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Poems on Several Occasions

By Edward, Lord Thurlow. The Second Edition, considerably enlarged
Thurlow, Edward Hovell-Thurlow (1781-1829)

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[section]
  
[dedication]
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VERSES PREFIXED TO THE DEFENCE OF POËSY.
  
TO THE MOST NOBLE PRINCE THE DUKE OF DORSET.
  
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE LORD HOLLAND.
  
TO THE RIGHT HONOURABLE THE EARL OF GRANARD.
  
A SONG TO SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
  
HERMILDA.
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SYLVA:
 3. 
3. ON THE DEPARTURE OF THE EARL OF MOIRA, TO THE GOVERNMENT OF INDIA.
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4. A SONG, TO AMORET.
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6. A DIALOGUE OF TWO SHEPHERDS.
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8. A SONG.
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10. A SONG.
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11.
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13.
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14.
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15.
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16.
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17. TO THE VERY NOBLE, AND ACCOMPLISHED, THE LORD HOLLAND:
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18.
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19.
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20.
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21.
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22. TO A LADY:
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23.
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24.
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26.
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27.
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28.
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30. ON THE MANY ATTACKS MADE BY LATE WRITERS ON THE MEMORY OF SIR PHILIP SIDNEY.
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31. FROM ANACREON.
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33. FROM THE ITALIAN OF DIANA SAMPIERI, OF OTRICOLI. ON A LADY BATHING.
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35. A SONG.
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36. THE FIRST PSALM.
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37. THE INDUCTION TO MY POEM, WHICH I DESIGNED TO WRITE; ENTITLED, “ENGLAND TRIUMPHANT.”
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38. THE PRAISE OF PINDAR, AND THEN OF AUGUSTUS:
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40. ON THE QUEEN'S PASSING THROUGH OTRICOLI, ON HER WAY TO ROME.
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41. ON THE QUEEN CHRISTINA'S ENTRANCE INTO OTRICOLI; DECEMBER 18, 1654.
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42. ON BEHOLDING MR. DENT'S LIBRARY, IN HERTFORD-STREET.
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43.
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44.
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45. FROM THE LATIN OF HORACE.
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46.
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47. ON MR. TODD'S EDITION OF SPENSER.
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48.
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58. THE LEGEND OF THE KNIGHT OF ILLYRIA.
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59. THE THIRD ELEGY OF THE THIRD BOOK OF TIBULLUS.
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61. FROM HORACE.
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62. FROM HORACE. THE THIRTEENTH ODE OF THE BOOK OF EPODES.

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192

45. FROM THE LATIN OF HORACE.

“INTEGER VITÆ SCELERISQUE PURUS.”

The pure of life, and free from ill,
Wants not the Moorish dart to kill;
Nor, innocent, O Fuscus, needs
The quiver, stuff'd with poison'd reeds:
Whether o'er Syrtes' burning sands,
Or o'er th' inhospitable lands
Of Caucasus about to go,
Or where Hydaspes' stream doth flow:
For me a wolf, i' th' Sabine shade,
Whilst to my Lalage I play'd,
And, thoughtless, o'er my bounds had gone,
Fled, as unarm'd I wander'd on:
193

Not military Daunia yet
So vast a monster could beget;
Nor Juba's Mauritania feed,
The thirsty land, where lions breed.
Place me in hopeless regions, where
No tree is nurs'd i' th' Summer's air;
A portion of the World, which storm,
And angry Jupiter deform:
Place me beneath the burning car
Of Phœbus, where no houses are:
Yet shall my theme, and passion be,
Soft speaking, smiling Lalage!
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