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Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train,
If haply from your haunts ye ftray
To walle with us a fummer's day.
Exclude the taste of every fwain,
Nor our untutor'd fenfe difdain:
'Tis nature only gives exclufive right
To relifh her fupreme delight;

She, where the pleafes kind or coy,
Who furnishes the fcene, and forms us to enjoy.
Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
By her aufpicious aid refin'd;

Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows,
Or humble hare-bell paints the plain,
Or valley winds, or fountain flows,

Or purple heath is ting'd in vain :
For fuch the rivers dafh the foaming tides,
The mountain fweells, the dale fubfides;
Ev'n thriftless furze detains their wandering
fight,

And the rough barren rock grows pregnant with delight.

With what fufpicious fearful care

The fordid wretch fecures his claim,

If haply fome luxurious heir

Should alienate the fields that wear his name!

What fcruples left fome future birth

Should litigate a span of earth!
Bonds, contracts, feoffments, names unmeet
for profe,

The towering Mufe endures not to disclose;
Alas! her unrevers'd decree,

More comprehenfive and more free,

Her lavish charter, tafte, appropriates all we fee.

Let gondolas their painted flags unfold,
And be the folemn day enroll'd,
When, to confirm his lofty plea,

In nuptual fort, with bridal gold,
The grave Venetian weds the fea:
Each laughing Mule derides the vow;

Ev'n Adria fcorns the mock embrace,

To fome lone hermit on the mountain's brow,
Allotted, from his natal hour,

With all her myrtle fhores in dower.
His breaft to admiration prone
Enjoys the fmile upon her face,

Enjoys triumphant every grace,
And finds her more his own.
Fatigu'd with form's oppreflive laws,
When Somerset avoids the great;
When, cloy'd with merited applause,
She feeks the rural calm retreat;
Does the not praife each moffy cell,
And feel the truth my numbers tell?

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Ah, can fhe covet there to fee The fplendid flaves, the reptile race,

That oil the tongue, and bow the knee, That flight her merit, but adore her place? Far happier, if aright I deem, When from gay throngs, and gilded fpires, To where the lonely halcyons play, Her philofophic ftep retires: While, ftudious of the moral theme, She, to fome smooth fequefter'd stream Likens the fwain's inglorious day; Pleas'd from the flowery margin to furvey, How cool, ferene, and clear, the current glides

away.

O blind to truth, to virtue blind,
Who flight the fweetly penfive mind!
On whofe fair birth the Graces mild,
And every Mufe prophetic fmil'd,
Not that the poet's boafted fire

Should fame's wide-echoing trumpet swell,
Or, on the mufic of his lyre

Each future age with rapture dwell; The vaunted fwects of praise remove, Yet fhall fuch bofoms claim a part In all that glads the human heart; Yet thefe the fpirits, form'd to judge and prove

All nature's charms immenfe, and heaven's unbounded love.

And oh the tranfport, most ally'd to fong,
In fome fair villa's peaceful bound,
To catch foft hints from nature's tongue,,
And bid Arcadia bloom arouud:
Whether we fringe the floping hill,

Or fmoothe below the verdant mead;
Whether we break the falling rill,

Or through meandering mazes lead; Or in the horrid bramble's room Bid careless groups of roles bloom; Or let fome fhelter'd lake ferene Reflect flowers, woods, and fpires, and brighten

all the scene.

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Why brand thefe pleasures with the name Of foft unfocial toils, of indolence and shame? Search but the garden or the wood, Let yon admir'd carnation own, Not all was meant for raiment, or for food, Not all for needful ufe alone;

There while the feeds of future bloffoms dwell, 'i is colour'd for the fight, perfum'd to please the fmell.

Why knows the nightingale to fing?

1

Why flows the pine's nectareous juice?
Why fhines with paint the linnet's wing?
For fuftenance alone? For use?
For prefervation? Every sphere

Shail bid fair pleasure's rightful claim appear.
And fure there feem, of human kind,

Some born to fhun the folemn strife;
Some for amufive tasks defign'd,

To footh the certain ills of life;

Grace its lone vales with many a budding rofe, New founts of blifs difclofe,

Call forth refreshing fhades, and decorate repofe.

From plains and woodlands; from the view
Of rural nature's blooming face,
Smit by the glare of rank and place,
To courts the fons of fancy flew;
There long had art ordain'd a rival feat;
There had the lavifh'd all her care
To form a fcene more dazzling fair,
And call'd them from their green retreat
To fhare her proud control;
Had given the robe with grace to flow,
Had taught exotic gems to glow;

And, emulous of nature's power,
Mimick'd the plume, the leaf, the flow-

er;

Chang'd the complexion's native hue,
Moulded each rustic limb anew,
And warp'd the
very foul.

A while her magic ftrikes the novel eye,
A while the fairy forms delight;
And now a loof we feem to fly
On purple pinions through a purer fky,
Where all his wonderous, all is bright:
Now landed on fome spangled fhore

A while each dazzled maniac roves
By faphire lakes, throu h emerald groves.
Paternal acres please no more;
Adieu the fimple, the fincere delight-
Th' habitual scene of hill and dale,
The rural herds, the vernal gale,
The tangle'd vetch's purple bloom,
The fragrance of the bean's perfume,
Be theirs alone who cultivate the foil,

And drink the cup of thirst, and eat the bread of toil.

But foon the pageant fades away!
'Tis nature only bears perpetual fway.
We pierce the counterfeit delight,
Fatigued with fplendor's irksome beams.
Fancy again demands the fight
Of native groves and wonted streams,

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Yes, here alone did highest heaven ordain
The lafting magazine of charms,
Whatever wins, whatever warms,
Whatever fancy feeks to fhare
The great, the various, and the fair,
For ever fhould remain !

Her impulfe nothing may reftrain-
Or whence the joy 'mid columns, towers,
'Midft all the city's artful trim,
To rear fome breathlefs vapid flowers
Or fhrubs fuliginoufly grim:
From rooms of filken foliage vain,
To trace the dun far diftant grove,

Where, fmit with undiffembled pain, The wood-lark mourns her abfent love, Borne to the dufty town from native air, To mimic rural life, and foothe fome vapour'd

fair.

But how must faithlefs art prevail,
Should all who tafte our joy fincere,
To virtue, truth, or fcience dear,
Forego a court's alluring pale,

For dimpled brook and leafy grove,
For that rich luxury of thought they love
Ah no, from these the public fphere requires
Examples for its giddy bands:

From thefe impartial heaven demands To spread the flame itself infpires;

10 fift opinions mingled mass,

Imprefs a nation's taste, and bid the sterling pass

Happy, thrice happy they,

Whefe graceful deeds have exemplary shone
Round the gay precincts of a throne,

With mild effective beams!

Who bands of fair ideas bring,
By folemn grot, or fhady spring,
To join their pleasing dreams!

Theirs is the rural blifs without alloy,
They only that deferve, enjoy

What though nor fabled dryad haunt their

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The rebel feeks her lawful queen,
And h vock and contention ceafe.
I fee the rival powers combine,
And aid each other's fair defign;

Nature exalt the mound where art fhall build;

That nothing fhould my foul inspire
But frienfhip warm, and love entire.
Dull to the fenfe of new delight,

On thee the drooping Muse attends;
As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight,
On thy expreffive power depends;
Nor would exchange thy glowing lines,
To live the lord of all that fhines.
But let me chafe those vows away
Which at ambition's fhrine I made;
Nor ever let thy skill difplay

Thofe anxious moments ill repaid: Oh from my breaft that feafon rafe,

Art shape the gay alcove, while nature paints the And bring my childhood in its place.

field.

Begin, ye fongfters of the grove !
O warble forth your nobleft lay;
Where Somerfet vouchfafes to rove,
Ye leverets, freely sport and play.
-Peace to the ftrepent horn!

Let no harth difonance difturb the morn,
No founds inelegant and rude
Her facred folitudes profane !
Ualefs her candour not exclude
The lowly fhepherd's votive ftrain,
Who tunes his reed amidst his rural chear,
Fearful, yet not averfe, that Somerset should

hear.

Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,

And bring the hobby I beftrode; When, pleas'd in many a sportive ring, Around the room I jovial rode: Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,

And bring the whistle that I blew. Then will I muse, and pensive say,

Why did not these enjoyments laft; How fweetly wafted I the day,

While innocence allow'd to wafte! Ambition's toils alike are vain, But ah! for pleafure yield us pain.

ODE to

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MEMORY. 1748.

Memory! celestial maid!, Who glean't the flowerets cropt by time; And, fuffering not a leaf to fade,

Preferv'ft the bloffoms of our prime; Bring, bring thofe moments to my mind When life was new, and Lesbia kind.

And bring that garland to my fight,

With which my favour'd crook she bound;
And bring that wreath of roses bright

Which then my fettive temples crown'd;
And to my raptur'd ear convey
The gentle things the deign'd to say.
And sketch with care the Mufe's bower,
Where Ifis rolls her filver tide;
Nor yet omit one reed or flower

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That fhines on Cherwell's verdant fide;
If fo thou may'it thofe hours prolong,
When polish'd Lycon join'd my fong.
The fong it 'vails not to recite-

But fure, to foothe our youthful dreams,
Those banks and ftreams appear'd more bright
Than other banks, than other streams:
Or, by the foftening pencil fhewn,
Affume thy beauties not their own?
And paint that fweetly vacant fcene,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My fpirits light, my foul lerene,

I breath'd in verfe one cordial vow:

The PRINCESS ELIZABETH,

A BALLAD alluding to a flory recorded of her, when he was prifoner at Woodstock, 1554.

WILL

TILL you hear how once repining
Great Eliza captive lay?

Each ambitious thought refigning,
Foe to riches, pomp, and fway.

While the nymphs and fwains delighted
Tript around in all their pride;
Envying joys by others flighted,

Thus the royal maiden cry'd. "Bred on plains, or born in vallies,

Who would bid thofe fcenes adieu ? Stranger to the arts of malice,

Who would ever courts purfue? Malice never taught to treafure,

Cenfure never taught to bear: Love is all the thepherd's pleafure ; Love is all the damfel's care. How can they of humble station Vainly blame the powers above? Or accule the difpentation

Which allows them all to love? Love like air is widely given, Power nor chance can thefe reftrain; Trueft, nobleft gifts of heaven! Only pure on the plain!

Peers

Peers can no fuch charms difcover,
All in ftars and garters dreft,
As, on Sundays, does the lover
With his nofegay on his breast.
Pinks and rofes in profufion,

Said to fade when Chloe's near;
Fops may ufe the fame allufion;
But the thepherd is fincere.
Hark to yonder milk-maid finging
Chearly o'er the brimming paik;
Cowflips all around her fpringing
Sweetly paint the golden vale.
Never yet did courtly maiden

Move fo fprightly look fo fair;
Never breaft with jewels laden
Pour a fong fo void of care.
Would indulgent heaven had granted
Me fome rural damfel's part!
All the empire I had wanted

Then had been my thepherd's heart.
Then, with him, o'er hills and mountains,

Free from fetters, might I rove:
Fearless tafte the crystal fountains;
Penecful fleep beneath the grove.
Ruftics had been more forgiving;
Partial to my virgin bloom:
None had envy'd me when living;
None had triumph'd o'er my tomb.

ODE to a young LADY,

NANCY of the VALE.

A BALLA D. 1

"Nerine Galatea! thymo mihi dulcior Hybla! "Candidior Cyguis! hederâ formofior albâ!"

HE western sky was purpled o'er
With every pleafing ray:

And flocks reviving felt no more
The fultry heats of day.

When from an hazle's artless bower
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue;
He bleft the scene, he bleft the hour,
While Nancy's praise he fung.

"Let fops with fickle falfehood range
The paths of wanton love,

While weeping maids lament their change,
And fadden every grove;

But endless bleffings crown the day

I faw fair Efham's dale!

And every bleffing find its way

To Nancy of the Vale.

'Twas from Avona's banks the maid
Diffus'd her lovely beams,

And every fhining glance difplay'd
The Naiad of the ftreams.

Soft as the wild-duck's tender young,
That floats on Avon's tide;
Bright as the water-lily, fprung,

And glittering near its fide.

Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom:
Her eye, all mild to view:

Somewhat too folicitious about her man- The little halcyon's azure plume

S'

ner of expreffion.

URVEY, my fair! that lucid ftream,
Adown the fmiling valley ftray;
Would art attempt, or fancy dream,
To regulate its winding way?
So pleas'd I view thy fhining hair

In loofe difheveld ringlets flow:
Not all thy art, not all thy care,
Can there one fingle grace beftow.
Survey again that verdant hill,

With native plants enamel'd o'er;
Say, can the painter s utmoft fkill
Inftruct one flower to pleafe us more ¿
As vain it were, with artful dye,

To change the bloom thy cheeks difclofe;
And oh may Laura, cre fhe try,

With fresh vermilion paint the rofe.
Hark how the wood-lark's tuneful throat
Can every fudy'd grace excel;
Let art conftrain the rambling note,

And will fhe, Laura, pleafe fo well?

Oh ever keep thy native eafe,

By no pedantic 'aw confin'd!
For Laura's voice is form'd to please,
So Laura's words be not unkind.

Was never half fo blue.

Her fhape was like the rced fo fleek,
So taper, ftrait, and fair;

Her dimpled fmile, her blufhing cheek,
How charming fweet they were !
Far in the winding vale retir'd,
This peerlefs bud I found;

And fhadowing rock and woods confpir'd
To fence her beauties round.
That nature in fo lone a dell

Should from a nymph fo fweet;
Or fortune to her fecret cell

Conduct my wandering feet!
Gay lordlings fought her for their bride,
But he would ne'er incline.
"Prove to your equals true, fhe cry'd,

As I would prove to mine.

'Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow,
Has won my right good will;
To him I gave my plighted vow,
With him I'll climb the hill."
Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
I clafp'd the constant fair;

To her alone I gave my youth,

And vow my future care.

And

And when this vow fhall faithlefs prove,
Or I those charms forego;
The ftream that faw our tender love,
That ftream fhall ceafe to flow.

ODE to INDOLENCE. 1750.

H! why for ever on the wing

A Perfilts my wearied foul to roam?

Why, ever cheated, ftrives to bring

Or pleasure or contentment home? Thus the poor bird, that draws his name From paradife's honour'd groves, Careless fatigues his little frame;

Nor finds the refting place he loves. Lo on the rural moffy bed

My limbs with careless eafe reclin'd; Ah, gentle floth! indulgent spread

The fame foft bandage o'er my mind For why fhould lingering thought invade, Yet every worldly profpect cloy? Lend me, foft floth, thy friendly aid,

And give me peace, debarr'd of joy. Lov't thou yon calm and filent flood,

That never ebbs, that never flows; Protected by the circling wood

From each tempeftuous wind that blows? An altar on its bank fhall rife,

Where oft thy votary fhall be found;
What time pale autumn lulls the fkies,
And fickening verdure fades around.
Ye bufy race, ye factious train,

That haunt ambition's guilty fhrine;
No more perplex the world in vain,
But offer here your vows with mine.

And thou, puiffant queen! be kind:
If e'er i fhar'd thy balmy power;
If e'er I fway'd my active mind

To weave for thee the rural bower;
Diffolve in fleep each anxious care;
Each unavailling figh remove;
And only let me wake to hare,

The sweets of friendship and of love.

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Age not forbids thy ftay;

Thou yet might'it act the friendly part;
Thou yet might'ft raise this languid heart;
Why fpeed fo fwift away?

Thou fcorn'ft the city-air;

I breathe fresh gales o'er furrow'd ground,
Yet haft not thou my wifhes crown'd,
O false! O partial fair!

I plunge into the wave;
And though with pureft hand I raise
A rural altar to thy paife,

Thou wilt not deign to fave.
Amid my well-known grove,
Where mineral fountains vainly bear
The boasted name, and titles fair,
Why fcorns thy foot to rove?
Thou hear'ft the fportfman's claim;
Enabling him, with idle noife,
To drown the Mufe's melting voice,
And fright the timorous game.
Is thought thy foe? adieu,
Ye midnight lamps! ye curious tomes!
Mine eye o'er hills and valleys roams,
And deals no more with you.

Is it the clime you flee?
Yet, 'midft his unremitting fnows,
The poor Laponian's bofom glows;
And fhares bright rays from, thee.
There was, there was a time,
When, though I fcorn'd thy guardian care,
Nor made a vow, nor faid a prayer,

I did not rue the crime.

Who then more bleft than I?
When the glad fchool-boy's task was done,
And forth, with jocund fprite, I run
To freedom, and to joy?

How jovial then the day!
What fince have all my labours found,
Thus climbing life, to gaze around,
That can thy loss ?
repay

Wert thou, alas! but kind,
Methinks no frown that fortune wears,
Nor leffen'd hopes, nor growing cares,
Could fink my chearful mind.

Whate'er my ftars include;
What other breafts convert to pain,
My towering mind fhall foon difdain,
Should fcorn-Ihgratitude!

Repair this mouldering cell,

And bleft with objects found at home,
And envying none theirfairer dome,
How pleas'd my foul fhould dwell;

Temperance should guard the doors; From room to room fhould memory tray, And ranging all in neat array,

Enjoy her pleafing stores

There let them reft unknown, The types of many a pleafing fcene: But to preferve them bright or clean, Is thine, fair Queen! alone.

Y

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