,

Or fhrubs fuliginously 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 some vapour'd fair.

But how must faithless art prevail,
Should all who taste our joy fincere,
To virtue, truth or science 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 sphere requires
Example for its giddy bands;

From these impartial heav'n demands
To spread the flame itself inspires;

To fift opinion's mingled mafs,

Impress a nation's tafte, and bid the fterling pafs.

Happy, thrice happy they,

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

With mild effective beams!

Who bands of fair ideas bring,
By folemn grott, or fhady fpring,

To join their pleafing dreams!

Theirs is the rural blifs without alloy,

They only that deferve, enjoy.

What

What tho' nor fabled dryad haunt their

Nor naiad near their fountains rove, Yet all embody'd to the mental fight, A train of fmiling virtues bright Shall there the wife retreat allow,

grove,

Shall twine triumphant palms to deck the wanderer'

[brow.

And though by faithlefs friends alarm'd,
Art have with nature wag'd presumptuous war;
By SEYMOUR'S winning influence charm'd,
In whom their gifts united shine,

No longer fhall their counfels jar.
'Tis hers to mediate the peace :

Near PERCY-lodge, with awe-ftruck mien,
The rebel feeks her lawful queen,
And havock and contention cease.
I fee the rival pow'rs combine,
And aid each other's fair defign;

Nature exalt the mound where art shall build;
Art shape the gay alcove, while nature paints the field.

Begin, ye fongfters of the grove!
O warble forth your nobleft lay;
Where SOMERSET Vouchfafes to rove
Ye leverets freely fport and play.

-Peace to the ftrepent horn!

Let no harsh diffonance disturb the morn,
No founds inelegant and rude
Her facred folitudes profanel

Unless

Unless her candour not exclude

The lowly fhepherd's votive strain,

Who tunes his reed amidst his rural chear, Fearful, yet not averfe, that SOMERSET fhould hear.

ODE to MEMORY. 1748.

Memory! celeftial maid!

Who glean ft the flow'rets cropt by time;

And, fuffering not a leaf to fade,

Preferv'ft the bloffoms of our prime ;
Bring, bring those 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 feftive temples crown'd.
And to my raptur'd ear convey
The gentle things fhe deign'd to fay.

And sketch with care the mufe's bow'r,
Where Isis rolls her filver tide;

Nor yet omit one reed or flow'r

That shines on CHERWELL'S verdant fide;
If fo thou may'ft thofe hours prolong,
When polish'd LYCON join'd my fong.

The

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 ftreams:
Or by thy foftening pencil fhewn,
Affume they beauties not their own?

And paint that sweetly vacant fcene,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My fpirits light, my foul ferene,

I breath'd in verfe one cordial vow :
That nothing should my foul inspire,
But friendship warm, and love entire.

Dull to the fenfe of new delight,

On thee the drooping mufe attends ;
As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight,
On thy expreffive pow'r depends;

Nor would exchange thy glowing lines,
To live the lord of all that fhines.

But let me chafe thofe vows away

Which at ambition's fhrine I made;

Nor ever let thy skill display

Those anxious moments, ill repaid : Oh! from my breast that season rase, And bring my childhood in its place.

Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,
And bring the hobby I bestrode;

誓

When

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 penfive fay,
Why did not these enjoyments laft?
How sweetly wafted I the day,

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

The PRINCESS ELIZABETH: A Ballad alluding to a story recorded of her, when fhe was prisoner at WOODSTOCK,1554,

ILL you hear how once repining

WIL

Great ELIZA captive lay?

Each ambitious thought refigning,
Foe to riches, pomp, and sway?

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 börn in vallies, Who would bid those scenes adieu ?

Stranger to the arts of malice,

Who would ever courts purfue?