To
my
Lord
—
"HERVEY" (1782)
In
the
Year
1730.
From
Worcestershire
.
By
the
Same
.
Strenua
nos
exercet
Inertia
:
Navibus
atque
Quadrigis
petimus
bene
Vivere
:
quod
petis
hic
est
;
Est
Ulubris
,
Animus
si
te
non
deficit
aequus
.
Horace
.
Horace, Epistles
[1.11](http://data.perseus.org/citations/urn:cts:latinLit:phi0893.phi005.perseus-lat1:1.11), ll. 28-30.
FAV'RITE
of
Venus
and
the
tuneful
Nine
,
Pollio
,
by
nature
form'd
in
courts
to
shine
,
Wilt
thou
once
more
a
kind
attention
lend
To
thy
long
absent
and
forgotten
friend
;
Who
after
seas
and
mountains
wander'd
o'er
,
Return'd
at
length
to
his
own
native
shore
,
From
all
that's
gay
retir'd
,
and
all
that's
great
,
Beneath
the
shades
of
his
paternal
seat
Has
found
that
Happiness
he
sought
in
vain
On
the
fam'd
banks
of
Tiber
and
of
Scine
?
'Tis
not
to
view
the
well-proportion'd
pile
,
The
charms
of
Titian's
and
of
Raphael's
stile
;
At
soft
Italian
sounds
to
melt
away
;
Or
in
the
fragrant
groves
of
myrtle
stray
;
That
lulls
the
tumults
of
the
soul
to
rest
,
Or
makes
the
fond
possessor
truly
blest
.
In
our
own
breasts
the
source
of
Pleasure
lies
Still
open
,
and
still
flowing
to
the
wise
;
Not
forc'd
by
toilsome
art
and
wild
desire
Beyond
the
bounds
of
nature
to
aspire
,
But
in
its
proper
channels
gliding
fair
;
A
common
benefit
,
which
all
may
share
,
Yet
half
mankind
this
easy
Good
disdain
,
Nor
relish
happiness
unbought
by
pain
;
False
is
their
taste
of
bliss
,
and
thence
their
search
is
vain
.
So
idle
,
yet
so
restless
are
our
minds
,
We
climb
the
Alps
,
and
brave
the
raging
winds
,
Through
various
toils
to
seek
Content
we
roam
,
Which
but
with
thinking
right
were
our's
at
home
.
For
not
the
ceaseless
change
of
shifted
place
Can
from
the
heart
a
settled
grief
erase
;
Nor
can
the
purer
balm
of
foreign
air
Heal
the
distemper'd
mind
of
aching
care
.
The
wretch
by
wild
impatience
driv'n
to
rove
,
Vex'd
with
the
pangs
of
ill-requited
love
,
From
pole
to
pole
the
fatal
arrow
bears
,
Whose
rooted
point
his
bleeding
bosom
tears
,
With
equal
pain
each
diff'rent
clime
he
tries
,
And
is
himself
that
torment
which
he
flies
.
For
how
shou'd
ills
,
that
from
our
passions
flow
,
Be
chang'd
by
Afric's
heat
,
or
Russia's
snow
?
Or
how
can
aught
but
pow'rful
Reason
cure
,
What
from
unthinking
Folly
we
endure
?
Happy
is
He
,
and
He
alone
,
who
knows
His
heart's
uneasy
discord
to
compose
;
In
gen'rous
love
of
others'
good
to
find
The
sweetest
pleasures
of
the
social
mind
;
To
bound
his
wishes
in
their
proper
sphere
;
To
nourish
pleasing
hope
,
and
conquer
anxious
fear
,
This
was
the
wisdom
ancient
Sages
taught
,
This
was
the
sov'reign
good
they
justly
sought
;
This
to
no
place
or
climate
is
confin'd
,
But
the
free
native
produce
of
the
mind
.
Nor
think
,
my
Lord
,
that
Courts
to
you
deny
The
useful
practice
of
Philosophy
:
Horace
,
the
wisest
of
the
tuneful
choir
,
Not
always
chose
from
Greatness
to
retire
,
But
in
the
palace
of
Augustus
knew
The
same
unnerring
maxims
to
pursue
,
Which
in
the
Sabine
or
the
Velian
shade
His
study
and
his
happiness
he
made
.
May
you
,
my
friend
,
by
his
example
taught
,
View
all
the
giddy
scene
with
sober
thought
;
Undazzled
every
glittering
folly
see
,
And
in
the
midst
of
slavish
forms
be
free
;
In
its
own
center
keep
your
steddy
mind
;
Let
Prudence
guide
you
,
but
let
Honour
bind
;
In
show
,
in
manners
,
act
the
Courtier's
part
,
But
be
a
Country-gentleman
at
heart
.