He knew, the patriot knew, That letters and the Muse's powerful art Exalt the ingenuous heart, And brighten every form of just and true. They lend a nobler sway To civil wisdom, than corruption's lure Could ever yet procure: They, too, from envy's pale malignant light Conduct her forth to sight, Clothed in the fairest colours of the day. VI.--3. O Townshend, thus may Time, the judge severe, Instruct my happy tongue of thee to tell: And when I speak of one to Freedom dear For planning wisely and for acting well, Of one whom Glory loves to own, Who still by liberal means alone Hath liberal ends pursued; Then, for the guerdon of my lay, 'This man with faithful friendship,' will I say, 'From youth to honour'd age my arts and me hath view'd.' ODE V. ON LOVE OF PRAISE. 1 Of all the springs within the mind Which prompt her steps in fortune's maze, From none more pleasing aid we find Than from the genuine love of praise. 2 Nor any partial, private end Such reverence to the public bears; Nor any passion, virtue's friend, So like to virtue's self appears. 3 For who in glory can delight Without delight in glorious deeds? What man a charming voice can slight, Who courts the echo that succeeds? 4 But not the echo on the voice More than on virtue praise depends; To which, of course, its real price The judgment of the praiser lends. 5 If praise, then, with religious awe From the sole perfect judge be sought, A nobler aim, a purer law, Nor priest, nor bard, nor sage hath taught. 6 With which in character the same, Though in an humbler sphere it lies, I count that soul of human fame, The suffrage of the good and wise. ODE VI. TO WILLIAM HALL, ESQUIRE; WITH THE WORKS OF CHAULIEU. 1 Attend to Chaulieu's wanton lyre; While, fluent as the skylark sings When first the morn allures its wings, The epicure his theme pursues: And tell me if, among the choir Whose music charms the banks of Seine, So full, so free, so rich a strain E'er dictated the warbling Muse. 2 Yet, Hall, while thy judicious ear Admires the well-dissembled art That can such harmony impart To the lame pace of Gallic rhymes; While wit from affectation clear, Bright images, and passions true, Recall to thy assenting view The envied bards of nobler times; 3 Say, is not oft his doctrine wrong? This priest of Pleasure, who aspires To lead us to her sacred fires, Knows he the ritual of her shrine? Say (her sweet influence to thy song So may the goddess still afford), Doth she consent to be adored With shameless love and frantic wine?