« AnteriorContinuar »
So pleas'd I view thy fhining hair
With native plants enamel'd o'er
To change the bloom thy cheeks disclofe
With fresh vermilion paint the rofe.
Hark how the wood-lark's tuneful throat
And will fhe, Laura, please so well?
Oh ever keep thy native eafe,
By no pedantic law confin'd!
For Laura's voice is form'd to please,
So Laura's words be not unkind.
NANCY of the VALE.
"Nerine Galatea! thymo mihi dulcior Hyblæ! "Candidior cygnis! hederâ formofior albâ!"
HE western sky was purpled o'er
And flocks reviving felt no more
When from an hazle's artless bower
Soft warbled Strephon's tongue; He bleft the fcene, he bleft the hour, While Nancy's praife he fung.
"Let fops with fickle falfehood range The paths of wanton love,
While weeping maids lament their change,
And fadden every grove:
And every bleffing find its way
"Twas from Avona's banks the maid
And every fhining glance difplay'd
Soft as the wild-duck's tender young,
That floats on Avon's tide;
Bright as the water-lily, sprung,
Fresh as the bordering flowers, her bloom:
Her eye, all mild to view;
The little halcyon's azure plume
Her fhape was like the reed fo fleek,
So taper, strait, and fair;
Her dimpled fmile, her blushing cheek,
How charming sweet they were!
Far in the winding vale retir'd,
This peerlefs bud I found;
And fhadowing rock and woods confpir'd
That nature in fo lone a dell
Should form a nymph so sweet;
Gay lordlings fought her for their bride,
"Tis Strephon, on the mountain's brow,
Struck with her charms and gentle truth,
To her alone I gave my youth,
And when this vow fhall faithless prove,
That ftream fhall ceafe to flow.
ODE to INDOLENCE. 1750.
H! why for ever on the wing Perfifts my wearied foul to roam Why, ever cheated, strives to bring Or pleasure or contentment home?
Thus the poor bird, that draws his name
My limbs with careless ease reclin'd;
The fame foft bandage o'er my mind.
And give me peace, debarr'd of joy.
Lov'st thou yon calm and filent flood,
From each tempeftuous wind that blows ?
Where oft thy votary shall be found; What time pale autumn lulls the skies, And fickening verdure fades around.
Ye bufy race, ye factious train,
That haunt ambition's guilty fhrine;
To weave for thee the rural bower;
And only let me wake to share,
The fweets of friendship and of love.
ODE to HEALTH. 1730.
HEALTH, capricious maid!
Why dost thou shun my peaceful bower,
Since thou, alas! art flown,
It 'vails not whether Mufe or Grace,
Age not forbids thy ftay;
Thou yet might'ft act the friendly part;
Thou yet might'ft raise this languid heart;