HERE Maro refts beneath the fragrant shade,
Lull'd by the murmurs of the foft cafcade:
Ye shepherds, carol here your lays of love,
While paftoral mufic dies along the grove:
Ye fwains, inftructed by his grateful theme,
His prailes whittle to the tinkling stream:
Ye bees, around your tuneful mafter throng,
And, humming in delight, his dreams prolong.
But hence the trumpet's clang, the din of war;
The thunder of the battle hence be far:
His bees, fwains, fhepherds more contentment
Than heroes blazing in the tented field.
"Arms and the man I fing" let others choose,
Give me the products of his rural mufe.
BENEATH A VINE, UNDER A PICTURE
OF HORACE.
BRING hither, friend, O hither bring
The lyre, and let us fit and fing:
Wake into life the dying flute,
The Thracian harp, or Lydian lute:
Horace commands; O quickly bring the lyre
For Horace, mafter of the Roman choir.
+ With rofebuds grace the poet's brow,
With odours bid his ringlets flow;
I hefe lilies crop and ftrew the ground;
And let my temples too be crown'd.
O fill the bowl beneath this mantling vine,
For Horace, arbiter of verfe and wine!
With focial joys we raife the hour,
But barith Cupid from the bower:
Seven luftres paft, ah! why should I,
And why should Horace pine and figh?
No more he beckons Pyrrha to the grot,
His Lydia, my lanthe, both forgot.
True; Lydia revel in his veins.
And fweet Lanthe warm'd my rains:
But age fhould youthful follies f..un,
Nor back the flowery maze
Let it to wifdom, love frien Ifhip rife,
And learn, at laft, trom Horace to grow wife.
Sweet as the hrufh, that warbles in the vale, And foft as Philomela's tender tale; She lent her pencil too, of wondrous power, To catch the rainbow, or to form the flower Of many mingling hues; and failing said, (But first with laurel crown'd her favourite's head) [shine, "These beauteous children, though fo fair they "Fade in my Seasons, let them live in thine: "And live they fhall, the charm of every eye, "Till nature fickens, and the Seafons die."
IN THE MIDST OF AN APPLE-TREE,
OVER MR. PHILIPS'S CYDER.
Ir he, who first the apple fung," the fruit
Of that forbidden tree, whofe mortal tafte
Brought death into the world, and all our we
Unfading laurels won; a branch awaits,
Philips, thy youthful brow: who apples fung
Innocuous, and with freedom bade us quaff
Their generous nectar, 'neath their parent fhade,
Advent'rous; nor in lefs inferior ftrains.
Like Milton too, you taught Britannia's fong
To shake the fhackles off of tinkling thyme,
Emafculate, unnervous; female verse.
Since modefty (still modefty attends
On worth like thine) forbids thee to accept
The parted wreath, let Milton's be the first,
Unrivall'd; be the fecond honours thine.
And now (for Leo, from his flaming mane,
Shake fultry rays intenfe, provoking thirft)
O Philips, while my well glaz'd tube exhales
Nicotian fragrance, and my rummer shines
With cyder fparkling high, partake my fhade,
Pleas'd with Pomona's haunts and cool recess,
Her purple-breathing births fweet-fmiling round.
OVER YOUNG'S NIGHT THOUGHTS.
BENEATH an awful gloom, a night of shade,
By filent darknefs more majeftic made,
I place thy volume, Young! with reverence place;
Thy volume worthy of a faint's embrace!
What gofpel truths thy heavenly lines convey,
And fteal us from mortality away!
Full on the foul thy tides of rapture flow,
Kindling we hear, and while we read we glow!
Exalted by thy theme, we mount on high,
We purn at earth, we claim our native sky.
Now let th' unle'ter'd, or the letter'd man,
Deny the foul immortal, if he can;
A foul itum rtal in thy works we fee:
Can duft and afhes think and write like thee?
Ye fools! the foul fhall dive, for God is just;
Ye atheifts, ye old ferpents, lick the duft.
Through depths of ether now his eagle flies,
Gains on the fun, and traveries the skies,
Where ftars on ftars, on planets planets roll,
Imbibes their fplendours, and commands the pole.
Onward he bears; and, burning, foars away
(Nor flag his pinions) to myfterious day:
O Newton, far beyond thy highet sphere;
Purfue my foul no further.-Heaven is here:
Opprefs'd with glory, all my fenfes fade,
I aint-O softly lay me in his fhade.
PART. I. Where, among other things,
Glory and Ricles, are particularly
confidered. Fo he Right Honourable
Henry Pelham, Lord Commiflioner of
the Treatury, ad Chancellor of the
Exchequer,
Preface
Night VII. Bein the Second Part of the In-
fidel Reaimed. Containing the Na-
ture, poof, and Importance of Immor-
talit,
Preface.
Night VIII. Virtue's Apology; or. The Man
of the World Anfwered. In which are
confidered the Love of this Life; the
Ambition of Pleafure, with the Wit
and Wifdom of the World,
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