To Mifs CHARLOTTE PULTENEY, in her Mother's Arms..
IMELY bloffom, infant fair,
Fondling of a happy pair,
Every morn, and every night,,
Their folicitous delight,
Sleeping, waking, still at ease,
Pleafing, without fkill to pleafe,.
Little goffip, blithe and hale,
Tattling many a broken tale,
Singing many a tuneless fong,.
Lavish of a heedlefs tongue,
Simple maiden, void of art,
Babbling out the very heart,.
Yet abandon'd to thy will,
Yet imagining no ill,
Yet too innocent to blufh,
Like the linnet in the bush.
To the mother-linnet's note
Moduling her flender throat,
Chirping forth thy petty joys,.
Wanton in the change of toys,,
Like the linnet green, in May,
Flitting to each bloomy spray,
Weoried then, and glad of reit,,
Like the linet in the wef..
This thy prefent happy lot,
This, in time, will be forgot:
Other pleasures, other cares,
Ever-bufy time prepares;
And thou shalt in thy daughter fee,
This picture, once, resembled thee.
JUNE 15, 1724.
VOTARY to publick zeal,
Minister of England's weal,
Have you leifure for a foug,
Tripping lightly o'er the tongue,
Swift and fweet in every measure,
Tell me, Walpole, have you leifure?
Nothing lofty will I fing,
Nothing of the favourite king,
Something, rather, fung with cafe,
Simply elegant to please.
Fairy Virgin, British Mufe,
Some unhear'd-of story chufe:
Chufe the glory of the twain,
Gifted with a magic ftrain,
Swaging grief of every kind,
Healing, with a verfe, the mind:
To him came a man of power,
To him, in a cheerless hour;
When the fwain, by Druids taught,
Soon divin'd his irksome thought,
Soon the maple harp he strung,
Soon, with filver-accent, fung.
"Steerer of a mighty realm,
"Pilot, waking o'er the helm,
"Bleffing of thy native foil,
"Weary of a thankless toil,
"Caft repining thought behind,
"Give thy trouble to the wind.
"Mortal, deftin'd to excel,
"Bear the blame of doing well,
"Like the worthies great of old,
"In the lift of fame enroll'a.
“What, though titles thou decline?
Still the more thy virtues shine.
Envy, with her ferpent eye,
"Marks each praise that foars on high.
"To thy lot refign thy will:
"See, the giver of the day
"Urgeth on, through clouds, his way:
"Nothing is, entirely, blefs'd;
"Envy does thy worth atteft.
"Pleafing vifions, at command,
Answer to my voice and hand ;
"Quick, the blissful scene prepare,
<< Sooth the patriot's heavy care:
"Visions, cheering to the fight,
"Give him earnest of delight.
"Wife difpofer of affairs,
"View the end of all thy cares!
"Forward caft thy ravish'd eyes,
"See the gladdening harvest rise :
"Lo, the people reap thy pain!
"Thine the labor, theirs the gain.
"Yonder turn, awile, they view,
"Turn thee to yon spreading yew,
"Once the gloomy tree of fate,
"Once the plighted virgin's hate :
"Now, no longer, does it grow,
"Parent of the warring bow:
See, beneath the guiltless shade, "Peasants fhape the plow and spade, "Refcued, ever, from the fear "Of the whiftling shaft and spear. "Lo, where plenty comes, with peace! "Hear the breath of murmur cease:
"See, at laft, unclouded days;
"Hear, at last, unenvied praise, "Nothing fhall thy soul moleft; "Labour is the price of rest.
"Mortal, deftin'd to excel, "Biefs the toil of doing well!"
SUPPLICATION FOR MISS CARTERET
OWER o'er every power fupreme,
Thou the poet's hallow'd theme,
From thy mercy-feat on high,
Hear my numbers, hear my cry.
Breather of all vital breath,
Arbiter of life and death,
Oh, preferve this innocence,
Yet unconscious of offence,
Yet in life and virtue growing,
Yet no debt to Nature owing.
Thou, who giv'ft angelic grace
To the blooming virgin face,
Let the fell difeafe not blight
What thou mad'ft for man's delight:
O'er her features let it pass
Like the breeze o'er springing grafs,
Gentle as refreshing showers
Sprinkled over opening flowers.
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