UCH were the notes, thy once-lov'd Poet fung,

SUCH

"Till death untimely ftop'd his tuneful tongue. Oh just beheld, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd! With fofteft manners, gentlest arts, adorn'd! Bleft in each science, bleft in ev'ry strain! Dear to the Mufe, to HARLEY dear-in vain!

For him, thou oft haft bid the world attend,
Fond to forget the ftatesman in the friend:
For SWIFT and him, defpis'd the farce of ftate,
The fober follies of the wife and great;
Dextrous, the craving, fawning croud to quit,
And pleas'd to 'fcape from flattery to wit.
Abfent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear,

(A figh the abfent claims, the dead a tear)
Recall those nights that clos'd thy toilfome days,
Still hear thy PARNELL in his living lays:

Who, careless now, of int'reft, fame, or fate,
Perhaps forgets that OXFORD e'er was great;
Or deeming meaneft what we greatest call,
Beholds thee glorious only in thy fall.

And fure, if ought below the feats divine
Can touch immortals, 'tis a foul like thine:
A foul fupreme, in each hard instance try'd,
Above all pain, all anger, and all pride,
The rage of pow'r, the blast of public breath,
The luft of lucre, and the dread of death.

In vain to defarts thy retreat is made;

The Mufe attends thee to thy filent fhade:
Tis her's, the brave man's lateft fteps to trace,

Re-judge his acts, and dignify difgrace,

When

When int'reft calls off all her fneaking train,
When all th' oblig'd defert, and all the vain ;
She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell,
When the last ling'ring friend has bid farewel.
E'en now she shades thy evening-walk with bays,
(No hireling fhe, no prostitute to praise)
E'en now, obfervant of the parting ray,
Eyes the calm fun-set of thy various day,
Thro' fortune's cloud one truly great can see,
Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he.

SEPT. 25, 1721.

A. POPE.

B 2

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