A while her magic ftrikes the novel eye, And now aloof we seem to fly By fapphire lakes, through emerald groves. Adieu the fimple, the fincere delight— Be theirs alone who cultivate the foil, But foon the pageant fades away! Of native groves and wonted ftreams, Then hither oft, ye fenators, retire, With nature here high converfe hold; For who like Stamford her delights admire, Like Stamford fhall with fcorn behold Th' unequal bribes of pageantry and gold; Beneath Beneath the British oak's mageftic shade, Honour and moral beauty fhine With more attractive charms, with radiance more divine. Yes, here alone did highest heaven ordain The lasting magazine of charms, The great, the various, and the fair, Her impulse nothing may restrain- But how must faithlefs art prevail, For dimpled brook and leafy grove, For that rich luxury of thought they love! Ah no, from these the public fphere requires From these impartial heaven demands To fift opinion's mingled mafs, Imprefs a nation's taste, and bid the sterling pass. Happy, thrice happy they, Whofe graceful deeds have exemplary shone With mild effective beams! To join their pleafing dreams! What though nor fabled dryad haunt their grove, Yet all embody'd to the mental fight, Shall there the wife retreat allow, Shall twine triumphant palms to deck the wanderer's brow. And though by faithlefs friends alarm'd, Art have with nature wag'd prefumptuous war; By Seymour's winning influence charm'd, In whom their gifts united fhine, No longer fhall their counfels jar, 'Tis her to meditate the peace ;. Near Near Percy-lodge, with awe-ftruck mien, queen, And havock and contention cease. And aid each other's fair defign-; Nature exalt the mound where art shall build; Art fhape the gay alcove, while nature paints the field. Begin, ye fongsters of the grove! Let no harsh difonance difturb the morn, Her facred folitudes profane! Unless her candour not exclude The lowly fhepherd's votive ftrain, Who tunes his reed amidst his rural chear, Fearful, yet not averfe, that Somerset should hear. ODE to MEMORY. 1748. Memory! celeftial maid! Who glean'ft the flowerets cropt by time; And, fuffering not a leaf to fade, Preferv'ft the bloffoms of our prime; Bring, bring thofe moments to my mind When life was new, and Lesbia kind. And And bring that garland to my fight, With which my favour'd crook the bound; And bring that wreath of roses bright Which then my feftive temples crown'd. And to my raptur'd ear convey The gentle things fhe deign'd to fay. And sketch with care the Mufe's bower, That shines on Cherwell's verdant fide; But fure, to foothe our youthful dreams, And paint that sweetly vacant scene, I breath'd in verfe one cordial vow: On thee the drooping Mufe attends; As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight, On thy expreffive power depends; Nor |