Till listening senates bless the kind alarm,
Convinc'd not dazzled, and with judgment warm.
Superior talents, on the great bestow'd, Are heaven's pecular instruments of good : Not for the few, who have them, are design'd: What flows from heaven must flow for all man
Blush then, ye peers, who niggards of your store,
Brood o'er the shining heap, nor make it more:
Or, Wilmot like, at some poor fool's expence,
Squander in wit the sacred funds of sense.
Wisdom alone is true ambition's aim,
Wisdom the source of virtue and of fame,
Obtain'd with labor, for mankind employ'd,
And then, when most you share it, best enjoy'd.
See! on yon sea-girt isle the Goddess stands,
And calls her vot'ries with applauding hands!
They pant, they strain, they glow through climes un-
known,
With added strength, and spirits not their own.
Hark! what loud shouts each glad arrival hail!
How full fame's fragrance breathes in every gale!
How tempting nod the groves for ever green!
-"But tempests roar,
and oceans roll between."
Yet see, my Lord, your friends around you brave
That roaring tempest, and contending wave.
See ** laboring through the billowy tide!
See impatient for the adverse side
O much-lov'd youths! to Britain justly dear,
Her spring, and promise of a fairer year.
Success be theirs, whate'er their hopes engage,
Worth grace their youth, and honors crown their age;
And every warmest wish sincere, and free,
My soul e'er breathes, O ***, for thee!
Hard is your stated task by all allow'd,
And modern greatness rarely burst the cloud.
Lull'd high in Fortune's silken lap, you feel
No shocks, no turns of her uncertain wheel:
Amusements dazzle, weak admirers gaze,
And flattery sooths, and indolence betrays.
Yet still, my Lord, on happy peers attends
That noble privilege, to choose their friends;
The wise, the good, are theirs, their call obey;
If pride refuse not, fortune points the way.
Nor great your toils, on wisdom's seas compar'd
With theirs who shift the sail, or watch the card.
For you the sages every depth explore,
For you the slaves of Science ply the oar ;
And Nature's Genii fly with sails unfurl'd,
The DRAKES and RALEIGHS of the mental world.
But stay-too long mere English lays detain Your light-wing'd thoughts, that rove beyond the main :
No fancy'd voyage there expects the gale,
No allegoric zephyr swells the sail.
-Yet, ere you go, ere Gallia's pomp invades
The milder truths of Granta's peaceful shades,
This verse at least be yours, and boldly tell,
That if you fall, not unadvis'd you fell;
But, blest with virtue and with sense adorn'd,
A willing victim of the fools you scorn'd.
THOMAS ASHTON, ESQ.
[TUTOR TO THE EARL OF PLYMOUTH.]
Written from Florence, in the Year 1740.
BY THE HONORABLE HORACE WALPOLE.
WHEN flourish'd with their state th' Athenian name,
And Learning and Politeness were the same,
Philosophy with gentle art refin'd
The honest roughness of th' unpractis'd mind:
She call'd the latent beams of Nature forth,
Guided their ardor, and insur'd their worth.
She pois'd th' impetuous Warrior's vengeful steel,
Mark'd true Ambition from destructive Zeal,
Pointed what lustre on that laurel blows,
Which Virtue only on her sons bestows.
Hence clement Cimon of unspotted fame,
Hence Aristides' ever fav'rite name;
Heroes, who knew to wield the righteous spear,
And guard their native tow'rs from foreign fear;
Or in firm bands of social Peace to bind
Their Country's good, and benefit mankind,
She trim'd the thoughtful Statesman's nightly oil,
Confirm'd his mind beneath an empire's toil,
Or with him to his silent villa stole,
Gilded his ev'ning hours, and harmoniz'd his soul.
To woods and caves she never bade retreat,
Nor fix'd in cloyster'd monkeries her seat:
No lonely precepts to her sons enjoin'd,
Nor taught them to be men, to shun mankind.
Cynics there were, an uncouth selfish race,
Of manners foul, and boastful of disgrace:
Brutes, whom no Muse has ever lov'd to name,
Whose Ignominy is their only fame.
No hostile trophies grace their honor'd urn,
Around their tomb no sculptur'd Virtues mourn;
Nor tells the marble into emblems grav'd,
An Art discover'd, or a City sav'd.
Be this the goal to which the Briton-Peer
Exalt his hope, and press his young career!
Be this the goal to which, my Friend, may you
With gentle skill direct his early view!
Artful the various studies to dispense,
And melt the schoolman's jargon down to sense.
See the pedantic Teacher, winking dull, The letter'd Tyrant of a trembling school;
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