An altar on its bank fhall rife, Where oft thy votary shall be found 3 What time pale autumn lulls the skies, And fickening verdure fades around. Ye bufy race, ye factious train, That haunt ambition's guilty shrine ; No more perplex the world in vain, But offer here your vows with mine. And thou, puiffant queen! be kind : To weave for thee the rural bow'r; Diffolve in fleep each anxious care; And only let me wake to share VOL. 1. K ODE ODE to HEALTH, 1730. HEALTH, capricious maid! Why doft thou fhun my peaceful bow'r, Where I had hope to fhare thy pow'r, And bless thy lafting aid? Since thou, alas art flown, It 'vails not whether muse or grace, Age not forbids thy stay; Thou yet might'ft act the friendly part; Thou yet might'ft raise this languid heart; 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 save. Amid Amid my well-known grove, Where mineral fountains vainly bear Thy boasted name, and titles fair, Why fcorns thy foot to rove? Thou hear'st the sportsman's claim; To drown the mufe's melting voice, Is thought thy foe? adieu Ye midnight lamps! ye curious tomes! Is it the clime you flee? There was, there was a time, I did not rue the crime. Who then more bleft than I? When the glad school-boy's taik was done, To freedom, and to joy? How jovial then the day! Wert thou, alas! but kind, Methinks no frown that fortune wears, Whate'er my ftars include; Repair this mouldering cell, Temperance fhould guard the doors; There let them reft unknown, The types of many a pleafing fcene; But to preferve them bright or clean, Is thine, fair queen! alone. To a LADY of QUALITY, Fitting up her LIBRARY, 1738. A H! what is fcience, what is art, Or what the pleasure these impart? What can the tedious tomes bestow, Say, wretched fancy! thus refin'd The polish'd bard, of genius vain, Sages, with irksome waste of time, |