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In him were all these various prospects crost,
And future Marlb’roughs and Godolphins lost.
Nor thou, O Carteret, with a frown disdain
The Muse that tunes this melancholy strain ;
For who the virtuous grave with incense strows,
The fairest mark to living merit shows.
To count our loss, is only to foresee
What the demanding age expects from thee.
Then let it give its proudest wishes scope,
Thy deeds shall justify its boldest hope.
What is the dark-drawn scene of life supine?
A dream of entity without design,
A useless space 'twixt Nature's rise and fall,
Forgetting all things, and forgot of all ?
What is the land of sciences when past?
A wild of thistles, or a barren waste ;
Or vainly wordy, fruitful of dispute ;
Or deep-reserv’d, unprofitably mute.
Few, very few, have on this dross refind,
To polish nations, and improve mankind.
These too at mighty distances are seen,
And many a lazy age must pass between.
Fate various eras mix'd, and doubtful draws
Between a Solon's and a Parker's laws.
From our first William's trace to George's days,
Few Walsinghams, and fewer Carterets blaze.
Thee, early ripe, with every grace endued, The Muses with an eye of blessing view'd : They form’d thy manners ductile to the lyre, And bade thee to the noblest seats aspire: Hence wit and elegance of spirit flow'd, And the sweet habitude of doing good. As in the seed to curious eyes appear The gay unfolded beauties of the year, The future grove looks green in lesser lines, And the next harvest in its nonage shines : The statesman thus was figur'd in thy prime, And waited but the ripening hour of Time ; Nor waited long; thy Genius took a flight, Out-wing'd thy years, and hasten’d to its height. As the sun's rays the wakening plants prepare, As the wing'd whirlwind moves the passive air, Such is the Genius to the human frame, An active, vital, and dilating flanie, That mounts beyond the view of vulgar reach, And puts the principles of life on stretch.
Such, Carteret, in thy breast thy.Monarch saw, And sent thee forth to give rough nations law; Long-harrass’d Sweden with new life to chear, And bid War rest upon his iron spear. Mad waste of rage! how wide thy vengeance flew, Nor breathing respite of the seasons knew; The Summer meadow, and the Winter Alood, Only distinguish'd by degrees of blood.
The plunderer's hand consuming unrestrain’d,
As jealous of her store, ev’n Nature drain’d ;
Her surface wasted, deeper still engag'd,
And in the centre of her treasure rag'd.
Then timely, Carteret, rose thy peaceful star,
To calm the Dane, and check the fiercer Czar :
What hand soe’er shall fix the great design,
The first plantation of that Olive's thine.
Now in thy councils let thy country share; She best deserves, and most will bless thy care : An age in faction and corruption lost, And only haunted by dead Virtue's ghost, Asks a Lycurgus to correct the times, And Draco's sentences for unmatch'd crimes. The shatter'd state, though fearful of her doom, Sees a new light break chearful through the gloom ; And still secure the public vessel rides, While Carteret ministers, and George presides.
Aug. the 26th.
(Afterwards Lord Melcombe.]
All hail, auspicious day, whose wish'd return
Bids every breast with grateful ardor burn;
While pleas’d Britannia that great man surveys
The Prince may trust, and yet the People praise :
One bearing greatest toils with greatest ease,
One born to serve us, and yet born to please ;
His soul capacious, yet his judgment clear,
His tongue is flowing, and his heart sincere :
His counsels guide, his temper cheers our isle,
And smiling gives three kingdoms cause to smile.
August, how bright thy golden scenes appear,
Thou fairest daughter of the various year!
On thee the sun with all his ardor glows,
On thee in dowry all its fruits bestows;
The greatest Prince, the foremost son of fame,
To thee bequeath'd the glories of his name;
Nature and Fortune thee their darling chose,
Nor could they grace thee more, 'till Walpole rose.
By steps to mighty things Fate makes her way,
The Sun and Caesar but prepar'd this day.