An altar on its bank shall rife,

Where oft thy votary fhall 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 fhrine; No more perplex the world in vain, But offer here your vows with mine.

And thou, puiffant queen! be kind :
If e'er I fhar'd thy balmy pow'r;
If e'er I fway'd my active mind,
To weave for thee the rural bow'r ;

Diffolve in fleep each anxious care;
Each unavailing figh remove;

And only let me wake to fhare

The fweets of friendship and of love.

ODE to HEALTH, 1730.

O

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,
With tempting fmile, frequent the place:
I figh for thee alone.

Age not forbids thy stay;

Thou yet might'ft act the friendly part;

Thou yet might'ft raise this languid heart;
Why speed fo fwift away?

Thou fcorn'ft the city-air;

1 breathe fresh gales o'er furrow'd ground,
Yet haft not thou my wishes crown'd,
O falfe! O partial fair!

I plunge into the wave;
And tho' with pureft hands I raise
A rural altar to thy praise,

Thou wilt not deign to fave.

Amid

Amid my well-known grove, Where minéral fountains vainly bear Thy boafted name, and titles fair, Why scorns thy foot to rove?

Thou hear'ft the sportsman's claim;
Enabling him, with idle noife,

To drown the mufe's melting voice,
And fright the timorous game.

Is thought thy foe? adieu

Ye midnight lamps! ye curious tomes !
Mine eye o'er hills and valley roams,
And deals no more with you.

Is it the clime you flee?
Yet 'midst his unremitting fnows,
The poor LAPONIAN'S bofom glows;
And shares bright rays from thee.

There was, there was a time,
When tho' I fcorn'd thy guardian care,
Nor made a vow, nor faid a pray'r,

I did not rue the crime.

Who then more blest than I?

When the glad fchool-boy's tafk was done,
And forth, with jocund fprite, I run

To freedom, and to joy?

How jovial then the day!

What fince have all my labours found,
Thus climbing life, to gaze around,,
That can thy lofs repay?

Wert thou, alas! but kind, Methinks no frown that fortune wears, Nor leffen'd hopes, nor growing cares, Could fink my chearful mind.

Whate'er my stars include;

What other breasts convert to pain,
My tow'ring mind should soon disdain,
Should fcorn-Ingratitude!

Repair this mouldering cell,
And bleft with objects found at home,
And envying none their fairer dome,
How pleas'd my foul fhould dwell!

Temperance fhould guard the doors; From room to room should memory ftray, And, ranging all in neat array,

Enjoy her pleasing stores

There let them reft unknown,

The types of many a pleafing ftene;
But to preserve them bright or clean,

Is thine, fair queen! alone.

Το

To a LADY of QUALITY,

Fitting up her LIBRARY, 1738.

A

H! what is fcience, what is art,

Or what the pleasure these impart ?
Ye trophies which the learn'd pursue
Through endless fruitlefs toils, adieu!

What can the tedious tomes bestow,
To foothe the miferies they fhow?
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 fimpleft hind,
How rare that object, which fupplies
A charm for too difcerning eyes!

The polish'd bard, of genius vain,
Endures a deeper fenfe of pain:
As each invading blast devours
The richest fruits, the fairest flow'rs.

Sages, with irksome waste of time,
The fteep afcent of knowledge climb :
Then, from the tow'ring heights they scale
Behold contentment range-the vale