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PALINODIA.

BRITONS, forgive the forward muse
That dar'd prophetic seals to loose,
(Unskill'd in fate's eternal book,)
And the deep characters mistook.
George is the name, that glorious star;
Ye saw his splendors beaming far;
Saw in the east your joys arise,

When Anna sunk in western skies,

Streaking the heavens with crimson gloom,

Emblems of tyranny and Rome,
Portending blood and night to come.
"Twas George diffus'd a vital ray,
And gave the dying nations day:
His influence soothes the Russian bear,
Calms rising wars, and heals the air;
Join'd with the sun his beams are hurl'd
To scatter blessings round the world,
Fulfil whate'er the muse has spoke,

And crown the work that Anne forsook.

10

TO JOHN LOCKE, ESQ.

RETIRED FROM BUSINESS.

ANGELS are made of heavenly things, And light and love our souls compose, Their bliss within their bosom springs, Within their bosom flows.

But narrow minds still make pretence
To search the coasts of flesh and sense,
And fetch diviner pleasures thence.
Men are akin to ethereal forms,
But they belie their nobler birth,
Debase their honour down to earth,

And claim a share with worms.

He that has treasures of his own,
May leave the cottage or the throne,
May quit the globe, and dwell alone
Within his spacious mind.

Locke hath a soul wide as the sea,
Calm as the night, bright as the day,
There may his vast ideas play,

Nor feel a thought confin'd.

TO JOHN SHUTE, ESQ.

AFTERWARDS LORD BARRINGTON.

ON MR. LOCKE'S DANGEROUS SICKNESS, SOME

TIME AFTER HE HAD RETIRED TO

STUDY THE SCRIPTURES.

AND must the man of wondrous mind,
(Now his rich thoughts are just refin'd)
Forsake our longing eyes?

Reason at length submits to wear

The wings of faith; and lo, they rear
Her chariot high, and nobly bear
Her prophet to the skies.

Go, friend, and wait the prophet's flight,
Watch if his mantle chance to light,

And seize it for thy own;

Shute is the darling of his years,

Young Shute his better likeness bears;

All but his wrinkles and his hairs
Are copied in his son.

Thus when our follies, or our faults,
Call for the pity of thy thoughts,

Thy pen shall make us wise:

The sallies of whose youthful wit

Could pierce the British fogs with light,
Place our true1 interest in our sight,
And open half our eyes.

FRIENDSHIP.

TO MR. WILLIAM NOKES.

FRIENDSHIP, thou charmer of the mind,

Thou sweet deluding ill,

The brightest minute mortals find,
And sharpest hour we feel.

Fate has divided all our shares
Of pleasure and of pain;
In love the comforts and the cares
Are mix'd and join'd again.

But whilst in floods our sorrow rolls,
And drops of joy are few,

This dear delight of mingling souls
Serves but to swell our woe.

1 The "Interest of England," written by Mr. Shute.

Oh! why should bliss depart in haste,
And friendship stay to moan?

Why the fond passion cling so fast,
When every joy is gone?

Yet never let our hearts divide,
Nor death dissolve the chain:
For love and joy were once allied,
And must be joined again.

TO NATHANIEL GOULD, ESQ.

AFTERWARDS SIR NATHANIEL GOULD.

"Tis not by splendor, nor by state,
Exalted mien, or lofty gait,
My muse takes measures of a king:
If wealth, or height, or bulk will do,
She calls each mountain of Peru

A more majestic thing.

Frown on me, friend, if e'er I boast
O'er fellow-minds, enslav'd in clay,
Or swell when I shall have engross'd
A larger heap of shining dust,

And wear a bigger load of earth than they.
Let the vain world salute me loud,

My thoughts look inward and forget

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