Heav'nly queen of piercing eye,
Farewell, sweet Philosophy!
What if thou, with hermit-look,
From retirement's farthest nook,
Mark'st the world, in bustling show,
Struggling o'er the waves of woe,
By the wind of black Despair
Dash'd away from care to care,
Whilst thou, calm on safety's shore,
Dost but hear the tempest roar;
What if thou the flow'ry pride
Of the meadow's velvet side,
To the proudly-arching bower,
And the glitt'ring court of power,
Can'st prefer; we envy not,
Holy seer, thy simple lot.

Sisters twin are Youth and Pleasure,
Meant t' enjoy the sweets of leisure,
Made for every blithsome sport,
Purpose mild, and gay resort.
Age was form'd for meditation,
Not the toys of recreation,

With the smiles of wisdom fraught,
And the glow of solemn thought;
Such is Age, Philosophy,

Such the mind that suits with thee. But now joys of different kind Wing the wish, and fire the mind; Tumbling rills that warbling flow, Yellow meads with gold that glow,

Wandering walks, and rural ease,
Such alone have power to please;
Or perchance the lucid scene,
Where the rays of beauty's mien,
Kindling every fond desire,
Set the soul of Love on fire;
Or the loudly echoing horn,
As it cheers the slumb'ring morn,
Waking nature, haply may
Lure us to the chace away.

Farewell then, thou willow'd stream,
Glittering bright with wisdom's beam,
Silver Cam! whose bow'rs among
Inspiration leads her throng,

Clio breathes celestial fire,
Music hangs her dulcet lyre,
Yet farewell!-To brighter joys
Pleasure lifts our wandering eyes,
With her own resistless smile

She shall smooth each care awhile
;

Yes, she, fair queen, shall all the mind possess, With gladness fire it, and with rapture bless.

ODE X.

ON

THE BANISHMENT OF CICERO.

FIRST PRINTED WHEN ATTERBURY, BISHOP OF ROCHESTER, WAS BANISHED, IN 1724.

BY THE DUKE OF WHARTON.

As o'er the swelling ocean's tide

An exile Tully rode,

The bulwark of the Roman state,

In act, in thought, a god;

The sacred genius of majestic Rome

Descends, and thus laments her patriot's doom:

Farewell! renown'd in arts, farewell!

Thus conquer'd by thy foe,

Of honours, and of friends depriv'd,
In exile must thou go:

Yet go content; thy look, thy will sedate,
Thy soul superior to the shocks of fate.

Thy wisdom was thy only guilt,
Thy virtue thy offence,

With god-like zeal thou did'st espouse
Thy country's just defence;

Nor sordid hopes could charm thy steady soul, Nor fears, nor guilty numbers could controul.

What tho' the noblest patriots stood

Firm to thy sacred cause,

What tho' thou could'st display the force
Of rhet'ric and of laws;

No eloquence, no reason could repel
Th' united strength of Clodius and of hell.

Thy mighty ruin to effect

What plots have been devis'd!

What arts! what perjuries been us'd!
What laws and rites despis'd!

How many fools and knaves by bribes allur'd,
And witnesses by hopes and threats secur'd!

And yet they act their dark deceit,
Veil'd with a nice disguise;

And from a specious shew of right,
From treachery and lies,

With arbitary power, the people awe,
And coin unjust oppression into law.

Let Clodius now in grandeur reign,
Let him exert his pow'r,

A short liv'd monster in the land,

The monarch of an hour;

Let pageant fools adore their wooden god,

And act against their senses at his nod.

Pierc'd by an untimely hand,

To earth shall he descend,

Tho' now with gaudy honours cloath'd, Inglorious in his end.

Blest be the man who does his pow'r defy,

And dares, or truly speak, or bravely die.