Oft trying, still repining, wait
Fierce Envy and calumnious Hate.

III.

Who then from HER delightful bounds
Would step one moment forth to heed
What impotent and savage sounds
From their unhappy mouths proceed?
No: rather SPENCER's lyre again
Prepare, and let thy pious strain

For POPE's dishonour'd shade complain.
IV.

Tell how displeased was every Bard,
When lately in the Elysian grove
They of his Muse's guardian heard,
His delegate to fame above;

And what with one accord they said
Of wit in drooping age misled,
And WARBURTON'S officious aid: *

V.

How VIRGIL mourn'd the sordid fate
To that melodious lyre assign'd

Beneath a tutor who so late

With MIDAS and his rout combined

By spiteful clamor to confound

*V. 28. During Mr. Pope's war with Theobald, Concanen, and the rest of their tribe, Mr. Warburton, the present Lord Bishop of Gloucester, did with great zeal cultivate their friendship; having been introduced, forsooth, at the meetings of that respectable confederacy: a favour which he afterwards spoke of in very high terms of complacency and thankfulness. At the same time in his intercourse with them he treated Mr. Pope in a most contemptuous manner, and as a writer without genius. Of the truth of these assertions his Lordship can have no doubt, if he recollect his own correspondence with Concanen; a part of which is still in being, and will probably be remembered as long as any of this prelate's writings.

That very LYRE's enchanting sound,

Though listening realms admired around:

VI.

HOW HORACE Own'd he thought the fire

Of his friend POPE's satiric line
Did farther fuel scarce require
From such a militant divine :

How MILTON SCorn'd the sophist vain
Who durst approach his hallow'd strain
With unwash'd hands and lips profane.

VII.

Then SHAKESPEARE debonnair and mild

Brought that strange comment forth to view;

Conceits more deep, he said and smiled,
Than his own fools or madmen knew;
But thank'd a generous friend above,

Who did with free adventurous love

Such pageants from his tonib remove.

VIII.

And if to POPE, in equal need,

The same kind office thou would'st pay,
Then EDWARDSs, all the Band decreed
That future Bards with frequent lay
Should call on thy auspicious name,
From each absurd intruder's claim
To keep inviolate their Fame.

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ODE XI.

TO THE

COUNTRY GENTLEMEN

OF ENGLAND.

MDCCLVIII.

I.

WHITHER is Europe's ANCIENT spirit fled?

Where are those valiant tenants of her shore,
Who from the warrior bow the strong dart sped,
Or with firm hand the rapid pole-ax bore?
FREEMAN and SOLDIER was their common name;
Who late with reapers to the furrow came,
Now in the front of battle charged the foe:
Who taught the steer the wintry plough to indure,
Now in full councils check'd incroaching power,
And gave the GUARDIAN LAWS their majesty to know.

H.

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But who are ye? from Ebro's loitering sons To Tiber's pageants, to the sports of Seine; From Rhine's frail palaces to Danube's thrones And cities looking on the Cimbric main, Ye lost, ye self-deserted? whose proud lords Have baffled your tame hands, and given your swords To slavish ruffians, hired for their command: These at some greedy monk's or harlot's nod, See rifled nations crouch beneath their rod : These are the PUBLIC WILL, the REASON of the land.

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III.

Thou, heedless ALBION, what, alas, the while
Dost thou presume? O inexpert in arms,
Yet vain of FRE DOM, how dost thou beguile,
With dreams of hope, these near and loud alarms?
Thy splendid home, thy plan of laws renown'd,
The praise and envy of the nations round,

What care hast thou to guard from Fortune's sway? Amid the storms of war, how soon may all The lofty pile from its foundations fall, Of AGES the proud toil, the ruin of a DAY?

IV.

No thou art rich, thy streams and fertile vales
Add INDUSTRY's wise gifts to NATURE's store:
And every port is crowded with thy sails,
And every wave throws treasure on thy shore.
What boots it? If luxurious PLENTY charm
Thy selfish heart from GLORY, if thy arm
Shrink at the frowns of danger and of pain,
Those Gifts, that Treasure is no longer thine.

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Oh rather far bE POOR. Thy gold will shine Tempting the eye of Force, and deck thee to thy bane.

V.

But what hath Force or War to do with thee?
Girt by the azure tide and throned sublime
Amid thy floating bulwarks, thou canst see,
With scorn, the fury of each hostile clime
Dash'd ere it reach thee. Sacred from the foe
Are thy fair fields. Athwart thy guardian prow
No bold invader's foot shall tempt the strand-
Yet
say, my country, will the waves and wind
Obey thee? Hast thou all thy hopes resign'd

To the sky's fickle faith? the pilot's wavering hand?

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VI.

For oh may neither Fear nor stronger Love
(Love, by thy virtuous princes nobly won)
Thee, last of many wretched nations, move,
With mighty armies station'd round the throne
To trust thy safety. Then, farewell the claims
Of FREEDOM! Her proud records to the flames
Then bear, an offering at AMBITION's shrine;
Whate'er thy antient patriots dared demand
From furious JOHN's, or faithless CHARLES's hand,
Or what great WILLIAM seal'd for his adopted line.
VII.

But if thy sons be worthy of their name,
If liberal laws with liberal hearts they prize,
Let them from conquest, and from servile shame
In War's glad school their own protectors rise.
Ye chiefly, HEIRS of ALBION's cultured plains,
Ye LEADERS of her bold and faithful swains,
Now not unequal to your birth be found:
The public voice bids arm your rural state,
Paternal hamlets for your ensigns wait,

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And grange and fold prepare to pour their youth around.

VIII.

Why are ye tardy? what inglorious care

Detains you from their head, your native post; Who most their country's Fame and Fortune share, 'Tis theirs to share her Toils, her Perils most. Each man his task in social life sustains. With partial labours, with domestic gains. Let others dwell: to you indulgent Heaven By counsel and by arms the PUBLIC CAUSE To serve for public love and love's applause, The first employment far, the noblest hire, hath given.

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