From all the futile cares of business free; So fafe on shore the penfion'd failor lies; SON G. By the Same. S o'er Afteria's fields I rove, The blissful feat of peace and love, Ten thousand beauties round me rife, By nature bleft in every part, Each raptur'd fenfe, at once, employs. II. But when I view the radiant queen, Your coolness now no more invites ; ODE to a FRIEND wounded in a Duel. OW long fhall tyrant Cuftom bind How long shall In flavish chains the human mind? How long fhall falfe fantastic Honour draw And ranc'rous Malice dark as hell, In fpight of Reafon's rule, and Nature's eldeft law? Too many gallant youths have bled; More glorious wounds and dangers fhar'd For Britain's juft defence, and virtue's injur'd caufe. So So when the fierce Cadmean youth Sprung from the dragon's venom'd tooth, Each chief arose in shining armour dreft: With rage infpir'd, the furious band Soon found a ready foe at hand, And plung'd the pointed steel each in a brother's breast. Has Britain then no other foes, That thus her fons their lives expofe To private war, and feuds, and civil fray? Does Spain infult her flag no more ? Does Lewis yet his thoughts give o'er Of univerfal rule, and arbitrary sway ? 'Tis Britons' to support the law; And heap'd fam'dBlenheim'sfield with mountains oftheflain. How will the Gallic monarch fmile, To fee the fons of Albion's ifle Their country's blood with ruthlefs weapons drain? When Marlb'rough swept whole hofts away, O fay, O fay, in this inglorious ftrife Thy arm had robb'd thy friend of life, What pangs, what anguish had thy besom prøv'd? · How hadst thou curs'd the cruel deed, That caus'd the gallant youth to bleed, Pierc'd by thy guilty fword, and flain by him he lov'd? · How did the fair Maria blame Thy high-bred fpirit's eager flame, Far other cares for thee defign'd; And for the laurel erown, the myrtle chaplet wove, If not for her's, for Britain's fake, Nor taint thy honour with fo foul a deed. One day thy country may require Thy gallant arm and martial fire: Then may'at thou bravely conquer, or as bravely bleed. ODE ODE to NIGH T. THE bufy cares of day are done; In yonder western cloud the fun Now fets, in other worlds to rife, And glad with light the nether skies. With ling'ring pace the parting day retires, And flowly leaves the mountain tops, and gilded spires. Yon azure cloud, enrob'd with white, No more the ivy-crowned oak Refounds beneath the wood-man's stroke. Nought but the found of murm'ring rills is heard, Or from the mould'ring tow'r, NIGHT's folitary bird. |