AN

Irregular O DE after SICKNESS, 1749.

T

-Melius, cum venerit ipfa, canemus.

OO long a ftranger to repose,

At length from pain's abhorred couch I rofe, And wander'd forth alone;

To court once more the balmy breeze,

And catch the verdure of the trees,

'Twas from a bank with panfies gay
I hail'd 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 shore :

For

For fure I heard the tender fighs,

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

To that unjoyous clime,

Torn from the fight of these 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 jasmin's breath divine,
Convey the woodbine's rich perfume,
Nor fpare the sweet-leaft eglantine.
And may'ft thou fhun the rugged storm
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 earth, the vulgar crew,

Anxious for futile gains beneath me ftray, And feek with erring ftep contentment's obvious way.

Come, gentle air! and thou celestial 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 praife."

The

The gentle air allow'd my claim 3 And, more to chear my drooping frame She mix'd the balm of opening flowers; Such as the bee, with chymic powers, From HYBLA's fragrant hills inhales, Or fcents SABEA's blooming vales. But ah! the nymphs that heal the penfive mind, By prefcripts more refin'd,

Neglect their votary's anxious moan: Oh, how should they relieve?-the muses all were flown.

By flowery plain, or woodland fhades,
I fondly fought the charming maids ;
By woodland fhades, or flow'ry 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 L****'s honour'd bower.

Ah foolish man! to feek the tuneful maids
On other plains, or near lefs verdant shades;

Scarce have my footsteps prefs'd the favour'd ground,
When founds etherial ftrike my ear;

At once celeftial forms appear;

My fugitives are found!

The mufes here attune their lyres,
Ah partial with unwonted fires;

3

Here,

Here, hand in hand, with careless mien,
The sportive graces trip the green.

But whilst 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 distant plain,
Glows not a shell on ADRIA's rocky shore,
But torn methought from native lands or feas,
From their arrangement, gain fresh pow'r to please.

And fome had bent the wildering maze,
Bedeckt with every fhrub that blows
And fome entwin'd the willing sprays,
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 fhow.
And now from every task withdrawn,
They met and frisk'd it o'er the lawn,

Ah! woe is me, faid I;

And ***'s hilly circuit heard my cry,

Have

Have I for this, with labour strove,
And lavish'd all my little store
To fence for you my fhady grove,

And scollop every winding fhore;

And fringe with every purple rofe,

The saphire stream 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 restlefs 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 scenes her skill shall raise,

Her lyre refound with nobler lays
Than ever you infpir'd.

Thus I my rage and grief display;
But vainly blame, and vainly mourn,
Nor will a grace or muse return

Till LUXBOROUGH lead the way.

Written

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