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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 ,
Diffolve in neep each anxious care ;
Each unavailing sigh remove; And only let me wake to share
The sweets of friendship and of love.
ODE to HEALTH, 1730.
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,
I sigh for thee alone.
Age not forbids thy stay ;
Why speed so swift away?
Thou scorn'st the city-air;
O falfe! O partial fair!
I plunge into the wave ;
Thou wilt not deign to save.
Amid my well-known grove,
Why scorns thy foot to rove?
Thou hear'st the sportsman's claim ;
And fright the timorous game.
Is thought thy foe ? adieu
And deals no more with you.
Is it the clime
And shares bright rays from thee.
There was, there was a time,
I did not rue the crime.
Who then more bleft than I?
How jovial then the day!
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 ;
Should scorn--Ingratitude !
Repair this mouldering cell,
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,
Is thine, fair queen! alone.
To a LADY of QUALITY,
Fitting up her LIBRARY, 1738.
H! what is science, what is art,
Or what the pleasure these impart ?
What can the tedious tomes bestow,
Say, wretched fancy! thus refin'd
The polish'd bard, of genius vain,
Sages, with irksome waste of time,