparent innocence; And though he oft renew'd the fight, And almost got priority of sight, He ne'er could overcome her quite, In pieces cut, the viper still did reunite; Till, at last, tir'd with loss of time and ease, Resolv'd to give himself, as well as country, peace. * Sir William Temple, disgusted with the arbitrary measures adopted in the last year of Charles II.'s reign, retired to Moor VOL. XIV. B IX. Sing, belov'd Muse! the pleasures of retreat, Go, publish o'er the plain How mighty a proselyte you gain! How is the Muse luxuriant grown! These are the paradises of her own: To the lov'd pasture where he us❜d to feed, Oft 'gainst her fountain does complain, X. In this new happy scene Are nobler subjects for your learned pen; Park, with a resolution never again to engage in public business. Nor did the favour he enjoyed with King William, on his being solicited to be a secretary of state after the revolution, induce him to change his resolution. Here we expect from you More than your predecessor Adam knew; Whatever serves for innocent emblems of the court Shall ere long grow into a tree; Whence takes it its increase, and whence its birth, How some go downward to the root, And form the leaves, the branches, and the fruit. XI. Shall I believe a spirit so divine Was cast in the same mould with mine? Why then does Nature so unjustly share Among her elder sons the whole estate, And all her jewels and her plate? Poor we cadets of Heaven, not worth her care, Take up at best with lumber and the leavings of a fare: Some she binds 'prentice to the spade, Some she does to Egyptian bondage draw, straw: Some she condemns for life to try To dig the leaden mines of deep philosophy : In vain I strive to cross the spacious main, And when I almost reach the shore, Straight the Muse turns the helm, and I launch out again : And yet, to feed my pride, Whene'er I mourn, stops my complaining breath, With promise of a mad reversion after death. XII. Then, Sir, accept this worthless verse, 'Tis all the portion of my niggard stars; In vain all wholesome herbs I sow, Seeds, and runs up to poetry. |