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'Tis thine, fo richly grac'd to prove More noble cares, than cares of love. Together we from early youth

Have trod the flowery tracks of time, Together mus'd in search of truth,

O'er learned fage, or bard fublime;
And well thy cultur'd breaft I know,
What wonderous treafure it can fhow.

Come then, refume thy charming lyre,
And fing fome patriot's worth fublime,
Whilft I in fields of foft defire

Confume my fair and fruitlefs prime;
Whose reed afpires but to display
The flame that burns me night and day.
O come! the dryads of the woods

Shall daily foothe thy ftudious mind,
The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder floods
Shall meet and court thee to be kind;
And Fame fits liftening for thy lays
To fwell her trump with Lucio's praise.
Like me, the plover fondly tries

To lure the fportíimen from her neft,
And fluttering on with anxious cries,
Too plainly fhews her tortur'd breaft:
O let him, confcious of her care,
Pity her pains, and learn to fpare.

A PAS

A PASTORAL

ODE,

To the Honourable Sir RICHARD LYTTELTON.

THE morn difpens'd a dubious light,

A fullen mist had stol'n from fight

Each pleafing vale and hill;

When Damon left his humble bowers,

To guard his flocks, to fence his flowers,
Or check his wandering rill.

Though school'd from fortune's paths to fly,
The swain beneath each lowering sky,
Would oft his fate bemoan;

That he in fylvan fhades, forlorn !
Muft wafte his chearless ev'n and morn,
Nor prais'd nor lov'd, nor known.

No friend to fame's obftreperous noise, -
Yet to the whispers of her voice,

Soft murmuring, not a foe:

The pleasures he through choice declin'd, :
When gloomy fogs deprefs'd his mind,

It griev'd him to forego.

Griev'd him to lurk the lakes befide,
Where coots in ruthy dingles hide,
And moorcocks fhun the day;
While caitiff bitterns, undismay'd,
Remark the fwain's familiar fhade,

And fcorn to quit their prey,

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But fee, the radiant fun once more
The brightening face of heaven restore,
And raife the doubtful dawn;
And, more to gild his rural sphere,
At once the brightest train appear,
That ever trod the lawn.

Amazement chill'd the fhepherd's frame,
To think* Bridgewater's honour'd name
Should grace his ruftic cell;

That the, on all whofe motions wait
Diftinction, titles, rank, and state,
Should rove where shepherds dwell.

But true it is, the generous mind,
By candour fway'd, by tafte refin'd,
Will nought but vice disdain;
Nor will the breaft where fancy glows
Deem every flower a weed, that blows
Amid the defart plain.

Befeems it fuch, with honour crown'd,
To deal its lucid beams around,
Nor equal meed receive :

At moft fuch garlands from the field,
As cowflips, pinks, and panfies yield,
And rural hands can weave.

Yet ftrive, ye fhepherds, ftrive to find,
And weave the fairest of the kind,

*The Duchefs, married to Sir R. Lyttelton.

The

The prime of all the spring;

If haply thus yon lovely fair

May round their temples deign to wear
The trivial wreaths you bring.

O how the peaceful halcyons play'd,
Where'er the conscious lake betray'd
Athenia's placid mien;

How did the sprightlier linnets throng, Where Paphia's charms requir'd the fong, 'Mid hazel copfes green;

Lo, Dartmouth on those banks reclin'd,
While bufy fancy calls to mind

The glories of his line;

Methinks my cottage rears its head,
The ruin'd walls of yonder fhed,

As through enchantment, fhine.

But who the nymph that guides their way?
Could ever nymph defcend to fray

From Hagley's fam'd retreat ?
Elfe, by the blooming features fair,
The faultlefs make, the matchlefs air,
'Twere Cynthia's form compleat.

So would fome tuberofe delight,
That ftruck the pilgrim's wondering fight
'Mid lonely defarts drear;

All as at eve, the fovereign flower
Difpenfes round its balmy power,

And crowns the fragrant year.

Ah, now no more, the shepherd cry'd,
Muft I ambition's charms deride,
Her fubtle force difown;

No more of fawns or fairies dream,
While fancy, near each crystal stream,
Shall paint thefe forms alone.

By low-brow'd rock, or pathlefs mead,
Ideem'd that splendour ne'er should lead
My dazzled eyes astray;

But who alas! will dare contend,
If beauty add, or merit blend

Its more illustrious ray ?

Nor is it long-O plaintive swain !
Since Guernsey saw without difdain,
Where, hid in woodlands green,
The* partner of his early days,
And once the rival of his praise,
Had ftol'n through life unseen.

Scarce faded is the vernal flower,
Since Stamford left his honour'd bower

To fmile familiar here:

O form'd by nature to disclose

How fair that courtefy which flows
From focial warmth fincere.

Nor yet have many moons decay'd,
Since Pollio fought this lonely shade,

Admir'd this rural maze:

*They were fchool-fellows.

The

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