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An altar on its bank shall rise,

Where oft thy votary shall be found What time pale autumn lulls the skies,

And sickening verdure fades around.

Ye busy 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, puissant queen! be kind :

If e’er I shar'd thy balmy pow'r; If e’er I sway'd my active mind,

To weave for thee the rural bow'r ,

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Diffolve in neep each anxious care ;

Each unavailing sigh remove; And only let me wake to share

The sweets of friendship and of love.

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ODE to HEALTH, 1730.

O

HEALTH, capricious maid !

Why dost thou shun my peaceful bow'r, Where I had hope to share thy pow'r,

And bless thy lasting aid ?

Since thou, alas ! art Aown,
It ’vails not whether muse or grace,
With tempting smile, frequent the place :

I sigh for thee alone.

Age not forbids thy stay ;
Thou yet might'st act the friendly part;
Thou yet might'st raise this languid heart ;

Why speed so swift away?

Thou scorn'st the city-air;
I breathe fresh gales o’er furrow'd ground,
Yet hast not thou my wishes crown'd,

O falfe! O partial fair!

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

Thou wilt not deign to save.

Amid

Amid my well-known grove,
Where mineral fountains vainly bear
Thy boasted name, and titles fair,

Why scorns thy foot to rove?

Thou hear'st the sportsman's claim ;
Enabling him, with idle noise,
To drown the muse's melting voice,

And fright the timorous game.

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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 snows,
The poor LAPONIAN’s bosom glows;

And shares bright rays from thee.

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

I did not rue the crime.

Who then more bleft than I?
When the glad school-boy's task was done,
And forth, with jocund sprite, I run
To freedom, and to joy?
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How

How jovial then the day!
What since have all my labours found,
Thus climbing life, to gaze around, ;

That can thy loss repay?

Wert thou, alas ! but kind, Methinks no frown that fortune wears, Nor lefsen'd hopes, nor growing cares,

Could sink my chearful mind.

Whate'er my stars include ;
What other breasts convert to pain,
My tow'ring mind should foon disdain,

Should scorn--Ingratitude !

Repair this mouldering cell,
And bleft with objects found at home,
And envying none their fairer dome,

How pleas'd my soul should dwell !

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

Enjoy her pleasing stores

There let them rest unknown,
The types of many a pleasing fccne ;
But to preserve them bright or clean,

Is thine, fair queen! alone.

To

To a LADY of QUALITY,

Fitting up her LIBRARY, 1738.

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H! what is science, what is art,

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

What can the tedious tomes bestow,
To soothe the miseries they show ?
What, like the bliss for him decreed,
Who tends his fock, and tunes his reed!

Say, wretched fancy! thus refin'd
From all that glads the simplest hind,
How rare that object, which supplies
A charm for too discerning eyes !

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

Sages, with irksome waste of time,
The steep ascent of knowledge climbi
Then, from the tow'ring heights they scale
Behold contentment range-the vale
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Yet

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