2 From Hampstead's airy summit me Her guest the city shall behold, What day the people's stern decree To unbelieving kings is told, When common men (the dread of fame) Adjudged as one of evil name, Before the sun, the anointed head. Then seek thou too the pious town, With no unworthy cares to crown That evening's awful shade. 3 Deem not I call thee to deplore The sacred martyr of the day, By fast, and penitential lore To purge our ancient guilt away. For this, on humble faith I rest That still our advocate, the priest, From heavenly wrath will save the land; Nor ask what rites our pardon gain, Nor how his potent sounds restrain The thunderer's lifted hand. 4 No, Hardinge; peace to church and state! That evening, let the Muse give law; While I anew the theme relate Which my first youth enamour'd saw. Then will I oft explore thy thought, What to reject which Locke hath taught, What to pursue in Virgil's lay; Till hope ascends to loftiest things, Nor envies demagogues or kings Their frail and vulgar sway. 5 O versed in all the human frame, Lead thou where'er my labour lies, And English fancy's eager flame To Grecian purity chastise; While hand in hand, at Wisdom's shrine, Beauty with truth I strive to join, And grave assent with glad applause; To paint the story of the soul, And Plato's visions to control By Verulamian laws. [Footnote 1: 'The wintry Urn:' Aquarius.] ODE XVII. ON A SERMON AGAINST GLORY. 1747. 1 Come then, tell me, sage divine, Is it an offence to own That our bosoms e'er incline Toward immortal Glory's throne? For with me, nor pomp, nor pleasure, Bourbon's might, Braganza's treasure, So can Fancy's dream rejoice, So conciliate Reason's choice, As one approving word of her impartial voice. 2 If to spurn at noble praise Be the passport to thy heaven, Follow thou those gloomy ways; No such law to me was given, Nor, I trust, shall I deplore me, Faring like my friends before me; Nor an holier place desire Than Timoleon's arms acquire, And Tully's curule chair, and Milton's golden lyre. ODE XVIII. TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE FRANCIS, EARL OF HUNTINGDON, 1747. I.--1. The wise and great of every clime, Through all the spacious walks of time, Where'er the Muse her power display'd, With joy have listen'd and obey'd. For, taught of heaven, the sacred Nine Persuasive numbers, forms divine, To mortal sense impart: They best the soul with glory fire; They noblest counsels, boldest deeds inspire; And high o'er Fortune's rage enthrone the fixed heart. I.--2.