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TO a LADY of QUALITY,* | The fields have loft their lovely dye;

A

Fitting up her Library. 1738.

H! what is fcience, what is art,

Or what the pleasure these impart; Ye trophies, which the learn'd purfue Through endless fruitless toils adieu! What can the tedious tomés beftow, To foothe the miseries they show? What, like the blifs for him decreed, Who tends his flock, and tunes his reed! Say, wretched fancy! thus refin'd From all that glads the simpleft hind, How rare that object which supplies A charm for too discerning eyes! The polish'd bard, of genius vain, Endures a deeper fense of pain: As each invading blast devours The richest fruits, the fairest flowers. Sages, with irksome waste of time, The fteep afcent of knowledge climb; Then from the towering heights they fcale, Behold contentment range-the vale. Yet why, Afteria, tell us why We fcorn the crowd, when you are nigh; Why then does reason seem so fair, Why learning, then, deferve our care? Who can unpleas'd your fhelves behold, While you fo fair a proof unfold What force the brighteft genius draws From polifh'd wifdom's written laws? Where are our humbler tenets flown? What ftrange perfection bids us own That blifs with toilfome fcience dwells, And happieft he, who most excclls?

Upon a VISIT to the fame, in WINTER, 1748.

fair Afteria's blifsful plains,
Where ever blooming fancy reigns,
How pleas'd we pass the winter's day;
And charm the dull ey'd fpleen away!
No linnet, from the leafless bough,
Pours forth her note melodious now;
But all admire Afteria's tongue,
Nor with the linnet's vernal fong.
No flower's emit their tranûent rays:
Yet fure Afteria's wit displays
More various tints, more glowing lines,
And with perennial beauty fhines.

Though rifled groves and fetter'd ftreams
But ill befriend a poet's dreams:
Afteria's prefence wakes the lyre;
And well fupplies poetic fire.

Lady Lu borough.

No chearful azure decks the sky;
Yet till we blefs the louring day;'
Afteria fmiles-and all is gay.
Hence let the mufe no more presume,
To blame the winter's dreary gloom;
Accuse his loitering hours no more;
But ah! their envious hafte deplore!
For foon, from wit and friendship's reign,
The focial hearth, the sprightly vein,
I go-to meet the coming year,
On favage plains, and deferts drear!

I go-to feed on pleasures flown,
Nor find the spring my lofs atone
But 'mid the flowery fweets of May
With pride recal this winter's day.

An Irregular ODE after SICKNESS

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1749.

-Melius, cum venerit ipfa, canemus."

Too long a franger to repofered couch I rofe

And wander'd forth alone;

To court once more the balmy breeze,
And catch the verdure of the trees,

Ere yet their charms were flowǹ.
'Twas from a bank with panfies gay
I haild once more the chearful day,
The fun's forgotten beams:
O fun! how pleafing were thy rays.
Reflected from the polish'd face

Of yon refulgent streams!
Rais'd by the scene, my feeble tongue
Effay'd again the fweets of fong :
And thus, in feeble strains and flow,
The loitering numbers 'gan to flow.
"Come, gentle air! my languid limbs restore,
And bid me welcome from the Stygian fhore:
For fure I heard the tender fighs,

I feem'd to join the plaintive cries Of hapless youths, who through the myrtle grove Bewail for ever their unfinish'd love:

To that unjoyous clime,

Torn from the fight of thefe etherial skies;
Debarr'd the luftre of their Delia's eyes;

And banish'd in their prime.

Come, gentle air! and, while the thickets bloom,
Convey the jasmine's breath divine;
Convey the woodbine's rich perfume,
Nor fpare the fweet-leaft eglantine.
And may'st thou fhun the rugged ftorm
Till health her wonted charms explain,
With rural pleasure in her train,
To greet me in her faireft form.

While from this lofty mount I view
The fons of wealth, the vulgar crew,
Anxious for futile gains beneath me ftray,
And feek with erring ftep contentment's obviou

way.

Comes

Come, gentle air! and thou, celeftial Muse,
Thy genial flame infufe;

Enough to lend a penfive bofom'aid,

And gild retirement's gloomy fhade;
Enough to rear fuch ruftic lays

As foes may flight, but partial friends will praise."
The gentle air allow'd my claim;

And, more to chear my drooping frame,
She mix'd the balm of opening flowers;
Such as the bee, with chemic powers,
From Hybla's fragrant hills inhales,
Or fcents Sabea's blooming vales.

But ah! the nymphs that heal the penfive mind
By prescripts more refin'd,

Neglect their votary's anxious moan

Oh, how should they relieve?—The Mufes all were flown.

By flowery plain or woodland fhades,
I fondly fought the charming maids;
By woodland fhades, or flowery plain,
I fought them, faithlefs maids! in vain!
When lo! in happier hour,

I leave behind my native mead.

To range where zeal and friendship lead, To vifit Luxborough's honour'd bower. Ah foolish man! to feek the tuneful maids On other plains, or near lefs verdant fhades; Scarce have my foot-steps prefs'd the favour'd

ground,

When founds etherial ftrike my ear;
At once celestial forms appear;

My fugitives are found!

The Mufes here attune their lyres,
Ah partial! with unwonted fires;
Here, hand in hand, with careless mien,
The fportive Graces trip the green.
But whilft I wander'd o'er a scene so fair,
Too well at one furvey I trace,
How every Mufe, and every Grace,

Had long employ'd their care.
Lurks not a stone enrich'd with lively stain,
Blooms not a flower amid the vernal store,
Falls not a plume on India's diftant plain,

Glows not a fhell on Adria's rocky fhore.
But, torn methought from native lands and feas,
From their arrangement gain fresh power to
please.

And some had bent the wildering maze,

Bedeck'd with every fhrub that blows;
And some entwin'd the willing fprays,

To fhield th' illuftrious dame's repose:
Others had grac'd the sprightly dome,
And taught the portrait where to glow;
Others arrang'd the curious tome;
Or, mid the decorated space,
Affign'd the laurel'd bust a place,
And given to learning all the pomp of show.
And now from every task withdrawn,
They met and frisk'd it o'er the lawn.

Ah! woe is me, said I;

And ***'s hily circuit heard my cry,
Have I for this, with labour strove,
And lavish'd all my little ftore

To fence for you my fhaly grove,

And fcollop every winding fhore; And fringe with every purple rose,

The fapphire ftream that down my valley flows?

Ah! lovely treacherous maids!

To quit unfeen my votive shades,
When pale disease, and torturing pain,
Had torn me from the breezy plain,
And to a restless couch confin'd,
Who ne'er your wonted tasks declin'd.
She needs not your officious aid
To fwell the fong, or plan the shade;
By genuine fancy fir'd,

Her native genius guides her hand,
And while fhe marks the fage command,
More lovely fcenes her skill shall raise,
Her lyre refound with nobler lays

Than ever you inspir'd.
Thus I may rage and grief display;
But vainly blame, and vainly mourn,
Nor will a Grace or Mufe return
Till Luxborough lead the way,

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From one ufkill'd in verfe, or in defigns;
Oft has good- ature been the fool's defence,
And honeft meaning gilded want of fenfe.

Fear not, though flowers and beauty grace my lay,

To praile one fair, another fhall decay.
No lily, bright with painted foliage, here,
Shall only languish, when Selinda's near:
A Fate revers d'no fmiling rofe shall know,
Nor with reflected luftre doubly glow.
Praises which languish when apply'd to you,
Where flattering ichemes feem obviously true.

Yet fure your fex is near to flowers ally'd,
Alike in foftness, and alike in pride:
Foes to retreat, and ever fond to fhine,
Both rush to danger, and the fhades decline;
Expos'd, the fhort-liv'd pageants of a day;
To painted flies or glittering fops a prey:
Chang'd with each wind, nor one short day the
fame,

Each clouded sky affects their tender frame,
In glaring Chloe's man-like tafte and mien,
Are the grofs fplendors of the Tulip feen:
Diftant they ftrike, inelegantly gay,
To the near view no pleafing charms difplay,
To form the nymph, a vulgar wit muft join,
As coarfer foils will moft the flower refine.
Ophelia's beauties let the Jafmine paint,
Too faintly foft, too nicely elegant.

Y &

Around

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Around with feeming fanctity endued,
The Paffion-flower may best exprefs the Prude.
Like the gay Rofe, too rigid Silvia fhines,
While, like its guardian thorn, her virtue joins
Happy the nymph! from all their failures free,
Happy the nymph! in whom their charms agree.

Faint these productions, till you bid disclose,
The Pink new fplendors, and fresh tints the Rofe:
And yet condemned not trivial draughts like thefe,
Form'd to improve, and make ev'n trifles please.
A power like yours minuter beauties warms,
And yet can blast the most aspiring charms:
Thus, at the rays whence other objects fhine,
The taper fickens, and its flames decline.

When by your art the purple Violet lives,

And the pale Lily fprightlier charms receives:
Garters to me fhall glow inferior far,
And with lefs pleafing luftre fhine the star.

Let ferious trillers, fond of wealth or fame,'
On toils like thefe beflow too foft a name;
Each gentler art with wife indifference view,
And fcorn one trifle, millions to pursue:
More artful I, their specious schemes deride:
Fond to please you, by you in thefe employ d;
A nobler task, or more fublime defire,
Ambition ne'er could form, nor pride infpire:

The fweets of tranquil life and rural cafe
Amufe fecurely, nor lefs juftly pleafe.
Where gentle pleaafure fhows her milder power,
Or blooms in fruit, or fparkles in the flower;
Smiles in the groves, the raptur'd poet's theme;
Flows in the brook, his Naiad of the ftfeam;
Dawns, with each happier ftroke the pencil gives,
And, in each livelier image, fmiling lives;
Is heard, when Silvia ftrikes the warbling ftrings,
Selinda fpeaks, or Philomela fings:
Breathes with the morn; attends, propitious maid,
The evening ramble, and the noon day glade;
Some vifionary fair fhe cheats our view,
Then only vigorous, when she's feen like you.
Yet nature fome for fprightlier joys defign'd,
For brighter fcenes, with nicer care, refin'd,
When the gay jewel radiant ftreams fupplies,'
And vivid brilliants meet your brighter eyes;
When drefs and pomp around the fancy play,
By fortune's dazzling beauties borne away:
W theatres for you the fcenes forego,
And the box bows, obfequioufly low:
How dull the plan which indolence has drawn,
The moffy grotto, or the flowery lawn!
Though rofeate fcents in every wind exhale,
And fylvan warblers charm in every gale.

Of those be her's the choice, whom all approve; And whom, but thofe who envy, all must love: By nature model'd, by experience taught, To know and pity every female fault: Pleas'd ev'n to hear her fex's virtues fhewn, And blind to none's perfections but her own: Whilft, humble fair! of these too few fhe knows, Yet owns too many for the world's repofe : From wit's wild petulance ferenely free, Yet bleft in all that nature can decree.

Not like a fire, which, whilft it burns, alarms;
A modeft flame, that gently fhines and warms:
Whose mind, in every light, can charms display,
With wifdom ferious, and with humour gay;
Just as her eyes in each bright posture warm,
And fiercely strike, or languishingly charm:
Such are your horrours-mention'd to your cost,
Those least can hear them, who deferve them
most:

Yet ah forgive the lefs inventive Mufe,
If e'er the fing, a copious theme must chuse.

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BRING, Flora, bring thy treasures here,

The pride of all the blooming year;
And let me, thence, a garland frame,
To crown this fair, this peerless dame!

But ah! fince envious winter lours,
And Heweli meads refign their flowers,
Let art and friendship joint effay
Diffuse their flowerets, in her way.

Not nature can herself prepare
A worthy wreath for Lesbia's hair,
Whofe temper, like her forehead, fmooth,
Whose thoughts and accents form'd to foothe,
Whofe pleafing mien, and make refin'd,
Whofe artless breaft, and polish'd mind,
From all the nymphs of plain or grove,
Deferv'd and won my Plymouth's love.

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That magic fount-ill-judging maid! Shall caufe you foon to curfe the day You dar'd the fhafts of love invade ; And gave his arms redoubled sway. For in a ftream so wonderous clear,

When angry Cupid fearches round, Will not the radiant points appear?

Will not the furtive fpoils be found? Too foon they were; and every dart, Dipt in the Mufe's myftic fpring, Acquir'd new force to wound the heart; And taught at once to love and fing. Then farewel, ye Pierian quire;

For who will now your altars throng? From love we learn to fwell the lyre; And echo asks no fweeter fong.

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WAS not by beauty's aid alone,

'That love ufurp'd his airy throne,
His boafted power difplay'd;
'Tis kindness that secures his aim,
'Tis hope that feeds the kindling flame,
Which beauty first convey'd.

In Clara's eyes, the lightnings view;
Her lips with all the rofe's hue

Have all its fweets combin'd;
Yet vain the blush, and faint the fire,
'Till lips at once, and eyes confpire
To prove the charmer kind—

Though wit might gild the tempting fnare,
With fofteft accent, sweetest air,
By envy's felf admir'd:

If Lefbia's wit betray'd her scorn,
In vain might every Grace adorn
What every Muse infpir'd.
Thus airy Strephon tun'd his lyre-
He fcorn'd the pangs of wild defire,
Which love-fick fwains endure:
Refolv'd to brave the keenest dart;
Since frowns could never wound his heart;
And fmiles-muft ever cure.

But ah! how falfe thefe maxims prove,
How frail fecurity from love,
Experience hourly fhows!
Love can imagin'd fmiles fupply,
On every charming lip and eye
Eternal fweets beltows.

In vain we truit the fair-one's eyes;
In vain the fage explores the skies,
To learn from ftars his fate :
Till, led by fancy wide aftray,
He finds no planet mark his way;
Convinc'd and wife-too late.

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A

1

Tear bedews my Delia's eye,

VIRG.

To think yon playful kid muft die; From cryftal fpring and flowery mead, Muft, in his prime of life, recede! Erewhile, in fportive circles round

She faw him wheel, and frisk, and bound; From rock to rock pursue his way, And, on the fearful margin, play. Pleas'd on his various freaks to dwell, She faw him climb my ruftic cell: Thence eye my lawns with verdure brigh, And feem all ravish'd at the fight. She tells, with what delight he stood, To trace his features in the flood: Then skip'd aloof with quaint amaze; And then drew near again to gaze. She tells me how with eager speed He flew, to hear my vocal reed; And how with critic face profound, And stedfaft ear, devour'd the found. His every frolic, light as air Deferves the gentle Delia's care; And tears bedew her tender eye, To think the playful kid muft die.But knows my Delia, timely wife, How foon this blameless æra flies? While violence and craft fucceed; Unfair design, and ruthlefs deed! Soon would the vine his wounds deplore, And yield her purple gifts no more; Ah foon, eras'd from every grove Were Delia's name, and Strephon's love. No more thofe bowers might Strephon fee, Where first he fondly gaz'd on thee; No more thofe beds of flowerets find, Which for thy charming brows he twin'd. Each wayward paffion foon would tear His bofom, now fo void of care; And, when they left his ebbing vein, What, but infipid age, remain? Then mourn not the decrees of fate, That gave his life fo fhort a date; And I will join thy tendereft fighs, To think that yauth fo fwiftly flies!

SONGS

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SONGS,

And cruel 'twere a free-born fwaist,
A British youth, fhould vainly moan;

Written chiefly between the Years 1737 Who, fcornful of a tyrant's chain,

I

and 1742.

SONG I.

Told my nymph, I told her true,

My fields were [mall, my flocks were few;
While faultering accents fpoke my fear,
That Flavia might not prove fineere.
Of crops deftroy'd by vernal cold,
And vagrant sheep that left my fold:
Of these she heard, yet bore to hear;
And is not Flavia then fincere?
How chang'd by fortune's fickle wind,
The friends I lov'd became unkind,
She heard, and fhed a generous tear;
And is not Flavia then fincere ?
How, if the deign my love to bless,
My Flavia must not hope for drefs;
This too fhe heard, and smil'd to hear;
And Flavia fure must be fincere.

Go fhear your flocks, ye jovial swains,
Go reap the plenty of your plains;
Difpoil'd of all which you revere,
I know my Flavia's love's fincere.

Submits to yours, and yours alone. Nor pointed fpear, nor links of steel, Could e'er thofe gallant minds fubdue, Who beauty's wounds with pleasure feel, And boaft the fetters wrought by you.

SONG IV. The SKY-LARK.

Go

10, tuneful bird, that glad'ft the skies,
To Daphne's window speed thy way;
And there on quivering pinions rife,
And there thy vocal art display.

And if the deign thy notes to hear,
And if the praise thy matin fong,
Tell her, the founds that foothe her ear,
To Damon's native plains belong.
Tell her, in livelier plumes array'd,
The bird from Indian groves may shine;
But ask the lovely partial maid,
What are his notes compar'd to thine?
Then bid her treat yon witless beau

And all his flaunting race with scorn;
And lend an ear to Damon's woe,
Who fings her praife, and fins forlorn.

SONG II. The LANDSKIP.

HOW

WOW pleas'd within my native bowers Ere while I pass'd the day! Was ever fcene fo deck'd with flowers?

Were ever flowers fo gay?

How fweetly fmil'd the hill, the vale

And all the landskip round!
The river gliding down the dale!

The hill with beeches crown'd!
But now, when urg'd by tender woes
I fpeed to meet my dear,
That hill and ftream my zeal oppose,
And check my fond career.

No more, fince Daphne was my theme,
Their wonted charms I fee:
That verdant hill, and filver stream,
Divide my love and me.

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SONG V.

"Ah! ego non aliter triftes evincere morbos "Optarem, quam te fic quoqué velle putem."

Nevery tree, in every plain,,

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I trace the jovial spring in vain!
A fickly languor veils mine eyer,
And fast my waning vigour flies.
Nor flowery plain, nor budding tree,
That fmile on others, smile on me;
Mine eyes from death fhall court repose,
Nor shed a tear before they close.
What blifs to me can seasons bring?
Or what the needlefs pride of fpring?
The cyprefs bough, that suits the bier,
Retains its verdure all the year.

' is true, my vine so fresh and fair
Might claim a while my wonted care;
My rural store fome pleafure yield;
So white a flock, fo green a field!
My friends, that each in kindness vie1
Might well expect one parting figh;
Might well demand one tender tear;
For when was Damon unfincere?
But ere I ask once more to view
Yon fetting fun his race renew,
Inform me, fwains; my friends, declare,
Will pitying Delia join the prayer?

SONG

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