While from this lofty mount I view
The fons of earth, the vulgar crew,
Anxious for futile gains beneath me stray,
And seek with erring ftep contentment's obvious way.
Come, gentle air! and thou celeftial mufe,
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 praise."
The gentle air allow'd my claim;
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 mufes all were flown.
By flow'ry 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,
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 strike my ear;
At once celeftial forms appear;
My fugitives are found!
The mufes here attune their lyres,
Ah partial! with unwonted fires;
Here, hand in hand, with careless mien,
The sportive graces trip the green.
But whilft I wander'd o'er a scene so fair,
Too well at one survey I trace,
How every mufe, and every grace,
Had long employ'd their care.
Lurks not a ftone enrich'd with lively ftain,
Blooms not a flower amid the vernal store,
Falls not a plume on INDIA's distant plain,
Glows not a fhell 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 fprightly 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 show.
And now from every task withdrawn,
They met and frisk'd it o'er the lawn.
Ah! woe is me, said I;
And ***'s hilly circuit heard my cry,
Have I for this, with labour strove,
And lavish'd all my little ftore
To fence for you my shady grove,
And fcollop every winding fhore;
And fringe with every purple rofe,
The faphire ftream that down my valley flows?
Ah! lovely treacherous maids!
To quit unfeen my votive fhades,
When pale difeafe, and torturing pain
Had torn me from the breezy plain,
And to a reftlefs couch confin'd,
Who ne'er your wonted tasks declin'd.
She needs not your officious aid
To fwell the fong, or plan the fhade;
By genuine fancy fir'd,
Her native genius guides her hand,
And while fhe marks the fage command,
More lovely scenes her skill fhall raife,
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 mufe return
'Till LUXBOROUGH lead the way.
Written in a FLOWER BOOK of my own Colouring, defigned for Lady PLIMOUTH. 1753-4.
Debitæ nymphis opifex coronæ.
RING, FLORA, bring thy treasures here,
B The pride of all the blooming year;
And let me, thence, a garland frame,
To crown this fair, this peerless dame!
But ah! fince envious winter lours,
And HEWELL meads refign their flow'rs,
Let art and friendfhip's joint effay
Diffuse their flow'rets, in her way.
Not nature can, herself, prepare
A worthy wreath for LESBIA's hair,
Whofe temper, like her forehead, fmooth,
Whofe thoughts and accents form'd to foothe,
Whofe pleafing mien, and make refin'd,
Whofe artless breaft, and polifh'd mind,
From all the nymphs of plain or grove,
Deferv'd and won my PLIMOUTH's love.
WAS in a cool Aonian glade,
The wanton CUPID, fpent with toil,
Had fought refreshment from the fhade;
And ftretch'd him on the moffy foil.
A vagrant muse drew nigh, and found
The fubtle traitor fast asleep;
And is it thine to fnore profound,
She faid, yet leave the world to weep?
But hufh from this aufpicious hour,
The world, Iween, may reft in peace;
And robb'd of darts, and ftript of pow'r,
Thy peevish petulance decrease..
Sleep on, poor child! whilft I withdraw,
And this thy vile artillery hide-
When the Caftalian fount the faw,.
And plung'd his arrows in the tide,
That magic fount-ill-judging maid!
Shall caufe you foon to curfe the day
You dar'd the fhafts of love invade;
And gave his arms redoubled sway..
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