To a LADY of QUALITY,
Fitting up her LIBRARY. 1738.
H! what is fcience, what is art,
Or what the pleasure thefe impart ?
Ye trophies, which the learn'd pursue
Through endless fruitlefs toils, adieu!
What can the tedious tomes bestow,
To foothe the miferies they fhew?
What, like the blifs for him decreed,
Who tends his flock, and tunes his reed!
Say, wretched fancy! thus refin'd
From all that glads the fimpleft hind,
How rare that object which fupplies.
A charm for too discerning eyes!
The polish'd bard, of genius vain,
Endures a deeper sense of pain :
As each invading blast devours
The richeft fruits, the fairest flowers.
Sages, with irkfome wafte of time,
The steep afcent of knowledge climb;
Then from the towering heights they scale.
Behold contentment range-the vale.
Yet why, Afteria, tell us why
We fcorn the crowd, when you are nigh;
Why then does reafon seem so fair,
Why learning, then, deferve our care?
Who can unpleas'd your shelves behold,
While you fo fair a proof unfold
What force the brightest genius draws
From polish'd wisdom's written laws?
Where are our humbler tenets flown?
What strange perfection bids us own
That blifs with toilfome fcience dwells,
And happiest he, who moft excells?
Upon a VISIT to the fame, in WINTER. 1748.
N fair Afteria's blifsful plains,
Where ever-blooming fancy reigns,
How pleas'd we pass the winter's day;
And charm the dull-ey'd fpleen away!
No linnet, from the leaflefs bough,
Pours forth her note melodious now;
But all admire Afteria's tongue,
Nor with the linnet's vernal fong.
No flowers emit their tranfient rays:
Yet fure Afteria's wit displays
More various tints, more glowing lines,
And with perennial beauty fhines.
Though rifled groves and fetter'd streams
But ill befriend a poet's dreams :
Afteria's prefence wakes the lyre;
And well fupplies poetic fire.
The fields have loft their lovely dye;
No chearful azure decks the sky;
Yet ftill we bless the louring day;
Afteria fmiles-and all is gay.
Hence let the Muse no more prefume,
To blame the winter's dreary gloom;
Accufe his loitering hours no more;
But ah their envious hafte deplore !
For foen, from wit and friendship's reign,
The focial hearth, the fprightly vein,
I go-to meet the coming year,
On favage plains, and deferts drear!
I go-to feed on pleasures flown,
Nor find the spring my lofs atone!
But 'mid the flowery sweets of May
With pride recal this winter's day.
An Irregular ODE after SICKNESS. 1749.
Melius, cum venerit ipfa, canemus.
TOO long a stranger to repofe,
At length from pain's abhorred couch I rofe,
And wander'd forth alone;
To court once more the balmy breeze,
And catch the verdure of the trees,
Ere yet their charms were flown. "Twas from a bank with panfies gay Ihail'd once more the chearful day,
The fun's forgotten beams :
O fun! how pleasing were thy rays,
Reflected from the polish'd face
Of yon refulgent streams!
Rais'd by the fcene, my feeble tongue
Eflay'd again the fweets of fong:
And thus, in feeble ftrains and flow,
The loitering numbers 'gan to flows.
"Come, gentle air! my languid limbs restore, And bid me welcome from the Stygian fhore: For fure I heard the tender fighs,
I feem'd to join the plaintive cries
Of hapless youths, who through the myrtle grove Bewail for ever their unfinish'd love :
To that unjoyous clime,
Torn from the fight of these etherial skies;
Debarr'd the luftre of their Delia's eyes;
And banish'd in their prime.
Come, gentle air! and, while the thickets bloom,
Convey the jasmine's breath divine;
Convey the woodbine's rich perfume,
Nor fpare the sweet-leaft eglantine.
And may'st thou fhun the rugged storm
Till health her wonted charms explain,
With rural pleasure in her train,
To greet me in her fairest form.
While from this lofty mount I view
The fons of earth, the vulgar crew,
Anxious for futile gains beneath me stray,
And feek with erring step contentment's obvious way.
Come, gentle air! and thou, celeftial Mufe,
Thy genial flame infufe;
Enough to lend a pensive bofom aid,
And gild retirement's gloomy shade;
Enough to rear fuch ruftic lays
As foes may flight, but partial friends will praile."
The gentle air allow'd my claim;
And, more to chear my drooping frame,
She mix'd the balm of opening flowers;
Such as the bee, with chemic powers,
From Hybla's fragrant hills inhales,
Or fcents Sabea's blooming vales.
But ah! the nymphs that heal the penfive mind,
By prefcripts more refin'd,
Neglect their votary's anxious moan :
Oh, how fhould they relieve?-the Mufes all were flown.
By flowery plain, or woodland fhades,
I fondly fought the charming maids;
By woodland fhades, or flowery plain,
I fought them, faithlefs maids! in vain!
When lo! in happier hour,
I leave behind my native mead,
To range where zeal and friendship lead,
To vifit Luxborough's honour'd bower.
Ah foolish man! to feek the tuneful maids
On other plains, or near lefs verdant shades;
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