ODE VIII. TO THE EARL OF LINCOLN, ON THE DUKE OF NEWCASTLE's RETIREMENT.
WRITTEN IN 1762.
I
“Fly, fly from Life's too busy scene,
“To calm Repose, and joys serene,”
The pert declaimer cries:—
'Twas once, perhaps, at school his theme;
'Tis still the substance of each dream,
That fond conceit supplies:—
II
—‘Ah! vainly to the Sylvan seat,
‘To quiet, solitude, retreat,
‘Rash, restless passions lead,
‘There still the fickle heart will know
‘Some real want, or fancied woe;
‘There still the guilty bleed.’
III
To worthless Age, and thoughtless Youth,
The Muse directs this solemn truth:—
The Muse whose cheerful lay
Hails a Newcastle to the shade,
To bliss, whose solid base was laid
In Glory's early day.
IV
Whate'er the glow of anxious Zeal
For universal joy and weal,
To sweeten sense can give;
Whate'er Remembrance, cheerful, clear,
Can paint, improve, adorn, endear,
Where'er He lives, will live.
V
The good his youthful labours gain'd,
The toils his growing age sustain'd,
The praise a Nation owes,
Some generous strife, some glorious prise,
Will still to view successive rise,
And sanctify repose.
VI
Such joy, O Lincoln, Heaven prepares,
Such joy, the produce of such cares,
Awaits Newcastle's rest:
The liberal Heart, and ready Hand,
That dealt their Blessings round the Land,
Should in their turn be blest.
VII
Retirement is but new employ;
Where Virtue will again enjoy
The deeds she wrought before:
Tho' Time, on every moment's wing,
Some wreath of Pelham's Glory bring,
'Twill ne'er exhaust the store.
VIII
Perhaps, to sooth the pains of age,
That happy period will engage
His retrospective view;
When Brunswick hasted to approve,
And ever with the Sovereign's Love
The Statesman's Merit grew.
IX
Or haply, while his foot shall stray
Along the solitary way,
Fair Memory will recall
The hour when Learning's sacred voice
Hail'd him, her friend, her guide, her choice;
Her hope, her boast, her all.
X
Nor yet less glad will pass the day,
While pleas'd Reflection shall survey
Each dart, that Malice aim'd,
When Faction led forth all her train,
And still the rude, and weak, and vain
Enjoy'd the Work they blam'd.
XI
Then will the heart, that never thought
A People's Good too dearly bought,
Rejoice o'er all it gave;
Compare the purchase with the cost;
Nor think the noble Bounty lost,
That flow'd, profuse to save.
XII
Blest in himself and all around,
With every Palm of Virtue crown'd,
Thro' Pleasure sweet, sincere,
The Sage will walk to Life's decline,
And bid the past and present join,
To make the future dear.
