Ode to John Pitt, Esq. Advising Him to Build a Banqueting-house on a Hill That Overlooks the Sea

From this tall promontory's brow You look majestic down, And see extended wide below Th' horizon all your own.

With growing piles the vales are crown'd, Here hills peep over hills; There the vast sky and sea profound Th' increasing prospect fills.

O bid, my friend, a structure rise, And this huge round command; Then shall this little point comprise The ocean and the land.

Then you, like Aeolus, on high, From your aerial tower, Shall see secure the billows fly, And hear the whirlwinds roar.

You, with a smile, their rage despise, 'Till some sad wreck appears, And calls, from your relenting eyes, The sympathizing tears.

Thus may you view, with proud delight, While winds the deep deform, ('Till human woes your grief excite) All nature in a storm.

Majestic, awful scene! when hurl'd, On surges, surges rife, And all the heaving watry world Tumultuous mounts the skies.

The seas and thunder roar by turns, By turns the peals expire; The billows flash, and ether burns With momentary fire.

But lo! the furious tempests cease, The mighty rage subsides; Old ocean hush'd, in solemn peace, Has still'd the murmuring tides.

Spread wide abroad, the glassy plain, In various colours gay, Reflects the glorious sun again, And doubly gilds the day.

Th' horizon glows from side to side, And flames with glancing rays; The floating, trembling, silver tide, Is one continual blaze.

Your eyes the prospect now command, All uncontroul'd and free, Fly like a thought from land to land, And dart from sea to sea.

Thus, while above the clouds we sit, And, innocently gay, Pass in amusements, wine, or wit, The sultry hours away.

Sometimes, with pity, or disdain, In thought a glance we throw Down on the poor, the proud, the vain, In yonder world below.

We see, from this exalted seat, (How shrunk, reduc'd, confin'd!) The little person of the great, As little as his mind.

See there—amidst the crowds our view Some scatter'd virtues strike; But those so throng'd, and these so few, The world looks all alike.

Yet, thro' this cloud of human kind, The Talbots we survey, The Pitts, the Yorks, the Seckers find, Who shine in open day.