G. Granville, L. Lansdowne

Why Granville is thy life to ſhades confin’d,Thou whom the Gods deſign’dIn public to do credit to mankind?

Why ſleeps the noble ardour of thy blood,Which from thy anceſtors ſo many ages paſt,From Rollo down to Bevil flowed,And then appeared again at laſt,In thee when thy victorious lanceBore the diſputed prize from all the youth of France.

In the firſt trials which are made for fame,Thoſe to whom fate ſucceſs denies,If taking council from their ſhame;They modeſtly retreat are wiſe;But why ſhould you, who ſtill ſucceed,Whether with graceful art you lead.The fiery barb, or with a graceful motion treadIn ſhining balls where all agreeTo give the higheſt praiſe to thee?Such harmony in every motion’s found,As art could ne’er expreſs by any found.

So lov’d and prais’d whom all admire,Why, why ſhould you from courts and camps retire?If Myra is unkind, if it can beThat any nymph can be unkind to thee;If penſive made by love, you thus retire,Awake your muſe, and ſtring your lyre;Your tender ſong, and your melodious ſtrainCan never be addreſs’d in vain;She needs muſt love, and we ſhall have you back again.

Ceaſe, tempting ſyren, ceaſe thy flattering ſtrain,Sweet is thy charming ſong, but ſung in vain:When the winds blow, and loud the tempeſts roar,What fool would truſt the waves, and quit the ſhore?Early and vain into the world I came,Big with falſe hopes and eager after fame:Till looking round me, e’er the race began,Madmen and giddy fools were all that ran.Reclaimed betimes, I from the liſts retire,And thank the Gods, who my retreat inſpire.In happier times our anceſtors were bred,When virtue was the only path to tread.Give me, ye Gods, but the ſame road to fame,Whate’er my father’s dar’d, I dare the ſame.Changed is the ſcene, ſome baneful planet rulesAn impious world contriv’d for knaves and fools.

Happy the man, of mortals happieſt he,Whoſe quiet mind of vain deſires is free;Whom neither hopes deceive, nor ſeats torment,But lives at peace, within himſelf content,In thought or act accountable to noneBut to himſelf, and to the Gods alone.O ſweetneſs of content, ſeraphic joy!Which nothing wants, and nothing can deſtroy.Where dwells this peace, this freedom of the mind?Where but in ſhades remote from human kind;In flow’ry vales, where nymphs and ſhepherds I meet,But never comes within the palace-gate.Farewel then cities, courts, and camps farewel,Welcome ye groves, here let me ever dwell.

From care and bus’neſs, and mankind remove,All but the Muſes, and inſpiring love:How ſweet the morn, how gentle is the night!How calm the evening, and the day how bright!From thence, as from a hill, I view belowThe crowded world, a mighty wood in ſhew,Where ſeveral wand’rers travel day and night,By different paths, and none are in the right.

Auſpicious poet, wert thou not my friend,How could I envy, what I muſt commend!But ſince ’tis nature’s law, in love and wit,That youth would reign, and with’ring age ſubmit,With leſs regret, thoſe laurels I reſign,Which dying on my brow, revive on thine.