Gentle in power, but daring in disgrace,
His love was liberty, his wish was peace.
Such was the man that smil'd upon my lays :
And what can heighten thought, or genius raise,
Like praise from him whom all mankind must
praise;

Whose knowledge, courage, temper, all surpris'd,
Whom many lov'd, few hated, none despis'd.*

* Sir Robert Walpole was bold, open, steady; never dejected; he never gave up his party to serve himself; he was content to have one great, honest view, and would overlook or trample on the intermediate degrees; he raised himself to the head of administration without interest, without fortune, and without alliances. His mastery was, understanding the interest of his own country: with the greatest confidence of himself he had no pride; he loved magnificence, and was generous to a fault; his friendship was chiefly confined to persons much below him.— W.

BRITANNIA'S GHOST

TO THE

EARL OF BAT H.

WHILE Pultney, seeking lost repose,
His downy pillow prest;

Fresh horrors in his soul arose,

And further banish'd rest.

For, lo, Britannia by his side,

All ghastly pale and wan,

Thus in deep doleful accent cry'd;

Oh, base perfidious man!

"How can'st thou hope that balmy sleep "Should close thy guilty eyes;

"When all Britannia's sons must weep

VOL. I.

"Her fall'n thy sacrifice."

P

"Long had she trusted to thine aid,
"Against her bosom foe;
"Depending on the vows you made,
"To ward the fatal blow.

"Hence she each traitor had supprest, "Or boldly had defy'd;

"Till leaning on her Guardian's breast, "His treacherous arm she spy'd.

"And art thou Pultney?" said she, 'fie! "Thou of the traitor crew!

"Nay, brave Cæsar like I'll die,

"Since Brutus lives in you.'

"But, oh, why must Britannia bleed,
"To sate Ambition's flame;
"Ah, titles thence you'll gain indeed,
"But gain with endless shame.

"How can you e'er atonement make,
"For all your broken vows ?—

"Why, cancel your late grand mistake,

"Her interest to espouse.

"So shall her genius yet revive,

"You barter guilt for fame; "She shall revere you when alive,

"When dead, adore your name."

"Ah! too," he said," too false I've prov'd, "Too fickle vile a thing,

"Ever to be sincerely loved,

By Country, Court, or King."

Hereat the spectre disappear'd,

But Conscience in its stead Dire cursing legions quickly reared, Round his devoted head.

Then to his wife he, raving, cried,

"Thou daughter of perdition; "Britannia's ruin'd by thy pride;

“I'm damn'd by thy ambition."

AN ODE

FROM

FAME

TO THE

EARL OF BATH.

Audivere, Lyce, dii mea vota, dii
Audivere, Lyce; fis anus, et tamen
Vis formosa videri,

Ludisque et bibis, impudens.

HE is grown old; he is abhorr'd,
Whom falsely once all men ador'd;
I thank you, gods, for so you ought
To stamp the man who merits nought.
And yet to bribe the goddess Fame,
No art by him is left untry'd;

So great is Bubo's want of shame,
His drunkenness and pride.

But know 'tis Pt that goddess seeks,

His shining virtues claim her choice;
For him alone her trumpet speaks,

For him alone is heard her voice.