And vistas opening to the wearied eye, Through all his wide domain; the planted grove, The shrubby wilderness, with its gay choir Of warbling birds, can’t lull to soft repose The ambitious wretch, whose discontented soul Is harrow’d day and night; he mourns, he pines, Until his prince’s favour makes him great. See there he comes, the exalted idol comes! The circle’s form’d, and all his fawning slaves Devoutly bow to earth; from every mouth The nauseous flattery flows, which he returns With promises, that die as soon as born. Vile intercourse! where virtue has no place. Frown but the monarch, all his glories fade; He mingles with the throng, outcast, undone, The pageant of a day; without one friend To sooth his tortured mind; all, all are fled. For though they bask’d in his meridian ray, The insects vanish, as his beams decline. Not such our friends; for here no dark design, No wicked interest, bribes the venal heart; But inclination to our bosom leads, And weds them there for life; our social cups Smile, as we smile; open, and unreserved. We speak our inmost souls; good humour, mirth, [Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 506-530.] Soft complaisance, and wit from malice free, Smooth every brow, and glow on every cheek. O happiness sincere! what wretch would groan Beneath the galling load of power, or walk Upon the slippery pavements of the great, Who thus could reign, unenvied and secure? Ye guardian powers, who make mankind your care, Give me to know wise nature’s hidden depths, Trace each mysterious cause, with judgment read The expanded volume, and, submiss, adore That great creative will, who, at a word, Spoke forth the wonderous scene. But if my soul To this gross clay confined, flutters on earth With less ambitious wing; unskill’d to range From orb to orb, where Newton leads the way; And, view with piercing eyes, the grand machine; Worlds above worlds, subservient to his voice; Who, veil’d in clouded majesty, alone Gives light to all; bids the great system move, And changeful seasons, in their turns, advance, Unmoved, unchanged himself: yet this, at least, Grant me propitious, an inglorious life, Calm and serene, nor lost in false pursuits Of wealth or honours; but enough to raise My drooping friends, preventing modest want [Sidenote: BOOK IV THE CHASE v. 531-536.] That dares not ask. And if, to crown my joys, Ye grant me health, that, ruddy in my cheeks, Blooms in my life’s decline; fields, woods, and streams, Each towering hill, each humble vale below, Shall hear my cheering voice; my hounds shall wake The lazy morn, and glad the horizon round. [Illustration] Printed by W. Bulmer and Co. Cleveland-row, St. James’s.