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Ah no, from these the public fphere requires
Examples for its giddy bands:

From thefe impartial heaven demands
To spread the flame itself inspires;

To fift opinion's mingled mass,

Impress a nation's taste, and bid the sterling pass.

Happy, thrice happy they,

Whofe graceful deeds have exemplary shone
Round the gay precincts of a throne,

With mild effective beams!
Who bands of fair ideas bring,
By folemn grot, or fhady spring,

To join their pleasing dreams!
Theirs is the rural blifs without alloy,
They only that deserve, enjoy.

What though nor fabled dryad haunt their grove,
Nor naiad near their fountain rove,

Yet all embody'd to the mental sight,
A train of fmiling virtues bright

Shall there the wife retreat allow,

Shall twine triumphant palms to deck the wanderer's brow.

And though by faithlefs friends alarm'd,
Art have with nature wag'd presumptuous war ;
By Seymour's winning influence charm'd,
In whom their gifts united fhine,

No longer fhall their counsels jar.
'Tis her to meditate the peace;

Near

Near Percy-lodge, with awe-ftruck mien,
The rebel feeks her lawful queen,
And havock and contentión cease.
I fee the rival powers combine,
And aid each other's fair design;

Nature exalt the mound where art shall build;

Art shape the gay alcove, while nature paints the field.

Begin, ye fongsters of the grove!
O warble forth your noblest lay;
Where Somerfet vouchfafes to rove,
Ye leverets, freely fport and play.
-Peace to the ftrepent horn!

Let no harfh difonance difturb the morn,
No founds inelegant and rude
Her facred folitudes profane!

Unless her candour not exclude

The lowly fhepherd's votive strain,

Who tunes his reed amidft his rural chear,

Fearful, yet not averfe, that Somerset should hear.

ODE to

MEMORY.

1748.

Memory! celeftial maid!

Who glean'ft the flowerets cropt by time;

And, fuffering not a leaf to fade,

Preferv't the bloffoms of our prime; Bring, bring thofe moments to my mind When life was new, and Lefbia kind.

And

And bring that garland to my fight,

With which my favour'd crook the bound; And bring that wreath of rofes bright Which then my feftive temples crown'd. And to my raptur'd ear convey

The gentle things fhe deign'd to fay.

And sketch with care the Mufe's bower,
Where Ifis rolls her filver tide;
Nor yet omit one reed or flower

That fhines on Cherwell's verdant fide;
If fo thou may'ft thofe hours prolong,
When polish'd Lycon join'd my fong.

The fong it 'vails not to recite

But fure, to foothe our youthful dreams,
Those banks and ftreams appear'd more bright
Than other banks, than other ftreams:

Or, by thy foftening pencil fhewn,
Affume they beauties not their own?

And paint that sweetly vacant scene,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My fpirits light, my foul ferene,

I breath'd in verfe one cordial vow:
That nothing fhould my foul infpire,
But friendship warm, and love entire.
Dull to the fenfe of new delight,

On thee the drooping Muse attends; As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight, On thy expreffive power depends;

Nor

Nor would exchange thy glowing lines,
To live the lord of all that fhines.

But let me chafe thofe vows away
Which at ambition's fhrine I made;
Nor ever let thy skill display

Thofe anxious moments, ill repaid :
Oh! from my breaft that feafon rafe,
And bring my childhood in its place.
Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,
And bring the hobby I bestrode;
When, pleas'd in many a sportive ring
Around the room I jovial rode :
Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu,

And bring the whistle that I blew.

Then will I mufe, and penfive fay,
Why did not these enjoyments laft;
How fweetly wafted I the day,

While innocence allow'd to waste!
Ambition's toils alike are vain,
But ah! for pleasure yield us pain.

The PRINCESS ELIZABETH: A BALLAD alluding to a ftory recorded of her, when he was prifoner at WOODSTOCK, 1554.

hear how once repining Great Eliza captive lay?

WILL you

Each ambitious thought refigning,
Foe to riches, pomp, and fway.

While the nymphs and fwains delighted

Tript around in all their pride; Envying joys by others flighted, Thus the royal maiden cry'd.

"Bred on plains, or born in vallies, Who would bid thofe fcenes adieu? Stranger to the arts of malice,

Who would ever courts purfue?

Malice never taught to treasure,
Cenfure never taught to bear:
Love is all the fhepherd's pleafure;
Love is all the damfel's care.

How can they of humble ftation
Vainly blame the powers above?
Or accufe the difpenfation

Which allows them all to love?

Love like air is widely given;

Power nor chance can thefe reftrain;
Trueft, nobleft gifts of heaven!
Only pureft on the plain!

Peers can no fuch charms difcover,
All in ftars and garters dreft,
As, on Sundays, does the lover
With his nofegay on his breast.
Pinks and roses in profusion,

Said to fade when Chloe's near;
Fops may use the fame allufion;

But the fhepherd is fincere.

Hark

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