ARTHUR ONSLOW, ESQ.

I.

This goodly frame what virtue so approves,
And testifies the pure etherial spirit
As mild Benevolence?
She with her sister Mercy still awaits
Beside th' eternal throne of Jove,
And measures forth with unwithdrawing hand
The blessings of the various year,
Sunshine or show'r, and chides the madding tempest.

II.

With her the heaven-bred nymph meek Charity,
Shall fashion ONSLOW forth in fairest portrait;
And with recording care
Weave the fresh wreath that flow'ring virtue claims.
But oh, what muse shall join the band?
He long has sojourn'd in the sacred haunts,
And knows each whisp'ring grot and glade
Trod by Apollo, and the light-foot Graces.

III.

How then shall awkward gratitude
And the presumption of untutor'd duty
Attune my numbers all too rude?
Little he recks the meed of such a song;
Yet will I stretch aloof,
And when I tell of Courtesy,
Of well-attemper'd Zeal,
Of awful Prudence soothing fell Contention,
Where shall the lineaments agree
But in thee, ONSLOW? You, your wonted leave
Indulge me, nor misdeem a Soldier's bold emprize;

IV.

Who in the dissonance of barb'rous war,
Long train'd, revisits oft the sacred treasures
Of antique memory;
Or where sage Pindar reins his fiery car,
Through the vast vault of heaven secure,
Or what the Attic muse that Homer fill'd,
Her other son, thy Milton taught,
Or range the flow'ry fields of gentle Spenser.

V.