The wood-nymph eyes, with pale affright, The sportsman's frantic deed;

While hounds, and horns, and yells, unite
To drown the Muse's reed.

Ye fields! with blighted herbage brown,
Ye skies! no longer blue;

Too much we feel from Fortune's frown
To bear these frowns from you.

Where is the mead's unsullied green?
The zephyr's balmy gale?

And where sweet Friendship's cordial mien,
That brighten'd every vale?

What though the vine disclose her dyes,
And boast her purple store?
Not all the vineyard's rich supplies

Can sooth our sorrows more.

He! he is gone, whose moral strain
Could wit and mirth refine;
He! he is gone, whose social vein
Surpass'd the power of wine.

Fast by the streams he deign'd to praise,
In yon sequester'd grove,

To him a votive urn I raise,

To him and friendly Love.

Yes, there, my friend! forlorn and sad,
I grave your Thomson's name;
And there his lyre, which Fate forbade
To sound your growing fame.

There shall my plaintive song recount
Dark themes of hopeless woe,
And faster than the dropping fount
I'll teach mine eyes to flow.

There leaves, in spite of Autumn, green
Shall shade the hallow'd ground;
And Spring will there again be seen,
To call forth flowers around.

But no kind suns will bid me share,
Once more, his social hour;
Ah, Spring! thou never canst repair
This loss to Damon's bower.

AN IRREGULAR ODE,

After Sickness. 1749.

Melius, cum venerit ipsa, canemus.

His wish'd-for presence will improve the song.

Too long a stranger to repose,

VIRG.

At length from Pain's abhorred couch I rose,
And wander'd forth alone;

To court once more the balmy breeze,
And catch the verdure of the trees,
Ere yet their charms were flown.

'Twas from a bank with pansies gay
I hail'd once more the cheerful day,
The Sun's forgotten beams :
O Sun! how pleasing were thy rays,
Reflected from the polish'd face
Of yon refulgent streams!

Raised by the scene, my

feeble tongue

Essay'd again the sweets of song,

And thus in feeble strains, and slow,
The loitering numbers 'gan to flow:

'Come, gentle Air! my languid limbs restore, And bid me welcome from the Stygian shore; For sure I heard the tender sighs,

I seem'd to join the plaintive cries Of hapless youths, who through the myrtle grove Bewail for ever their unfinish'd love;

To that unjoyous clime,

Torn from the sight of these etherial skies,
Debarr'd the lustre of their Delia's eyes,
And banish'd in their prime.

Come, gentle Air! and, while the thickets bloom,
Convey the jasmine's breath divine,
Convey the woodbine's rich perfume,
Nor spare the sweet-leaf'd eglantine;
And mayst thou shun the rugged storm
Till Health her wonted charms explain,
With rural pleasure in her train,
To greet me in her fairest form ;

While from this lofty mount I view
The sons of Earth, the vulgar crew,
Anxious for futile gains, beneath me stray,

And seek with erring step Contentment's obvious

way.

Come, gentle Air! and thou, celestial Muse!

Thy genial flame infuse,

Enough to lend a pensive bosom aid,

And gild Retirement's gloomy shade;
Enough to rear such rustic lays

As foes may slight, but partial friends will praise.'

The gentle Air allow'd my claim, And, more to cheer my drooping frame, She mix'd the balm of opening flowers, Such as the bee, with chemic powers, From Hybla's fragrant hills inhales, Or scents Sabæa's blooming vales: But, ah! the nymphs that heal the pensive mind, By prescripts more refined,

Neglect their votary's anxious moan: [flown. Oh! how should they relieve?—the Muses all were By flowery plain or woodland shades I fondly sought the charming maids; By woodland shades or flowery plain I sought them, faithless maids! in vain ; When, lo! in happier hour,

I leave behind my native mead,

To range where Zeal and Friendship lead, To visit Luxborough's honour'd bower. Ah! foolish man! to seek the tuneful maids On other plains, or near less verdant shades!

Scarce have my footsteps press'd the favour'd When sounds etherial strike my ear; [ground, At once celestial forms appear;

My fugitives are found!

The Muses here attune their lyres,

Ah! partial, with unwonted fires;

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 survey I trace

How every Muse 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 seas,
From their arrangement gain fresh power to please.
And some had bent their wildering maze,
Bedeck'd with every shrub that blows,
And some entwined the willing sprays,
To shield the' illustrious dame's repose;
Others had graced the sprightly dome,
And taught the portrait where to glow;
Others arranged the curious tome,
Or mid the decorated space
Assign'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 store,
To fence for you my shady grove,
And scollop every winding shore,
And fringe with every purple rose
The sapphire stream that down my valley flows?

'Ah! lovely treacherous maids!
To quit unseen my votive shades,
When pale Disease and torturing Pain
Had torn me from the breezy plain,
And to a restless couch confined,
Who ne'er your wonted tasks declined.