Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train, She, where the pleafes kind or coy, Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows, Or purple heath is ting'd in vain : 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! The towering Mufe endures not to disclose; More comprehenfive and more free, Her lavish charter, tafte, appropriates all we fee. Let gondolas their painted flags unfold, In nuptual fort, with bridal gold, Ev'n Adria fcorns the mock embrace, To fome lone hermit on the mountain's brow, With all her myrtle fhores in dower. Enjoys triumphant every grace, 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, Should fame's wide-echoing trumpet swell, 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, Or fmoothe below the verdant mead; 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. 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? Shail bid fair pleasure's rightful claim appear. Some born to fhun the folemn strife; 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 And, emulous of nature's power, er; Chang'd the complexion's native hue, A while her magic ftrikes the novel eye, A while each dazzled maniac roves And drink the cup of thirst, and eat the bread of toil. But foon the pageant fades away! Yes, here alone did highest heaven ordain Her impulfe nothing may reftrain- 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, For dimpled brook and leafy grove, 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 With mild effective beams! Who bands of fair ideas bring, Theirs is the rural blifs without alloy, What though nor fabled dryad haunt their The rebel feeks her lawful queen, Nature exalt the mound where art fhall build; That nothing fhould my foul inspire On thee the drooping Muse attends; 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 ! Let no harth difonance difturb the morn, 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 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; Which then my fettive temples crown'd; That fhines on Cherwell's verdant fide; But fure, to foothe our youthful dreams, 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 Each ambitious thought refigning, While the nymphs and fwains delighted 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, Said to fade when Chloe's near; Move fo fprightly look fo fair; Then had been my thepherd's heart. Free from fetters, might I rove: 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 And flocks reviving felt no more When from an hazle's artless bower "Let fops with fickle falfehood range While weeping maids lament their change, 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 And every fhining glance difplay'd Soft as the wild-duck's tender young, And glittering near its fide. Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom: Somewhat too folicitious about her man- The little halcyon's azure plume S' ner of expreffion. URVEY, my fair! that lucid ftream, In loofe difheveld ringlets flow: With native plants enamel'd o'er; To change the bloom thy cheeks difclofe; With fresh vermilion paint the rofe. And will fhe, Laura, pleafe fo well? Oh ever keep thy native eafe, By no pedantic 'aw confin'd! Was never half fo blue. Her fhape was like the rced fo fleek, Her dimpled fmile, her blufhing cheek, And fhadowing rock and woods confpir'd Should from a nymph fo fweet; Conduct my wandering feet! As I would prove to mine. 'Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow, To her alone I gave my youth, And vow my future care. And And when this vow fhall faithlefs prove, 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; That haunt ambition's guilty fhrine; And thou, puiffant queen! be kind: To weave for thee the rural bower; The sweets of friendship and of love. Age not forbids thy ftay; Thou yet might'it act the friendly part; Thou fcorn'ft the city-air; I breathe fresh gales o'er furrow'd ground, I plunge into the wave; Thou wilt not deign to fave. Is it the clime you flee? I did not rue the crime. Who then more bleft than I? How jovial then the day! Wert thou, alas! but kind, Whate'er my ftars include; Repair this mouldering cell, And bleft with objects found at home, 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 |