POEMS OF WILLIAM SHENSTONE. ODES. TO HEALTH. 1730. O HEALTH! capricious maid! Since thou, alas! art flown; Age not forbids thy stay: Thou yet mightst act the friendly part; Thou yet mightst raise this languid heart; Why speed so swift away? Thou scorn'st the city air; I breathe fresh gales o'er furrow'd ground, 1 plunge into the wave; And though with purest hands I raise Thou wilt not deign to save. Amid my well-known grove, Thou hear'st the sportsman's claim, Is Thought thy foe? Adieu, Is it the clime you flee? you. Yet midst his unremitting snows There was, there was a time, I did not rue the crime, Who then more bless'd than I? When the glad schoolboy's task was done, 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, Whate'er my stars include, What other breasts convert to pain, Repair this mouldering cell, There let them rest unknown, TO A LADY OF QUALITY, FITTING UP HER LIBRARY. 1738. |