With these he mixes, now no more to swerve
From reason's purest law; no more to please,
Borne by the torrent down, a sensual age.
Pardon, loved shade, that I with friendly blame
Slight note thy error; not to wrong thy worth 130
Or shade thy memory (far from my soul

Be that base aim!), but haply to deter
From flattering the gross vulgar future pens
Powerful like thine in every grace, and skilled
To win the listening soul with virtuous charms.
If manly thought and wit refined may hope
To please an age in aimless folly sunk,
And sliding swift into the depth of vice!
Consuming pleasure leads the gay and young
Through their vain round, and venal faith the old,
Or avarice mean of soul; instructive arts
Pursued no more; the general taste extinct,

Or all debased; even sacred liberty

141

The great man's jest, and Britain's welfare named, By her degenerate sons, the poet's dream,

Or fancy's air-built vision, gaily vain.

Such the lost age; yet still the muse can find,
Superior and apart, a sacred band,

Heroic virtues, who ne'er bowed the knee

To sordid interest; who dare greatly claim
The privilege of men, unfearing truth,

150

And freedom, heaven's first gift; the ennobling bliss
That renders life of price, and cheaply saved
At life's expense; our sum of happiness.
On these the drooping muses fix their eyes;
From these expect their ancient fame restored.
Nor will the hope be vain; the public weal
With theirs fast linked; a generous truth concealed
From narrow-thoughted power, and known alone
To souls of highest rank. With these, the fair 160

Be joined in just applause; the brighter few,
Who, raised above gay folly, and the whirl
Of fond amusements, emulate thy praise,
Illustrious Marlborough! pleased, like thee, to shine
Propitious on the muse; whose charms inspire
Her noblest raptures, and whose goodness crowns.

[The piece is forced and rhetorical throughout, the composition stiff, the judgement often erroneous or insincere, and the flattery fulsome. Mallet may have written it-never Thomson. The verses were dedicated to 'Her Grace, Henrietta, Duchess of Marlborough,' eldest surviving daughter of the great Duke. J. Millan was the publisher.-At line 71, the reference is to Charles Montagu, Earl of Halifax.-Lines 79, 80: Asper and Cenus have not been identified.-Line 117: the Duchess of Marlborough had married the son of Godolphin, the great statesman.]

EPISTLES

TO DODINGTON

THE HAPPY MAN

[Printed in Ralph's Miscellany in 1729. It was to Dodington Thomson dedicated Summer.]

HE's not the happy man, to whom is given
A plenteous fortune by indulgent Heaven;
Whose gilded roofs on shining columns rise,
And painted walls enchant the gazer's eyes;
Whose table flows with hospitable cheer,
And all the various bounty of the year;

Whose valleys smile, whose gardens breathe the
Spring,

Whose curvèd mountains bleat, and forests sing;
For whom the cooling shade in Summer twines,
While his full cellars give their generous wines; 10
From whose wide fields unbounded Autumn pours
A golden tide into his swelling stores :

Whose Winter laughs; for whom the liberal gales
Stretch the big sheet, and toiling commerce sails;
Whom yielding crowds attend, and pleasure serves,
While youth, and health, and vigour string his nerves;
Even not all these, in one rich lot combined,
Can make the happy man, without the mind;
Where judgement sits clear-sighted, and surveys
The chain of reason with unerring gaze;
Where fancy lives, and to the brightening eyes
Bids fairer scenes and bolder figures rise;

20

Where social love exerts her soft command
And lays the passions with a tender hand,
Whence every virtue flows, in rival strife,
And all the moral harmony of life.

Nor canst thou, Dodington, this truth decline, Thine is the fortune, and the mind is thine.

[The opening lines of this short piece remind one of the opening lines of Horace's 18th Ode, Lib. II

'Non ebur neque aureum

Mea renidet in domo lacunar,' &c.]

TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS THE PRINCE OF WALES

[On the birth of the Princess Augusta, July 31, 1737.]

WHILE secret-leaguing nations frown around,

Ready to pour the long-expected storm-
While she who wont the restless Gaul to bound,
Britannia, drooping, grows an empty form-
While on our vitals selfish parties prey
And deep corruption eats our soul away-

Yet in the goddess of the main appears

A gleam of joy, gay-flushing every grace, As she the cordial voice of millions hears,

Rejoicing zealous o'er thy rising race.
Straight her rekindling eyes resume their fire,
The virtues smile, the muses tune the lyre.

But more enchanting than the muse's song,
United Britons thy dear offspring hail :
The city triumphs through her glowing throng,
The shepherd tells his transport to the dale ;
The sons of roughest toil forget their pain,
And the glad sailor cheers the midnight main.

Can aught from fair Augusta's gentle blood,

And thine, thou friend of liberty! be born- 20 Can aught save what is lovely, generous, goodWhat will at once defend us and adorn? From thence prophetic joy new Edwards eyes; New Henries, Annas, and Elizas rise.

May fate my fond devoted days extend

To sing the promised glories of thy reign! What though, by years depressed, my muse might bend?

My heart will teach her still a nobler strain : How with recovered Britain will she soar,

When France insults, and Spain shall rob no more. 30

[These lines (which have been attributed to Thomson) appeared in The Gentleman's Magazine in September, 1737.]

TO THE REV. PATRICK MURDOCH

THUS safely low, my friend, thou canst not fall : Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all;

No noise, no care, no vanity, no strife;

Men, woods, and fields, all breathe untroubled life.
Then keep each passion down, however dear;
Trust me, the tender are the most severe.
Guard, while 'tis thine, thy philosophic ease,
And ask no joy but that of virtuous peace;
That bids defiance to the storms of fate :
High bliss is only for a higher state!

ΙΟ

[These lines were probably written shortly after Murdoch's appointment as Rector of Stradishall, Suffolk, in 1738. See Note to The Incomparable Soporific Doctor, p. 467.]