 | Poems by the Right Honourable the late Lord Lyttleton |  |
33
TO MR. POYNTZ,
Ambassador at the Congress of Soissons, in the Year 1728.
Written at Paris.
O thou, whose friendship is my joy and pride,
Whose virtues warm me, and whose precepts guide;
Thou, to whom greatness, rightly understood,
Is but a larger power of being good;
Say, Poyntz, amidst the toils of anxious state,
Does not thy secret soul desire retreat?
Dost thou not wish (the task of glory done)
Thy busy life at length might be thy own;
That to thy lov'd philosophy resign'd,
No care might ruffle thy unbended mind?
Just is the wish. For sure the happiest meed,
To favour'd man by smiling heaven decreed,
Is to reflect at ease on glorious pains,
And calmly to enjoy what virtue gains.
Whose virtues warm me, and whose precepts guide;
Thou, to whom greatness, rightly understood,
Is but a larger power of being good;
Say, Poyntz, amidst the toils of anxious state,
Does not thy secret soul desire retreat?
Dost thou not wish (the task of glory done)
Thy busy life at length might be thy own;
That to thy lov'd philosophy resign'd,
No care might ruffle thy unbended mind?
Just is the wish. For sure the happiest meed,
To favour'd man by smiling heaven decreed,
Is to reflect at ease on glorious pains,
And calmly to enjoy what virtue gains.
Not him I praise, who from the world retir'd,
By no enlivening generous passion fir'd,
On flowery couches slumbers life away,
And gently bids his active powers decay;
Who fears bright glory's awful face to see,
And shuns renown as much as infamy.
But blest is he, who exercis'd in cares,
To private leisure public virtue bears?
Who tranquil ends the race he nobly run,
And decks repose with trophies labour won.
Him Honour follows to the secret shade,
And crowns propitious his declining head;
In his retreats their harps the Muses string,
For him in lays unbought spontaneous sing;
Friendship and truth on all his moments wait,
Pleas'd with retirement better than with state;
And round the bower where humbly great he lies,
Fair olives bloom, or verdant laurels rise.
By no enlivening generous passion fir'd,
On flowery couches slumbers life away,
And gently bids his active powers decay;
34
And shuns renown as much as infamy.
But blest is he, who exercis'd in cares,
To private leisure public virtue bears?
Who tranquil ends the race he nobly run,
And decks repose with trophies labour won.
Him Honour follows to the secret shade,
And crowns propitious his declining head;
In his retreats their harps the Muses string,
For him in lays unbought spontaneous sing;
Friendship and truth on all his moments wait,
Pleas'd with retirement better than with state;
And round the bower where humbly great he lies,
Fair olives bloom, or verdant laurels rise.
So when thy country shall no more demand
The needful aid of thy sustaining hand;
When peace restor'd shall on her downy wing
Secure repose and careless leisure bring;
Then to the shades of learned ease retir'd,
The world forgetting, by the world admir'd,
Among thy books and friends, thou shalt possess
Contemplative and quiet happiness;
Pleas'd to review a life in honour spent,
And painful merit paid with sweet content.
Yet tho' thy hours unclogg'd with sorrow roll,
Tho' wisdom calm, and science feed thy soul;
One dearer bliss remains to be possess'd,
That only can improve and crown the rest—
The needful aid of thy sustaining hand;
When peace restor'd shall on her downy wing
Secure repose and careless leisure bring;
Then to the shades of learned ease retir'd,
The world forgetting, by the world admir'd,
Among thy books and friends, thou shalt possess
Contemplative and quiet happiness;
Pleas'd to review a life in honour spent,
And painful merit paid with sweet content.
Yet tho' thy hours unclogg'd with sorrow roll,
Tho' wisdom calm, and science feed thy soul;
One dearer bliss remains to be possess'd,
That only can improve and crown the rest—
Permit thy friend this secret to reveal,
Which thy own heart perhaps would better tell;
The point to which our sweetest passions move,
Is to be truly lov'd, and fondly love.
This is the charm that smooths the troubled breast,
Friend to our health, and author of our rest,
Bids every gloomy vexing passion fly,
And tunes each jarring string to harmony.
Even while I write, the name of love inspires
More pleasing thoughts, and more enlivening fires;
Beneath his power my raptur'd fancy glows,
And every tender verse more sweetly flows.
Dull is the privilege of living free;
Our hearts were never form'd for liberty:
Some beauteous image well imprinted there,
Can best defend them from consuming care.
In vain to groves and gardens we retire,
And nature in her rural works admire;
Tho' grateful these, yet these but faintly charm;
They may delight us, but can never warm.
May some fair eyes, my friend, thy bosom fire
With pleasing pangs of ever gay desire;
And teach thee that soft science, which alone
Still to thy searching mind rests slightly known.
Thy soul, tho' great, is tender and refin'd,
To friendship sensible, to love inclin'd;
And therefore long thou can'st not arm thy breast
Against the entrance of so sweet a guest.
Hear what the inspiring Muses bid me tell,
For heaven shall ratify what they reveal.
Which thy own heart perhaps would better tell;
35
Is to be truly lov'd, and fondly love.
This is the charm that smooths the troubled breast,
Friend to our health, and author of our rest,
Bids every gloomy vexing passion fly,
And tunes each jarring string to harmony.
Even while I write, the name of love inspires
More pleasing thoughts, and more enlivening fires;
Beneath his power my raptur'd fancy glows,
And every tender verse more sweetly flows.
Dull is the privilege of living free;
Our hearts were never form'd for liberty:
Some beauteous image well imprinted there,
Can best defend them from consuming care.
In vain to groves and gardens we retire,
And nature in her rural works admire;
Tho' grateful these, yet these but faintly charm;
They may delight us, but can never warm.
May some fair eyes, my friend, thy bosom fire
With pleasing pangs of ever gay desire;
And teach thee that soft science, which alone
Still to thy searching mind rests slightly known.
Thy soul, tho' great, is tender and refin'd,
To friendship sensible, to love inclin'd;
And therefore long thou can'st not arm thy breast
Against the entrance of so sweet a guest.
Hear what the inspiring Muses bid me tell,
For heaven shall ratify what they reveal.
A chosen bride shall in thy arms be plac'd,
With all the attractive charms of beauty grac'd;
Whose wit and virtue shall thy own express,
Distinguish'd only by their softer dress:
Thy greatness she, or thy retreat shall share,
Sweeten tranquillity, or soften care:
Her smiles the taste of every joy shall raise,
And add new pleasure to renown and praise;
Till charm'd you own the truth my verse would prove,
That happiness is near ally'd to love.
With all the attractive charms of beauty grac'd;
36
Distinguish'd only by their softer dress:
Thy greatness she, or thy retreat shall share,
Sweeten tranquillity, or soften care:
Her smiles the taste of every joy shall raise,
And add new pleasure to renown and praise;
Till charm'd you own the truth my verse would prove,
That happiness is near ally'd to love.
| Poems by the Right Honourable the late Lord Lyttleton | |