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RIGHT HON. GEORGE LORD LANSDOWNE.
16 Parnallia laurus “Parva sub ingenti matris se fubjecit umbra." VIRG.
HEN Rome, my Lord, in her full glory fhiont,
And great Augustus rul'd the globe alune,
While suppliant Kings in all their pomp and state,
Swarm'd in his courts, and throngid his palace gate;
Horace did oft the mighty man detain,
And sooth'd his breast with no ignoble strain;
Now foar'd aloft, now struck an humbler string;
And taught the Roman genius how to fing.
Pardor, if I his freedom dare pursue,
Who know no want of Cæfar, finding you;
The Muse's friend is pleas’d the Muse should press
Through circling crouds, and labour for access,
That partial to his darling he may prove,
And shining throngs for her approach remove,
To all the world industrious to proclaim
His love of Arts, and boast the glorious flame,
Long has the western world reclin'd her head,
Pour'd forth her forrow, and bewail'd her dead';
Fell discord through her borders fiercely rang’d,
And Ihcok her nations, and her monarchs chang'd;
By land and tea its utmost rage employ'd ;
Nor heaven repair'd so fast as men destroy d.
In vain kind summers plenteous fields bestow'd,
In vain the vintage liberaliy fiow'd;
Alarms from loaden boards all pleasure chac’d,
And robb’d the rich Burgundian giape of taste;
The smiles of Nature could no bleffing bring,
The fruitful autumn, or the flowery spring ;
Time was distinguish d by the sword and spear,
Not by the various aspects of the year ;
The trumpet's found proclaim'd a milder sky,
And bloodthed told us when the sun was nigh.
But now (fo foon is Britain's blessing seen,
When such as you are near her glorious Queen!)
Now peace, though long repuls'd, arrives at last,
And bids us smile on all our labours past;
nation cease her wonted moan,
Monarch call his crown his own :
To valour gentler virtues now succeed ;
No longer is the great man born to bleed;
Renown'd in councils, brave Argyll shall tell,
Wisdom and prowess in one breast may dwell:
Through milder tracks he soars to deathless fame,
And without trembling we resound his name.
No more the rising harvest whets the sword,
No longer waves uncertain of its lord;
Who cast the seed, the golden sheaf shall claim,
Nor chance of battle change the master's name.
Each stream unftain'd with blood more smoothly flows;
The brighter fun a fuller day bestows;
All Nature seems to wear a chearful face,
And thank great Anna for returning peace.
The patient thus, when on his bed of pain,
No longer he invokes the gods in vain,
But rises to new life ; in every field
He finds Elyfium, rivers nectar yield;
Nothing fo cheap and vulgar but can please,
And borrow beauties from his late disease.
Nor is it peace alone, but such a peace,
As more than bids the rage of battle cease.
Death may determine war, and rest succeed,
'Cause nought survives on which our rage may feed;
In faithful friends we lose our glorious foes,
And strifes of love exalt our sweet repose.
See graceful Bolingbroke your friend advance,
Nor miss his Lansdowne in the court of France ;
So well receiv'd, so welcome, so at home,
(Bless’d change of fate) in Bourbon's stately dome;
The monarch pleas'd, descending 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 thines, which oft had touch'd him near,
Renew'd his grief, and robb’d him of a tear;
Now first with joy beheld, well plac'd on one,
Who makes him less regret his darling son ;
So dear is Anna's minister, so great
Your glorious friend in his own private state.
To make our nations longer two, in vain
Does nature interpose the raging main :
The Gallic shore to distant Britain grows,
For Lewis Thames, the Seine for Anna flows: