288 Somer'viles [fourth 



From marble pedcftals, nor Raphael's works, 

 Nor Titian's lively tints, adorn our walls ? 

 Yet thefe the meaneft of us may behold. 

 And, at another's coft, may feaft at will 

 Our wond'ring eyes ; what can the owner more ? 

 But vain, alas ! is wealth, not grac'd with pow'r. 

 The flow'ry landfkip, and the gilded dome, 

 And villas op'ning to the wearied eye, 

 Thro' all his wide domain ; the planted grove, 

 The flirubby wildernefs, with its gay choir 

 Of warbling birds, can't lull to foft repofe 

 Th' ambitious wretch, whofe difcontented fout 

 Is harrow'd day and night ; he mourns, he pines. 

 Until his prince's favour makes him great. 

 See there he comes, th* exalted idol comes ! 

 The circle's form'd, and all his fawning ilaves 

 Devoutly bow to earth ; from ev'ry mouth 

 The naufeous flatt'ry flows, which he returns 

 With proniifes, that die as foon as born. 

 Vile intercourfe ! where virtue has no place. 

 Frown but the Monarch, all his glories fade ; 

 He mingles with the throng, outcaft, undone. 

 The pageant of a day ; without one friend 

 To footh his tortur'd mind ; all, all are fled : 

 For tho' they bafk'd in his meridian ray. 

 The infedts vanifli as his beams decline. 



Not fuch our friends ; for here no dark defigny 

 No wicked int'reft bribes the venal heart ; 

 But inclination to our bofoms leads. 



And 



