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'd.
"What, though titles thou decline? "Still the more thy virtues shine.
"Urgeth on, through clouds, his way:
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 shape 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 last, unclouded days;
"Hear, at laft, unenvied praise.
"Nothing shall thy foul molest;
"Labour is the price of reft.
"Mortal, destin'd to excel,
"Bless the toil of doing well !”
SUPPLICATION FOR MISS CARTERET IN THE SMALL-POX.
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't angelic grace.
To the blooming virgin face,
Let the fell disease not blight
What thou mad'ft for man's delight:
O'er her features let it pafs
Like the breeze o'er fpringing grafs,
Gentle as refreshing showers
Sprinkled over opening flowers.
O, let years alone diminish..
Beauties thou waft pleas'd to finish.
To the pious parents give.
That the darling fair may live
Turn to bleffings all their care, i
Save their fondness from despair.
Mitigate the lurking pains
Lodg'd within her tender veins;
Soften every throb of anguish,
Suffer not her strength to languish;
Take her to thy careful keeping,
And prevent the mother's weeping.
LORD CARTERE T. AUGUST 10, 1725.
LITTLE charm of placid mien,
Miniature of beauty's queen,
Numbering years, a fcanty Nine,
Stealing hearts without defign,
Young inveigler, fond in wiles,
Prone to mirth, profufe in fmiles,
Yet a novice in disdain,
Pleafure giving without pain,
Still careffing, ftill carefs'd,
Thou, and all thy lovers blefs'd,
Never teiz'd, and never teizing,
O, for ever pleas'd and pleafing!
Hither, British Mufe of mine,
Hither all the Grecian Nine,
With the lovely Graces three,
And your promis'd nurfeling fee:
her waxen mind
Images of life refin'd;
Make it, as a garden gay,
Every bud of thought difplay,
Till, improving year by year,
The whole culture shall appear,
Voice, and fpeech, and action, rising,
All to human fenfe furprizing.
Is the filken web fo thin
As the texture of her, fkin?
Can the lily and the rose
Such unfully'd hue difclofe?
Are the violets fo blue
As her veins expos'd to view?
Do the ftars, in wintery sky,
Twinkle brighter than her eye?
Has the morning lark a throat
Sounding fweeter than her note ?
Who e'er knew the like before thee?
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