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I

ODE to EVENING.

By the Same.

F aught of oaten stop, or pastoral fong,

May hope, chafte EvE, to footh thy modeft ear,

Like thy own folemn springs,

Thy springs, and dying gales,

O NYMPH referv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun
Sits on yon western tent, whofe cloudy skirts
With brede etherial wove,

Oe'rhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hufh'd, fave where the weak-ey'd bat,

With short shrill fhrieks flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds

His fmall but fullen horn,

As oft he rifes 'midft the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedlefs hum.

Now teach me, maid compos'd,

To breathe some soften'd strain,

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Whose numbers stealing through thy dark'ning vale,

May not unfeemly with its ftillness fuit,

As musing flow, 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 flept in flow'rs the day,

And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge,
And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and lovelier still,
The PENSIVE PLEASURES sweet

Prepare thy fhadowy car.

Then lead, calm Vot'refs, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or fome time-hallow'd pile,
Or up-land fallows grey

Reflect its last cool gleam.

But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's fide,

Views wilds, and fwelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their fimple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.

While

While Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy ling'ring light;

While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;
Or Winter yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy fhrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, fure-found beneath the Sylvan fhed,
Shall FANCY, FRIENDSHIP, SCIENCE, rofe-lip'dHEALTH,
Thy gentleft influence own,
And hymn thy fav'rite name!

VERSES written on a BLANK LEAF,

By Lord LANSDOWN, when he prefented 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 laft homage pays,

O Queen, to thee; accept her dying lays.

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So at th' approach of death the cygnet tries
To warble one note more, and finging dies.
Hail mighty Queen, whofe powerful fmiles alone
Command obedience and fecure the throne.
Contending parties, and Plebeian rage,

Had puzzled Loyalty for half an age:
Conqu❜ring our hearts you end the long difpute;
All who have eyes confefs you abfolute;
To Tory doctrines even Whigs refign,

And in your person own the right divine.
Thus fung the Muse, in her last moments fir'd
With CAROLINA's praife, and then expir'd.

ADVICE to a Lady in AUTUMN.

A

SSES milk, half a pint, take at seven, or before;

Then fleep for an hour or two, and no more. At nine ftretch your arms, and oh! think when alone, There's no pleasure in bed.-MARY, bring me my gown: Slip on that ere you rife; let your caution be fuch; Keep all cold from your breast, there's already too much;

Your pinners fet right, your twitcher ty❜d on,
Your prayers at an end, and your breakfast quite done;
Retire to fome author, improving and gay,

And with fenfe like your own, fet 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 dreffing take heed;
For beauty, like yours, no affistance can need.
With an appetite, thus, down to dinner you fit,
Where the chief of the feaft 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 glaffes at least, I approve;
Name the first to the king, and the laft 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 fhun;
Those tears of the fky for the loss of the fun..
Then in chat, or at play, with a dance, or a fong,
Let the night, like the day, pafs with pleasure along.
All cares, but of love, banish far from your mind;
And those you may end, when you please to be kind.

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