To save the credit of the dame,
Poets and painters all agree
That Mistress Fortune cannot see,
And on her bandage cast the blame;
When honours on th’ unworthy wait,
When riches to the wealthy flow,
When high desert, oppress’d by woe,
Is left to struggle on with Fate.
But, Porter! when on thee she smil’d,
The fillet from her eyes she mov’d,
To view the merit all approv’d—
A mind inform’d, a heart unsoil’d.
She saw thy virtues bright appear;
A son that mothers seldom know,
A brother with affection’s glow,
The soldier brave[[9]], the friend sincere.
With honours then thy name she grac’d,
And call’d on Love to bless thy arms
With princely rank, with Virtue’s charms,
And all the pow’rs of wit and taste.
[9] Sir R.K. Porter was attached to the staff in the late campaign in Spain, and was in nearly every engagement with the enemy.
THE FOLLOWING LINES IN FRENCH,
Are inscribed upon the Pedestal of a Statue of Cupid,
IN A GARDEN AT UTRECHT.
ORIGINAL.
N’offrant qu’un cœur à la Beauté,
Nud comme la Verité,
Sans armes comme l’Innocence,
Sans aîles comme la Constance,
Tel fut l’Amour dans le siecle d’or,
On ne le trouve plus, quoiqu’on le cherche encore.
TRANSLATION.
To Beauty give your heart, your sighs,
No other off’ring will she prize;
As Truth should unadorn’d appear,
Behold! the god is naked here!
Like Innocence, he has no arms
But those of sweet, of native, charms;
No wish or pow’r has he to fly,
Like thy pure spirit, Constancy!
Such in the golden age was Love;
But now, oh! whither does he rove?