A while her magic ftrikes the novel eye,
A while the fairy forms delight;

And now aloof we seem to fly
On purple pinions through a purer sky,
Where all is wondrous, all is bright:
Now landed on fome fpangled fhore
A while each dazzled maniac roves

By fapphire lakes, through emerald groves.
Paternal acres please no more;

Adieu the fimple, the fincere delight—
Th' habitual fcene of hill and dale,
The rural herds, the vernal gale,
The tangled vetch's purple bloom,
The fragrance of the bean's perfume,

Be theirs alone who cultivate the foil,
And drink the cup of thirst, and eat the bread of toil.

But foon the pageant fades away!
'Tis nature only bears perpetual sway.
We pierce the counterfeit delight,
Fatigued with fplendor's irkfome beams.
Fancy again demands the fight

Of native groves and wonted ftreams,
Pants for the scenes that charm'd her youthful eyes,
Where truth maintains her court, and banishes difguife.

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,
Shall fee fair truth, immortal maid,
Friendship in artless guise array'd,

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,
Whatever wins, whatever warms,
Whatever fancy feeks to share

The great, the various, and the fair,
For ever fhould remain !

Her impulse nothing may restrain-
Or whence the joy 'mid columns, towers,
'Midft all the city's artful trim,
To rear fome breathlefs vapid flowers
Or fhrubs fuliginously grim:
From rooms of filken foliage vain,
To trace the dun far diftant grove,
Where, fmit with undiffembled pain,
The wood-lark mourns her abfent love,
Borne to the dusty town from native air,
To mimic rural life, and foothe fome vapour'd fair.

But how must faithlefs art prevail,
Should all who tafte our joy fincere,
To virtue, truth, or fcience dear,
Forego a court's alluring pale,

For dimpled brook and leafy grove,

For that rich luxury of thought they love!

Ah no, from these the public fphere requires
Examples for its giddy bands:

From these impartial heaven demands
To spread the flame itself inspires;

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
Round the gay precincts of a throne,

With mild effective beams!
Who bands of fair ideas bring,
By folemn grot, or fhady fpring,

To join their pleafing dreams!
Theirs is the rural blifs without alloy,
They only that deserve, enjoy.

What though nor fabled dryad haunt their grove,
Nor naiad near their fountain rove,

Yet all embody'd to the mental fight,
A train of fmiling virtues bright

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,
The rebel feeks her lawful

queen,

And havock and contention cease.
I fee the rival powers combine,

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!
O warble forth your nobleft lay;
Where Somerset vouchfafes to rove,
Ye leverets, freely sport and play.
-Peace to the strepent horn!

Let no harsh difonance difturb the morn,
No founds inelegant and rude

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,
Where Ifis rolls her filver tide;
Nor yet omit one reed or flower

That shines on Cherwell's verdant fide;
If fo thou may'ft those hours prolong,
When polish'd Lycon join'd my fong.
The fong it 'vails not to recite-

But fure, to foothe our youthful dreams,
Those banks and ftreams appear'd more bright
Than other banks, than other streams:
Or, by thy foftening pencil fhewn,
Affume they beauties not their own?

And paint that sweetly vacant scene,
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
My fpirits light, my foul ferene,

I breath'd in verfe one cordial vow:
That nothing fhould my foul infpire,
But friendship warm, and love entire.
Dull to the fenfe of new delight,

On thee the drooping Mufe attends; As fome fond lover, robb'd of fight, On thy expreffive power depends;

Nor