To his Brother Samuel March 21, 1726 DEAR BROTHER, I should of certainly have writ you word my success on Friday (all Thursday I was detained at Lincoln The day of his election as Fellow of Lincoln College. On 'Lincoln College and its Fellows,' see John Wesley, by J. H. Overton (Rector of Lincoln), pp. 16-19. 'There would be at least a tradition of learning and piety about the College when Wesley was elected. Wesley's own incidental remarks fully bear out this theory.... He "seems to have made an equally good impression upon his brother Fellows."' A letter from one of them, Lewis Fenton, shows how he was welcomed (Whitehead's Life of Wesley, i. 414).), but that I thought it more advisable, since I had promised to send some verses in a. few days, to do both in the same letter. I am at the same time to ask pardon for letting anything prevent my doing the first sooner; and to return you my sincere and hearty thanks, as well for your past kindness, as for the fresh instance of it you now give me, in the pains you take to qualify me for the enjoyment of that success, which I owe chiefly, not to say wholly, to your interest. I am the more ready to profess my gratitude now, because I may do so with less appearance of design than formerly; of any other design, I hope, than of showing myself sensible of the obligation; and that, in this respect at least, I am not unworthy of it. I have not yet been able to meet with one or two gentlemen, from whom I am in hopes of getting two or three copies of verses. The most tolerable of my own, if any such there were, you probably received already from Mr. Leyborn. See letters of June 18, 1725, and April 4, 1725. Some of those that I had besides I have sent here, and shall be very glad if they are capable of being so corrected as to be of any service to you. The cruel Queen of fierce des'tres, While youth and wine assistants prove, Renews my long-neglected fires And melts again my mind to love. On blooming Glycera I gaze, By too resistless force opprest; With fond delight my eye surveys

The spotless marble of her breast. In vain I strive to break my chain; In vain I heave with anxious sighs: Her pleasing coyness feeds my pain And keeps the conquests of her eyes. Impetuous tides of joy and pain By turns my lab'ring bosom tear; The Queen of Love, with all her train Of hopes and fears, inhabits there. No more the wand'ring Scythian's might From softer themes my lyre shall move; No more the Parthian's wily flight: My lyre shall sing of naught but Love. Haste, grassy altars let us rear; Haste, wreaths of fragrant myrtle twine; With Arab sweets perfume the air, And crown the whole with gen'rous wine. While we the sacred rites prepare, The cruel Queen of fierce desires Will pierce, propitious to my prayer, The obdurate maid with equal fires. Integrity needs no defense; The man who trusts to Innocence, Nor wants the darts Numidians throw, Nor arrows of the Parthian bow. Secure o'er Libya's sandy seas Or hoary Caucasus he strays; O'er regions scarcely known to Fame, Washed by Hydaspes' fabled stream. While void of cares, of naught afraid, Late in the Sabine woods I strayed; On Sylvia's lips, while pleased I sung, How Love and soft Persuasion hung ! A ravenous wolf, intent on food, Rushed from the covert of the wood; Yet dared not violate the grove Secured by Innocence and Love: Nor Mauritania's sultry plain So large a savage does contain; Nor e'er so huge a monster treads Warlike Apulia's beechen shades. Place me where no revolving sun Does e'er h.is radiant circle run, Where clouds and damps alone appear And poison the unwholesome year: Place me in that effulgent day Beneath the sun's directer ray; No change from its fixed place shall move The basis of my lasting love. In imitation of' Quis desiderio sit pugor.' Horace's Odes, I. xxiv. What shame shall stop our flowing tears What end shall our just sorrows know Since Fate, relentless to our prayers, Has given the long destructive blow! Ye Muses, strike the sounding string, In plaintive strains his loss deplore, And teach an artless voice to sing The great, the bounteous, now no more For him the Wise and Good shall mourn, While late records his fame declare; And, oft as rolling years return, Shall pay his tomb a grateful tear. Ah I what avail their plaints to thee

Ah I what avails his fame declared Thou blam'st, alas I the just decree Whence Virtue meets its just reward. Though sweeter sounds adorned thy tongue Than Thracian Orpheus whilom played, When list'ning to the morning song Each tree bowed down its leafy head, Never I ah, never from the gloom Of unrelenting Pluto's sway Could the thin shade again resume Its ancient tenement of clay. Indulgent Patience! heav'n-born guest! Thy healing wings around display: Thou gently calm'st the stormy breast And driv'st the tyrant Grief away. Corroding Care and eating Pain By just degrees thy influence own; And lovely lasting Peace again Resumes her long-deserted throne.