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Ere yet the cock to matins rings,
And the lark, with mounting wings,
The simple village-swain has warn'd
To shake off sleep, by labour earn'd;
Or on the rose's silken hem,
Aurora weeps her earliest gem;
Or, beneath the opening dawn,
Smiles the fair-extended lawn.
When in the soft encircled shade
Ye find reclin'd the gentle maid,
Each busy motion laid to rest,
And all compos'd her peaceful breast;
Swift paint the fair internal scene,
The phantom labours of your reign;
The living imagery adorn

With all the limnings of the morn,
With all the treasures Nature keeps
Conceal'd below the forming deeps; .
Or dress'd in the rich waving pride,
That covers the green mountain's side,
Or blooms beneath the amorous gale
In the wide-embosom'd vale.
Let powerful Music too essay
The magic of her hidden lay:

While each harsh thought away shall fly
Down the full stream of harmony,
Compassion mild shall fill their place,
Each gentle minister of grace,
Pity that often melts to love,
Let weeping Pity kind improve
The soften'd heart, prepar'd to take
Whate'er impressions Love shall make,
Oh! in that kind, that sacred hour,
When Hate, when Anger have no pow'r;
When sighing Love, mild simple boy,
Courtship sweet, and tender joy,
Alone possess the fair-one's heart;
Let me then, Fancy, bear my part,

Oh goddess! how I long t' appear;
The hour of dear success draws near:
See where the crowding Shadows wait;
Haste and unfold the ivory gate:
Ye gracious forms, employ your aid,
Come in my anxious look array'd,
Come Love, come Hymen, at my pray'r
Led by blithe Hope, ye decent pair
By mutual confidence combin'd,
As erst in sleep I saw you join'd.
Fill my eyes with heart-swell'd tears,
Fill my breast with heart-born fears,
Half-utter'd vows and half suppress'd,
Part look'd and only wish'd the rest;
Make sighs, and speaking sorrows prove,
Suffering much, how much I love;
Make the Muses' lyre complain,
Strung by me in warbled strain;
Let the melodious numbers flow
Powerful of a lover's woe,
Till by the tender Orphean art,

I through her ear should gain her heart.
Now, Fancy, now the fit is o'er;

I feel my sorrows vex no more:
But when condemn'd again to mourn,
Fancy, to my aid return.

ODE II.

BEGONE, pursuits so vain and light; Knowlege, fruitless of delight;

Lean Study, sire of sallow Doubt,
I put thy musing taper out:
Fantastic all, a long adieu;

For what has love to do with you!
For, lo, I go where Beauty fires,
To satisfy my soul's desires;
For, lo, I seek the sacred walls
Where Love, and gentle Beauty, calls:
For me she has adorn'd the room,
For me has shed a rich perfume:
Has she not prepar'd the tea?
The kettle boils-she waits for me.
I come, nor single, but along
Youthful Sports a jolly throng!
Thoughtless joke, and infant wiles;
Harmless wit, and virgin smiles;
Tender words, and kind intent;
Languish fond, and blaudishment;
Yielding curtsy, whisper low;
Silken blush, with checks that glow;
Chaste desires, and wishes meet;
Thin clad Hope, a foot-man fleet;
Modesty, that turns aside,

And backward strives her form to hide;
Healthful Mirth, still gay and young,
And Meekness with a maiden's tongue;
Satire, by good humour dress'd
In a many-colour'd vest:

And enter leaning at the door,

Who send'st thy flaunting page before,
The roguish boy of kind delight,
Attendant on the lover's night,
Fair his ivory shuttle flies

Through the bright threads of mingling dyes,
As swift his rosy fingers move

To knit the silken cords of love;
And stop who softly-stealing goes
Occasion high on her tiptoes,

Whom youth with watchful look espies,
To seize the forelock ere she flies,
Ere he her bald pate shall survey,
And well-plied heels to run away.

But, anxious Care, be far from hence;
Vain surmise, and alter'd sense;
Misshapen doubts, the woes they bring;
And Jealousy, of fiercest sting;
Despair, that solitary stands,
And wrings a halter in his hands;
Flattery, false and hollow found,

And Dread, with eye still looking round;
Avarice, bending under pelf:
Conceit, still gazing on herself:
O Love! exclude high-crested Pride,
Nymph of Amazonian stride:

Nor in these walls, like waiting-maid,
Be Curiosity survey'd,

That to the key-hole lays her ear,
Listening at the door to hear;
Nor father Time, unless he's found
In triumph led by Beauty bound,
Fore'd to yield to Vigour's stroke,
His blunted scythe and hour-glass broke.
But come, all ye who know to please;
Inviting glance, and downy ease;
The heart-born joy, the gentle care;
Soft-breathed wish, and pow'r of prayer ;
The simple vow, that means no ill;
Believing Quiet, submissive Will;
Constancy of meekest mind,
That suffers loug, and still is kind;

All ye who put our woes to flight;
All ye who minister delight;
Nods, and wreaths, and becks, and tips;
Meaning winks, and roguish trips;
Fond deceits, and kind surprises;
Sudden sinks, and sudden rises;
Laughs, and toys, and gamesome fights;
Jolly dance, and girds, and flights:
Then, to make me wholly blest,
Let me be there a welcome guest.

ODE III.

Immortalia ne speres, monet annus

HOR.

Now Spring begins her smiling round,
Lavish to paint th' enamell'd ground;
The birds exalt their cheerful voice,
And gay on every bough rejoice.
The lovely Graces, hand in hand,
Knit in Love's eternal band,
With dancing step at early dawn,
Tread lightly o'er the dewy lawn.
Where'er the youthful sisters move,
They fire the soul to genial love.
Now, by the river's painted side,
The swain delights his country bride,
While, pleas'd, she hears his artless vows:
Above the feather'd songster wooes.
Soon will the ripen'd Summer yield
Her various gifts to every field;
Soon fruitful trees, a beauteous show,
With ruby-tinctur'd births shall glow;
Sweet smells, from beds of lilies borne,
Perfume the breezes of the morn.
The sunny day, and dewy night,
To rural play my fair invite;
Soft on a bank of violets laid,
Cool she enjoys the evening shade;
The sweets of Summer feast her eye,
Yet soon, soon will the Summer fly.
Attend, my lovely maid, and know
To profit by the moral show:
Now young and blooming thou art seen,
Fresh on the stalk, for ever green;
Now does th' unfolded bud disclose
Full blown to sight the blushing rose:
Yet, once the sunny season past,
Think not the coz'ning scene will last;
Let not the flatterer Hope persuade:
Ah! must I say that this will fade?

For see the Summer posts away, Sad emblem of our own decay. Now Winter, from the frozen north, Drives his iron chariot forth: His grisly hand in icy chains Fair Tweda's silver flood constrains: Cast up thy eyes, how bleak and bare He wanders on the tops of Yare! Behold his footsteps dire are seen Confess'd on many a withering green. Griev'd at the sight, when thou shalt see A snowy wreath clothe every tree, Frequenting now the stream no more, Thou fly'st, displeas'd, the barren shore. When thou shalt miss the flowers that grew But late to charm thy ravish'd view,

"Shall I, ah horrid !" wilt thou say, "Be like to this another day?"

Yet, when in snow and dreary frost The pleasure of the field is lost, To blazing hearths at home we run, And fires supply the distant Sun; In gay delights our hours employ, We do not lose but change our joy; Happy abandon every care, To lead the dance, to court the fair, To turn the page of ancient bards, To drain the bowl, and deal the cards. But when the beauteous white and red From the pale ashy cheek is fled; When wrinkles dire, and age severe, Make beauty fly we know not where: The fair whom Fates unkind disarm, Have they for ever ceas'd to charm? Or is there left some pleasing art, To keep secure a captive heart?

"Unhappy Love!" might lovers say, "Beauty, thy food, does swift decay; When once that short-liv'd stock is spent, What art thy famine can prevent? Virtues prepare with early care, That Love may live on Wisdom's fare; Though Ecstacy with Beauty flies, Esteem is born when Beauty dies. Happy to whom the Fates decree The gift of Heav'n in giving thee: Thy beauty shall his youth engage; Thy virtues shall delight his age."

ODE IV.

ON THE NEW YEAR. 1739.

JANUS, who, with sliding pace,
Run'st a never-ending race,
And driv'st about, in prone career,
The whirling circle of the year,
Kindly indulge a little stay,

I beg but one swift hour's delay.
O! while th' important minutes wait,
Let me revolve the books of fate;

See what the coming year intends

To me, my country, kind and friends.

Then may'st thou wing thy flight, and go,

To scatter blindly joys and woe;

Spread dire disease, or purest health,

And, as thou list'st, grant place or wealth.

This hour, withheld by potent charms,

Ev'n Peace shall sleep in Pow'r's mad arms;

Kings feel their inward torments less,

And for a moment wish to bless.

Life now presents another scene, The same strange farce to act again; Again the weary human play'rs Advance, and take their several shares: Clodius riots, Cæsar fights, Tully pleads, and Maro writes, Ammon's fierce son controls the globe, And Harlequin diverts the mob. To Time's dark cave the year retreats, These hoary unfrequented seats; There from his loaded wing he lays The months, the minutes, hours and days Then flies, the Seasons in his train, To compass round the year again.

See there, in various heaps combin'd, The vast designs of human-kind; Whatever swell'd the statesman's thought, The unischiefs mad ambition wrought, Public revenge and hidden guilt, The blood by secret murder spilt, Friendships to sordid interest given,

And ill-match'd hearts, ne'er pair'd in Heaven; What Avarice, to crown his store, Stole from the orphan, and the poor; Or Luxury's more shameful waste, Squander'd on th' unthankful feast. Ye kings, and guilty great, draw near; Before this awful court appear: Bare to the Muse's piercing eye The secrets of all mortals lie; She, strict avenger, brings to light Your crimes conceal'd in darkest night; As Conscience, to her trust most true, Shall judge between th' oppress'd and you. This casket shows, ye wretched train, How often Merit sued in vain. See, there, undry'd, the widow's tears; See, there, unsooth'd the orphan's fears: Yet, look, what mighty sums appear, The vile profusion of the year. Could'st thou not, impious Greatness, give The smallest alms, that Want might live? And yet, how many a large repast Pall'd the rich glutton's sickly taste! One table's vain intemperate load, With ambush'd death, and sickness strow'd, Had blest the cottage' peaceful shade, And given its children health and bread: The rustic sire, and faithful spouse, With each dear pledge of honest vows, Had, at the sober-tasted meal, Repeated oft the grateful tale;

Had hymn'd, in native language free,

The song of thanks to Heaven and thee;

A music that the great ne'er hear,
Yet sweeter to th' internal ear
Than any soft seducing note

E'er thrill'd from Farinelli's throat.

Let's still search on--This bundle's large.
What's here? 'Tis Science' plaintive charge.
Hear Wisdom's philosophic sigh,
(Neglected all her treasures lie)
That none her secret haunts explore,
To learn what Plato taught before;
Her sons seduc'd to turn their parts
To Flattery's more thriving arts;
Refine their better sense away
And join Corruption's flag, for pay.
See his reward the gamester share,
Who painted moral Virtue fair;
Inspir'd the minds of generous youth
To love the simple mistress Truth;
The patriot path distinctly show'd,
That Rome and Greece to glory trode;
That self-applause is noblest fame,
And kings may greatness link to shame,
While honesty is no disgrace,

And Peace can smile without a place.
Hear too Astronomy repine,

Who taught unnumber'd worlds to shine;
Who travels boundless ether through,
And brings the distant orbs to view.
Can she her broken glass repair,
Though Av'rice has her all to spare?

What mighty secrets had been found,
Was Virtue mistress of five pound?
Yet see where, given to Wealth and Pride,
A bulky pension lies beside.

Avaunt then, Riches; no delay;

I spurn th' ignoble heaps away.
What though your charms can purchase all
The giddy honours of this ball;
Make Nature's germans all divide,
And haughty peers renounce their pride;
Can buy proud Flavia's sordid smile,
Or ripe for fate, this destin'd isle.
Though Greatness condescends to pray,
Will Time indulge one hour's delay,
Or give the wretch intent on pelf,
One moment's credit with himself?
Virtue, that true from false discerns,
The vulgar courtly phrase unlearns,
Superior far to Fortune's frown,
Bestows alone the stable crown,

The wreath from honour's root that springs,
That fades upon the brows of kings.

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"But late, forlorn, dejected, pale,

A prey to each insulting foe;

I saught the grove and gloomy vale,
To vent in solitude my woe;

Now to my hand the balance fair restor❜d;
Once more 1 wield on high the imperial sword:

"What arm has this deliverance wrought?
'Tis he! the gallant youth appears;

O warm in fields, and cool in thought!
Beyond the slow advance of years!

Haste, let me, rescued now from future harms,
Strain close the filial virtue in my arius.

"Early I nurs'd this royal youth,
Ah! ill detain'd on foreign shores;
I fill'd his mind with love of truth,
With fortitude and wisdom's stores:

For when a noble action is decreed,
Heav'n forms the hero for the destin'd deed.

"Nor could the soft seducing charms

Of mild Hesperia's blooming soil E'er quench his noble thirst of arms, Of generous deeds and honest toil;

Fix'd with the warmth a country love imparts,
He fled their weakness, but admir'd their arts.
"With him I plough'd the stormy main;
My breath inspir'd th' auspicious gale;
Reserv'd for Gladsmuir's glorious plain,
Through dangers wing'd his daring sail: [pose
Where, form'd with inborn worth, he durst op-
His single valour to an host of foes.

"He came! he spoke! and all around,
As swift as Heav'n's quick-darted flame,
Shepherds turn'd warriors at the sound,
And every bosom beat for fame;

They caught heroic ardour from his eyes,
And at his side the willing heroes rise.
"Rouse, England! rouse, Fame's noblest son,
In all thy ancient splendour shine;
If I the glorious work begun,

Olet the crowning palm be thine:

I bring a prince, for such is Heav'n's decree,
Who overcomes but to forgive and free.

"So shall fierce wars and tumults cease,
While Plenty crowns the smiling plain;
And Industry, fair child of peace,
Shall in each crowded city reign;

So shall these happy realms for ever prove
The sweets of union, liberty, and love."

SONGS.

YE shepherds and nymphs, that adorn the gay plain, [strain; Approach from your sports, and attend to my Amongst all your number a lover so true Was ne'er so undone, with such bliss in his view.

Was ever a nymph so hard-hearted as mine? She knows me sincere, and she sees how I pine; She does not disdain me, nor frown in her wrath, But calmly and mildly resigns me to death.

She calls me her friend, but her lover denies:
She smiles when I'm cheerful, but hears not my
A bosom so flinty, so gentle an air, [sighs;
Inspires me with hope, and yet bids me despair!

I fall at her feet, and implore her with tears:
Her answer confounds, while her manner endears;
When softly she tells me to hope no relief,
My trembling lips bless her, in spite of my grief.

By night, while I slumber, still haunted with care,
I start up in anguish and sigh for the fair:
The fair sleep in peace, may she ever do so!
And only when dreaming imagine my woe.

Then gaze at a distance, nor farther aspire; Nor think she should love, whom she cannot admire;

Hush all thy complaining, and dying her slave, Commend her to Heav'n, and thyself to the grave.

AH the shepherd's mournful fate,

When doom'd to love, and doom'd to languish,
To bear the scornful fair-one's hate,
Nor dare disclose his anguish.
Yet eager looks, and dying sighs,
My secret soul discover;

While rapture trembling through mine eyes,
Reveals how much I love her.

The tender glance, the red'ning cheek,
O'erspread with rising blushes,

A thousand various ways they speak
A thousand various wishes.

For oh! that form so heavenly fair,

Those languid eyes so sweetly smiling, That artless blush, and modest air,

So fatally beguiling.

Thy every look, and every grace,

So charm whene'er I view thee; Till death o'ertake me in the chase, Still will my hopes pursue thee: Then when my tedious hours are past, Be this last blessing given, Low at thy feet to breathe my last, And die in sight of Heaven.

ADIEU, ye pleasant sports and plays,

Farewel, each song that was diverting;
Love tunes my pipe to mournful lays,
I sing of Delia and of Damon's parting.

Long had he lov'd, and long conceal'd
The dear, tormenting, pleasant passion,
Till Delia's mildness had prevail'd

On him to show his inclination.

Just as the fair-one seem'd to give
A patient ear to his love-story,
Damon must his Delia leave,
To go in quest of toilsome glory.

Half-spoken words hung on his tongue,
Their eyes refus'd the usual greeting;
And sighs supply'd their wonted song,
These charming sounds were chang'd to werp.

A. Dear idol of my soul, adieu!

Cease to lament, but ne'er to love me, While Damon lives, he lives for you, No other charms shall ever move me.

B. Alas! who knows, when parted far

From Delia, but you may deceive her? The thought destroys my heart with care, Adieu, my dear, I fear for ever.

A. If ever I forget my vows,

May then my guardian angel leave me: And more to aggravate my woes,

Be you so good as to forgive me.

[ine.

YE shepherds of this pleasant vale
Where Yarrow streams along,
Forsake your rural toils, and join

In my triumphant song.

She grants, she y elds; one heavenly smile
Atones her long delays,

One happy minute crowns the pains
Of many suffering days.

Raise, raise the victor-notes of joy,

These suffering days are o'er,
Love satiates now his boundless wish
From beauty's boundless store;
No doubtful hopes, no anxious fears
This rising calm destroy,

Now every prospect smiles around
All opening into joy.

The Sun with double lustre shone

That dear consenting hour,
Brighten'd each hill, and o'er each vale
New colour'd every flower;
The gales their gentle sighs withheld,
No leaf was seen to move,

The hovering songsters round were mute,
And wonder hush'd the grove.

The hills and dales no more resound
The lambkin's tender cry,
Without one murmur Yarrow stole
In dimpling silence by ;
All nature seem'd in still repose

Her voice alone to hear,
That gently roll'd the tuneful wave,

She spoke and bless'd my ear.

"Take, take, whate'er of bliss or joy You fondly fancy mine, Whate'er of joy or bliss I boast

Love renders whoily thine;" The woods struck up, to the soft gale The leaves were seen to move, The feather'd choir resum'd their voice, And wonder filled the grove.

The hills and dales again resound

The lambkins tender cry,
With all his murmurs Yarrow trill'd
The song of triumph by ;
Above, beneath, around, all on
Was verdure, beauty, song,

I snatch'd her to my trembling breast,
All nature joy'd along.

Go, plaintive sounds! and to the fair
My secret wounds impart,

Tell all I hope, tell all I fear,
Each motion in my heart.

But she, methinks, is list'ning now
To some enchanting strain,
The smile that triumphs o'er her brow
Seems not to heed my pain.

Yes, plaintive sounds, yet, yet delay,
Howe'er my love repine,
Let that gay minute pass away,
The next perhaps is thine.

Yes, plaintive sounds, no longer crost,
Your griefs shall soon be o'er,
Her cheek, undimpled now, has lost
The smile it lately wore.

Yes, plaintive sounds, she now is yours,
'Tis now your time to move;
Essay to soften all her powers,
And be that softness, love.

Cease, plaintive sounds, your task is done,
That anxious tender air

Proves o'er her heart the conquest won,
I see you melting there.

Return, ye smiles, return again,
Return each sprightly grace,

I yield up to your charming reign,
All that enchanting face.

I take no outward show amiss
Rove where they will, her eyes,
Still let her smiles each shepherd bless,
So she but hear my sighs.

You ask me, charming fair,
Why thus I pensive go,
From whence proceeds my care,
What nourishes my woe?

Why seek'st the cause to find
Of ills that I endure?
Ah! why so vainly kind,
Unless resolv'd to cure?

It needs no magic art

To know whence my alarms; Examine your own heart,

Go read them in your charms. Whene'er the youthful quire

Along the vale advance, To raise, at your desire,

The lay, or form the dance:
Beneficent to each,

You some kind grace afford,
Gentle in deed or speech,
A smile or friendly word.
Whilst on my love you put
No value-or the same,
As if my fire was but
Some paltry village flame.

At this my colour flies,

My breast with sorrow heaves;

The pain I would disguise,

Nor man nor maid deceives.

My love stands all display'd,
Too strong for art to hide,
How soon the heart's betray'd
With such a clue to guide!
How cruel is my fate,

Affronts I could have borne,
Found comfort in your hate,

Or triumph'd in your scorn:

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