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No, 'tis a spirit's nobler taste of bliss !

That feels the worth it left, in proofs like this; That not its own applause, but thine, approves ; Whose practice praises, and whose virtue loves! Who liv'st, to crown departed friends with fame! Then, dying late, shalt all thou gav'st reclaim.






IN youth, 'tis said, you easily may scan,
Strong stamp'd, the outlines of the future man;
This maxim true, how bright will St. John shine,
Form'd by the hand of all the tuneful Nine !.
If not to careless indolence a prey,

How will whole nations listen to his lay!

Say, will Fitzwilliam ever want a heart
Cheerful, his ready blessings to impart ?
Will not another's woe his bosom share,
The widow's sorrow, and the orphan's prayer?
Who aids the old, who soothes the mother's cry,
Who wipes the tear from off the virgin's eye?
Who feeds the hungry? Who assists the lame ?
All, all re-echo with Fitzwilliam's name.
Thou know'st I hate to fatter, yet in thee
No fault, my friend, no single speck I see.

Nor, if alike my former maxims true,

Shall e'er ill-nature tinge thy heart, Buccleugh;
Shall deep remorse thy honest bosom tear,
Disdainful anger, or corroding care;
Shall e'er ambition dissipate that smile,
Disturb that heart, so free from every guile :
Sooner to Bute shall Temple bend his knee,
And * or ** pious Christians be.

How will my Fox, alone, thy strength of parts, Shake the loud senate, animate the hearts Of fearful statesmen? while around you stand Both Peers and Commons listening your command While Tully's sense its weight to you affords, His nervous sweetness shall adorn your words; What praise to Pitt, to Townshend e'er was due, In future times, my Fox, shall wait on you.

Mild as the dew that whitens yonder plain, Legge shines serenest 'midst your youthful train; He whom the search of Fame with rapture moves, Disdains the pedant, tho' the Muse he loves; By nature form'd with modesty to please, And join'd with wisdom unaffected ease.

Will e'er Ophaly, consciously unjust,
Revoke his promise, or betray his trust?
What, tho' perhaps with warmer zeal he'd hear
The echoing horn, the sportsman's hearty cheer,

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Than god-like Homer's elevated song;
Loud as the torrent, as the billows strong;
Cast o'er this fault a friendly veil, you'll find
A friendly, social, and ingenuous mind.

Witness, ye Naiads, and ye guardian powers,
Who sit sublime on Henry's lofty towers;
Witness if e'er I saw thy open brow
Sunk in despair, or sadden'd into woe,
Well-natur'd Stavordale-the task is thine
Foremost in pleasure's festive band to shine:
Say, wilt thou pass alone the midnight hour,
Studious the depths of Plato to explore?
To lighter subjects shall thy soul give way,
Nor heed what grave philosophers shall say?
The God of Mirth shall list thee in his train,
A cheerful vot❜ry and the foe of pain.

Whether I Storer sing in hours of joy,
When every look bespeaks the inward boy;
Or when no more mirth wantons in his breast,
And all the man appears in him confest;
In mirth, in sadness, sing him how I will,
Sense and good-nature must attend him still.

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My Lord, your verses, penn'd with so much ease,
The fair, the young, and ev'n the critics please;
Such solid sense, and grace, and judgment meet,
We add the epithet of Strong to Sweet.
That some are peers by stars and strings we find;
You, by intrinsic nobleness of mind;
Fair Fancy's manly strokes your lines adorn ;
We truly may pronounce you poet born :
And if in youth your genius we may scan,
How will it glow, and brighten in the man!
True sings the bard, that one well-natur'd deed
Does all desert in sciences exceed :

And if, my Lord, from what you write, we guess,
Yourself those virtues, which you paint, possess:

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