From Alfred's parent reign

To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold;
I know your perils hard,

Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas,
The night estrang'd from ease,

The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd,
The head with doubt perplex'd,

The indignant heart disdaining the reward

III. 3.

Which envy hardly grants. But, O renown,

O praise from judging heaven and virtuous men,
If thus they purchas'd thy divinest crown,
Say, who shall hesitate? or who complain?
And now they sit on thrones above:
And when among the gods they move
Before the Sovereign Mind,

"Lo, these," he saith, "lo, these are they Who to the laws of mine eternal sway From violence and fear asserted human kind.”

IV. 1.

Thus honour'd while the train

Of legislators in his presence dwell;

If I may aught foretell,

The statesman shall the second palm obtain.
For dreadful deeds of arms

Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise,
More glittering trophies raise:

But wisest Heaven what deeds may chiefly move

To favour and to love?

What, save wide blessings, or averted harms?

IV. 2.

Nor to the embattled field

Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown,

The green immortal crown

Of valour, or the songs of conquest, yield.
Not Fairfax wildly bold,

While bare of crest he hew'd his fatal way
Through Naseby's firm array,

To heavier dangers did his breast oppose
Than Pym's free virtue chose,
When the proud force of Strafford he control'd.

IV. 3.

But what is man at enmity with truth?
What were the fruits of Wentworth's copious mind
When (blighted all the promise of his youth)
The patriot in a tyrant's league had join'd?
Let Ireland's loud-lamenting plains,

Let Tyne's and Humber's trampled swains,
Let menac'd London tell

How impious guile made wisdom base;
How generous zeal to cruel rage gave place;
And how unbless'd he liv'd, and how dishonour'd

fell.

V. 1.

Thence never hath the Muse

Around his tomb Pierian roses flung:

Nor shall one poet's tongue

His name for music's pleasing labour choose.
And sure, when Nature kind

Hath deck'd some favour'd breast above the throng, That man with grievous wrong

Affronts and wounds his genius, if he bends

To guilt's ignoble ends

The functions of his ill-submitting mind.

V. 2.

For worthy of the wise

Nothing can seem but virtue; nor earth yield
Their fame an equal field,

Save where impartial Freedom gives the prize.
There Somers fix'd his name,

Inroll'd the next to William. There shall Time To every wondering clime

Point out that Somers, who from faction's crowd, The slanderous and the loud,

Could fair assent and modest reverence claim.

V. 3.

Nor aught did laws or social arts acquire,
Nor this majestic weal of Albion's land
Did aught accomplish, or to aught aspire,
Without his guidance, his superior hand.

And rightly shall the Muse's care
Wreaths like her own for him prepare,

Whose mind's enamour'd aim
Could forms of civil beauty draw

Sublime as ever sage or poet saw,

Yet still to life's rude scene the proud ideas tame.

VI. 1.

Let none profane be near!

The Muse was never foreign to his breast:

On power's grave seat confess'd,

Still to her voice he bent a lover's ear.

And if the blessed know

Their ancient cares, even now the unfading groves,
Where haply Milton roves

With Spenser, hear the enchanted echoes round
Through farthest heaven resound
Wise Somers, guardian of their fame below.

VI. 2.

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

Cloth'd 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 pursu'd;

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.

I.

Or 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.

II.

Nor any partial, private end

Such reverence to the public bears;

Nor any passion, virtue's friend,

So like to virtue's self appears.

III.

For who in glory can delight,

Without delight in glorious deeds? What man a charming voice can slight, Who courts the echo that succeeds?

IV.

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.

V.

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.