O DE S

ON

SEVERAL SUBJECT S.

IN TWO BOOK S.

WITH THE

HYMN TO THE NAIADS;

BOOK THE FIRST

O DE I..

PRE FAC E.

I

ON yonder verdant hilloc laid,

Where oaks and elms, a friendly fhade,
O'erlook the falling stream,

mafter of the Latin lyre,

A while with thee will I retire

From fummer's noontide beam.

II...

And, lo, within my lonely bower,

The industrious bee from many a flower

Collects her balmy dews:

"For me," fhe, fings, "the gems are born,
"For me their filken robe adorn,

"Their fragrant breath diffufe."
III.

Sweet murmurer! may no rude form

This hofpitable scene deform,

Nor check thy gládfome toils ;

Still may the buds unfullied fpring,

Still showers and funfhine court thy wing
To these ambrofial fpoils.

IV. Nor

IV.

Nor fhall my Muse hereafter fail
Her fellow-labourer thee to hail;
And lucky be the strains!

For long ago did nature frame
Your feafons and your arts the fame,
Your pleasures and your pains.

v.

Like thee, in lowly, fylvan fcenes,
On river-banks and flowery greens
My Mufe delighted plays;
Nor through the defart of the air,
Though fwans or eagles triumph there,
With fond ambition strays.

VI.

Nor where the boding raven chaunts,
Nor near the owl's unhallow'd haunts
Will the her cares imploy;
But flies from ruins and from tombs,
From fuperftition's horrid glooms,
To day-light and to joy.

VII.

Nor will the tempt the barren waste;
Nor deigns the lurking strength to taste

Of any noxious thing;

But leaves with scorn to envy's use

The infipid nightsfhade's baneful juice,
The nettle's fordid fting.

VIII. From

VIII.

From all which nature faireft knows,~
The vernal blooms, the fummer rofe,

She draws her blameless wealth;
And, when the generous task is done,
She confecrates a double boon,
To pleasure and to health.

O DE II.

On the WINTER SOLSTICE,

MDCCXL.

I.

T

HE radiant ruler of the year

At length his wintery goal attains
Soon to reverse the long career,
And northward bend his steady reins.
Now, piercing half Potofi's height,
Prone rush the fiery floods of light
Ripening the mountain's filver stores:
While in fome cavern's horrid shade,
The panting Indian hides his head,
And oft the approach of eve implores

II.

But lo, on this deferted coaft

How pale the fun! how thick the air!
Muftering his ftorms, a fordid host,
Lo, winter defolates the year.

The