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ODE to EVENING.
By the Same.
Like thy own folemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales, O Nymph reserv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts
With brede etherial wove,
O’erhang his wavy bed :
Or where the beetle winds
His small but sullen horn,
Now teach me, maid compos’d,
To breathe fome soften'd strain, Whose numbers stealing through thy dark’ning vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit,
As musing flow, I hail
Thy genial lov'd return !
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge,
The Pensive Pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car.
Or up-land fallows grey
Reflect its last cool gleam.
That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy ling'ring light ;
Affrights thy fhrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes ;
Thy gentlest influence own,
VERSES written on a BLANK LEAF,
By Lord LANSDOWN, when he presented his Works
to the Queen, 1732.
A Musę expiring, who with earlieft voice,
Made kings andqueens and beauty's charmsher choice, Now on her death bed, the last homage pays, O Queen, to thee; accept her dying lays. So at th' approach of death the cygnet tries To warble one note more, and singing dies. Hail mighty Queen, whose powerful smiles alone Command obedience and secure the throne. Contending parties, and Plebeian rage, Had puzzled Loyalty for half an age: Conqu’ring our hearts you end the long dispute ; All who have eyes confess you absolute; To Tory doctrines even Whigs resign, And in your person own the right divine. Thus sung the Muse, in her last moments fir'd
ford With CAROLINA's praise, and then expir'd,
ADVICE to a Lady in AUTUMN.
SSES milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before ;
Then sleep for an hour or two, and no more. At nine stretch your arms, and oh! think when alone, There's no pleasure in bed. --Mary,bring me my gown: Slip on that ere you rise ; let your caution be such ; Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too much; Your pinners set right, your twitcher tyd on, Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done; Retire to fome author, improving and gay, And with senfe like your own, set your mind for the day, At twelve you may walk, for at this time o' the year, The sun like your wit, is as mild, as 'tis clear : But mark in the meadows the ruin of Time; Take the hint, and let life be improv'd in its prime. Return not in hafte, nor of dressing take heed ; For beauty, like yours, no assistance can need. With an appetite, thus, down to dinner you fit, Where the chief of the feast is the flow of your wit : Let this be indulg'd, and let laughter go round; As it pleases your mind, to your health 'twill redound, After dinner two glasses at least, I approve ; Name the firft to the king, and the last to your love:
Thus cheerful with wisdom, with innocence gay,
HE gushing streams impetuous flow,
In haste to Delia's lips to go,