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A PASTORAL ODE,

To the Honourable

Sir RICHARD LYTTELTON.

TH

HE morn dispens'd a dubious light,

A fullen mist had stoln from fight,
Each pleasing vale and hill;
When Damon left his humble bowers
To guard his flocks, to fence his flowers,

Or check his wandering rill.

Tho’schoold from fortune's paths to fly,
The swain beneath each low'ring sky,

Would oft his fate bemoan ;
That he, in fylvan shades, forlorn !
Must waste his chearless even and morn,

Nor prais’d, nor lov’d, nor known.

No friend to fame's obstreperous noise,
Yet to the whispers of her voice,

Soft murmuring, not a foe:
The pleasures he thro' choice declin'd,
When gloomy fogs depress’d his mind,

It griev'd him to forego,

Griev'd

Griev'd him to lurk the lakes beside,
Where coots in rushy dingles hide,

And moorcocks shun the day;
While caitiff bitterns, undismay'd,
Remark the fwain's familiar fhade,

And scorn to quit their prey. .

But see, the radiant sun once more
The brightening face of heaven restore,

And raise the doubtsul dawn ;
And more to gild his rural sphere,
At once the brightest train appear,

That ever trod the lawn.

Amazement chill'd the shepherd's frame,
To think * BRIDGEWATER's honour'd name
Should
grace

his ruftic cell ;
That she, on all whose motions wait
Distinction, titles, rank and state,

Should rove where shepherds dwell.

1

But true it is, the generous mind,
By candour sway'd, by taste refinid,

Will nought but vice disdain ;
Nor will the breast where fancy glows
Deem every flower a weed, that blows

Amid the desarţ plain.

* The Duchess of BRIDGEWATER, married to Sir RICHARD LYTTELTON,

Beseems

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Besecms it such, with honour crown'd,
To deal its lucid beams around,

Nor equal meed receive :
At most such garlands from the field,
As cownips, pinks, and pansies yield,

And rural hands can weave.

Yet strive, ye shepherds, strive to find,
And weave the fairest of the kind,

The prime of all the spring ;
If haply thus yon lovely fair
May round their temples deign to wear

The trivial wreaths you bring.

O how the peaceful halcyons play'd,
Where'er the conscious lake betray'd

Athenia's placid mien !
How did the sprightlier linnets throng,
Where Paphia's charms requir'd the song,
Mid hazel copses green

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Lo, Dartmouth on those banks reclin’d,
While busy fancy calls to mind

The glories of his line ;
Methinks my cottage rears its head,
The ruin'd walls of yonder shed,

As thro' enchantment, shine.

* Its? 62, ar originally writing DENBIGH: Dartmon this mention Buc Erkow, p.180.

But who the nymph that guides their way

? Could ever nymph descend to stray

From HAGLEY's fam'd retreat ? Else by the blooming features fair, The faultless make, the matchless air,

'Twere CYNTHIA's form compleat.

So would some tuberose delight,
That struck the pilgrim's wondering light

'Mid lonely defarts drear ;
All as at eve, the sovereign flower,
Dispenses round its balmy power,

And crowns the fragrant year.

Ah, now no more, the shepherd cry'd,
Must I ambition's charms deride,

Her subtle force disown;
No more of fawns or fairies dream,
While fancy, near each crystal stream,

Shall paint these forms alone.

Jauns

By low-brow'd rock, or pathless mead,
I deem’d that splendour ne'er should lead

My dazled eyes astray;
But who, alas! will dare contend,
If beauty add, or merit blend

Its more illustrious ray ?

VOL. I.

N

Nor

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Nor is it long-O plaintive swain!
Since GUERNSEY faw, without disdair,

Where, hid in woodlands green,
The *partner of his early days,
And once the rival of his praise,

Had stol'n thro’ life unseen.

Scarce faded is the vernal flower,
Since STAMFORD left his honour'd bower

To smile familiar here :
O form’d by nature to disclose
How fair that courtesy which Aows

Froin social warmth sincere.

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Nor

yet have many moons decay’d, Since Pollio fought this lonely shade,

Admir'd this rural maze :
The noblest breast that virtue fires,
The graces love, the muse inspires,

Might pant for Pollio's praise.

Say Thomson here was known to rest,
For him yon vernal seat I drest,

Ah, never to return!
In place of wit, and melting strains,
And social mirth, it now remains

beside his urn.

To weep

* They were school-fellows.

Come

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