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TF aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to sooth thy modest ear,
Like thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales,
O Nymph reservd, while now the bright-hair’d fun
Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts
With brede etherial wove,
De’rhang his wavy bed:
Now air is hulh’d, save where the weak-ey'd bat,
With short shrill shrieks Aits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds
His small but fullen horn,
As oft he rises ’midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum.
Now teach me, maid compos’d,
To breathe some soften'd strain,
Whose numbers stealing through thy dark’ning vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit,
As musing Now, I hail
Thy genial lov'd return!... :)
For when thy folding star arising shews
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who slept in flow'rs the day, And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with sedge, And sheds the fresh’ning dew, and lovelier still,
The Pensive PLEASURES sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car. Then lead, calm Votress, where some sheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile, :.
Or up-land fallows grey
Reflect its last cool gleam. But when chill blust'ring winds, or driving rain, Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut, :!!
That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o’er all
Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.
While Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! . .
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy ling'ring light;
While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;
Or Winter yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes ;
So long, sure-found beneath the Sylvan shed,
Shall Fancy, FRIENDSHIP, SCIENCE, rose-lip'dHEALTH,
Thy gentleft influence own,
And hymn thy fav’rite name !
VERSES written on a Blank LEAF, By Lord LANSDOWN, when he presented his
Works to the Queen, 1732. A Muse expiring, who with earliest voice, (choice.
Made kings and queens, and beauty's charms her Now on her death-bed, the last homage pays, ' O Queen, to thee ; accept her dying lays..
"A a 3
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'a
With Carolina’s praise, and then expir’d.
A 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 memy 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 ty’d on,
Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done ;
Retire to some author, improving and gay,
And with sense like your own, set your mind for the day.
At twelve you may walk, for at this time o’the year,
The fun, 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 sit,
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 first to the king, and the last to your love :
Thus cheerful with wisdom, with innocence gay,
And calm with your joys gently glide thro' the day.
The dews of the evening most carefully shun; .
Those tears of the sky for the loss of the sun..
Then in chat, or at play, with a dance, or a song,
Let the night, like the day, pass with pleasure along.
All cares, but of love, banish far from your mind;
And those you may end, when you please to be kind.