A while her magic ftrikes the novel eye, And now aloof we feem to fly By fapphire lakes, through emerald groves. Adieu the fimple, the fincere delightTh' habitual scene 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! We pierce the counterfeit delight, Of native groves and wonted ftreams, Then hither oft, ye fenators, retire, With nature here high converse hold; 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 shine With more attractive charms, with radiance more divine. Yes, here alone did highest heaven ordain The great, the various, and the fair, Her impulfe nothing may restrain- But how muft faithless art prevail, For dimpled brook and leafy grove, Ah no, from thefe the public fphere requires From thefe impartial heaven demands To fift opinion's mingled mafs, Imprefs a nation's taste, and bid the fterling pass. Happy, thrice happy they, Whofe graceful deeds have exemplary shone With mild effective beams! To join their pleasing dreams! 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, In whom their gifts united fhine, Near Near Percy-lodge, with awe-ftruck mien, Nature exalt the mound where art fhall build; Art fhape the gay alcove, while nature paints the field. Begin, ye fongfters of the grove! Let no harsh difonance difturb the morn, Unless her candour not exclude The lowly fhepherd's votive ftrain, Who tunes his reed amidft his rural chear, Fearful, yet not averfe, that Somerfet fhould hear, ODE to MEMOR Y. 1748. Memory! celeftial maid! Who glean'ft the flowerets cropt by time s And, fuffering not a leaf to fade, Preferv'ft the bloffoms of our prime; Bring, bring those 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 say. And sketch with care the Mufe's bower, That fhines on Cherwell's verdant fide; The fong it 'vails not to recite 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 |