t;
New moments shed new pleasures as they fly,
And yet your greatest is, that you must die.
Thus Anna saw, and rais'd you to the seat
Of honour, and confess'd her servant great;
Confess'd, not made him such; for faithful fame
Her trumpet swell'd long since with Granville's name;
Though you in modesty the title wear,
Your name shall be the title of your heir;
Farther than ermine, make his glory known,
And cast in shades the favour of a throne.
From thrones the beam of high distinction springs;
The soul's endowments from the King of kings,
Lo! one great day calls forth ten mighty peers!
Produce ten Granvilles in five thousand years;
Anna, be thou content to fix the fate
Of various kingdoms, and control the great;
But O! to bid thy Granville brighter shine!
To him that great prerogative resign,
Who the sun's height can raise at pleasure higher,
His lamp illumine, set his flames on fire.
Yet still one bliss, one glory, I forbear,
A darling friend whom near your heart you wear;
That lovely youth, my lord, whom you must blame,
That I grow thus familiar with your name.
He's friendly, open, in his conduct nice,
Nor serve these virtues to atone for vice:
Vice has he none, or such as none wish less,
But friends indeed, good-nature in excess.
You cannot boast the merit of a choice,
In making him your own, 'twas nature's voice,
Which call'd too loud by man to be withstood,
Pleading a tie far nearer than of blood;
Similitude of manners, such a mind
As makes you less the wonder of mankind.
Such ease his common converse recommends,
As he ne'er felt a passion, but his friend's;
Yet fix'd his principles, beyond the force
Of all beneath the sun, to bend his course.(64)
Thus the tall cedar, beautiful and fair,
Flatters the motions of the wanton air;
Salutes each passing breeze with head reclin'd:
The pliant branches dance in every wind:
But fix'd the stem her upright state maintains,
And all the fury of the north disdains.
How are you bless'd in such a matchless friend!
Alas! with me the joys of friendship end;
O Harrison! I must, I will complain;
Tears soothe the soul's distress, tho' shed in vain;
Didst thou return, and bless thy native shore
With welcome peace, and is my friend no more?--
Thy task was early done, and I must own
Death kind to thee, but ah! to thee alone.
But 'tis in me a vanity to mourn,
T