To the Right Honourable Charles Lord Cornwallis

————δῶρον τοι τοῦτο δίδωμιΜνῆμα.————Lib. 15. Odyssey.

O Thou whose Virtues sanctify thy State,O Great, without the Vices of the Great!Form'd by a Dignity of Mind to please,To think, to act with Elegance and Ease!Say, wilt thou listen while I tune the String,And sing to thee, who gav'st me ease to sing?Unskill'd in Verse I haunt the silent Grove,Yet lowly Shepherds sing to mighty Jove;And mighty Jove attends the Shepherds Vows,And gracious what his Suppliants ask bestows:So by thy Favour may the Muse be crown'd,And plant her Laurels in more fruitful Ground;The grateful Muse shall in return bestowHer spreading Laurels to adorn thy Brow.

Thus guarded by the Tree of Jove, a Flow'rShoots from the Earth, nor fears th' inclement Show'r;And when the Fury of the Storm is laid,Repays with Sweets the Hospitable Shade.

Severe their Lot, who when they long endureThe Wounds of Fortune, late receive a Cure!Like Ships in Storms o'er liquid Mountains tost,E'er they are sav'd must almost first be lost;But you with speed forbid Distress to grieve:He gives by halves, who hesitates to give.

Thus when an Angel views Mankind distrest,He feels Compassion pleading in his Breast;Instant the heavenly Guardian cleaves the Skies,And pleas'd to save, on Wings of Lightning flies.

Some the vain Promises of Courts betray,And gayly straying, they are pleas'd to stray;The flatt'ring Nothing still deludes their Eyes,Seems ever near, yet ever distant flies:As Perspectives present the Object nigh,Tho' far remov'd from the mistaking Eye;Against our Reason fondly we believe,Assist the Fraud, and teach it to deceive;As the faint Traveller, when Night invades,Sees a false Light relieve the ambient Shades,Pleas'd he beholds the bright Delusion play,But the false Guide shines only to betray:Swift he pursues, yet still the Path mistakes,O'er dangerous Marshes, or thro' thorny Brakes;Yet obstinate in Wrong he toils to stray,With many a weary Stride, o'er many a painful Way.So Man pursues the Phantom of his Brain,And buys his Disappointment with his Pain:At length when Years invidiously destroyThe pow'r to taste the long-expected Joy,Then Fortune envious sheds her Golden Show'rs,Malignly smiles, and curses him with Stores.

Thus o'er the Urns of Friends departed weepThe mournful Kindred, and fond Vigils keep;Ambrosial Ointments o'er their Ashes shed,And scatter useless Roses on the Dead;And when no more avail the World's Delights,The spicy Odours, and the solemn Rites;With fruitless Pomp they deck the senseless Tombs,And waste profusely Floods of vain Perfumes.