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A N

EPISTLE

TO THE

RIGHT HON. GEORGE LORD LANSDOWNE.

MDCCXII.

"Parnaffia laurus

"Parva fub ingenti matris se subjecit umbra." VIRG.

M 3

ANE PISTLE

ΤΟ

LORD LANSDOWN E.

WHEN Rome, my Lord, in her full glory flone,

And great Augustus rul'd the globe alone,

While fuppliant Kings in all their pomp and state,
Swarm'd in his courts, and throng'd his palace gate;
Horace did oft the mighty man detain,

And footh'd his breaft with no ignoble strain ;
Now foar'd aloft, now ftruck an humbler ftring;
And taught the Roman genius how to fing.
Pardor, if I his freedom dare purfue,

Who know no want of Cæfar, finding you;
The Mufe's friend is pleas'd the Mufe fhould prefs
Through circling crouds, and labour for accefs,
That partial to his darling he may prove,
And fhining throngs for her approach remove,
To all the world induftrious to proclaim
His love of Arts, and boaft the glorious flame,
Long has the western world reclin'd her head,
Pour'd forth her forrow, and bewail'd her dead;
Fell difcord through her borders fiercely rang'd,
And shook her nations, and her monarchs chang'd;
By land and fea its utmost rage employ'd ;
Nor heaven repair'd fo faft as men defroy'd.
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In

In vain kind fummers plenteous fields bestow'd,
In vain the vintage liberally flow'd ;

Alarms from loaden boards all pleasure chac'd,
And robb'd the rich Burgundian grape of tafte;
The fmiles of Nature could no bleffing bring,
The fruitful autumn, or the flowery spring;
Time was diftinguifh'd by the sword and spear,
Not by the various afpects of the year;
The trumpet's found proclaim'd a milder sky,
And bloodthed told us when the fun was nigh.
But now (fo foon is Britain's bleffing feen,
When fuch as you are near her glorious Queen!)
Now peace, though long repuls'd, arrives at last,
And bids us fmile on all our labours paft;
Bids every nation ceafe her wonted moan,
And every Monarch call his crown his own:
To valour gentler virtues now fucceed;
No longer is the great man born to bleed;
Renown'd in councils, brave Argyll fhall tell,
Wisdom and prowefs in one breast may dwell:
Through milder tracks he foars to deathlefs fame,
And without trembling we refound his name.

No more the rifing harveft whets the fword,
No longer waves uncertain of its lord;
Who caft the feed, the golden fheaf shall claim,
Nor chance of battle change the mafter's name.
Each ftream unftain'd with blood more smoothly flows;
The brighter fun a fuller day bestows;

All Nature feems to wear a chearful face,
And thank great Anna for returning peace.

The

The patient thus, when on his bed of pain,
No longer he invokes the gods in vain,
But rifes to new life; in every field
He finds Elysium, rivers nectar yield;
Nothing fo cheap and vulgar but can please,
And borrow beauties from his late difeafe.

Nor is it peace alone, but fuch a peace,
As more than bids the rage of battle ceafe.
Death may determine war, and reft fucceed,
'Cause nought furvives on which our rage may feed;
In faithful friends we lofe our glorious foes,
And ftrifes of love exalt our sweet repose.
See graceful Bolingbroke your friend advance,
Nor mifs his Lansdowne in the court of France;
So well receiv'd, fo welcome, fo at home,
(Blefs'd change of fate) in Bourbon's stately dome;
The monarch pleas'd, defcending from his throne,
Will not that Anna call him all her own;
He claims a part, and looking round to find
Something might speak the fulness of his mind,
A diamond fhines, which oft had touch'd him near,
Renew'd his grief, and robb'd him of a tear;
Now firft with joy beheld, well plac'd on one,
Who makes him lefs regret his darling fon;
So dear is Anna's minifter, fo great
Your glorious friend in his own private state.

To make our nations longer two, in vain
Does nature interpofe the raging main :
The Gallic fhore to diftant Britain grows,

For Lewis Thames, the Seine for Anna flows:

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