Ah! then I will break my lov'd crook,
To thee I'll bequeath all my sheep,
And die in the much-favour'd brook,
Where Colin does now sit and weep:
Then mourn the sad fate that you gave,
In sonnets so smooth and divine;
Perhaps, I may rise from my grave,
To hear such soft music as thine.

Of the violet, daisy, and rose,

The heart's-ease, the lily, and pink, Did thy fingers a garland compose,

And crown'd by the rivulet's brink; How oft, my dear swain, did I swear,

How much my fond love did admire Thy verses thy shape, and thy air,

Though deck'd in thy rural attire! Your sheep-hook you rul'd with such art, That all your small subjects obey'd; And still you reign'd king of this heart, Whose passion you falsely upbraid; How often, my swain, have I said,

Thy arms are a palace to me,
And how well I could live in a shade,
Though adorned with nothing but thee!

Oh! what are the sparks of the town,
Though never so fine and so gay?
I freely would leave beds of down,
For thy breast on a bed of new hay:
Then, Colin, return once again,
Again make me happy in love,
Let me find thee a faithful true swain,
And as constant a nymph I will prove.

MECENAS.

VERSES OCCASIONED BY THE HONOURS CONFER-
RED ON THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF HALI-
FAX, 1714; BEING THAT YEAR INSTALLED
KNIGHT OF THE MOST NOBLE ORDER OF THE
GARTER.

PHOEBUS and Cæsar once conspir'd to grace
A noble knight of ancient Tuscan race.
The monarch, greatly conscious of his worth,
From books and his retirement call'd him forth;
Adorn'd the patriot with the civic crown,
The consul's fasces and patrician gown:
The world's whole wealth he gave him to bestow,
And teach the streams of treasure where to flow:
To him he bade the suppliant nations come,
And on his counsels fix'd the fate of Rome.

The god of wit, who taught him first to sing, And tune high numbers to the vocal string, With jealous eyes beheld the bounteous king.

"Forbear," he cry'd, " to rob me of my share; Our common favourite is our common care. Honours and wealth thy grateful hand may give; But Phoebus only bids the poet live. The service of his faithful heart is thine; There let thy Julian star an emblem shine; His mind, and her imperial seat are mine. Then bind his brow ye Thespian maids," he said: The willing Muses the command obey'd, And wove the deathless laurel for his head.

EPIGRAM.

ON THE PRINCE OF WALES'S, THEN REGENT, APPEARING AT THE FIRE IN SPRING-GARDEN, 1726.

THY guardian, blest Britannia, scorns to sleep,
When the sad subjects of his father weep;
Weak princes by their fears increase distress;
He faces danger, and so makes it less.
Tyrants on blazing towns may smile with joy;
He knows, to save, is greater than destroy.

SONG

ON A FINE WOMAN WHO HAD A DULL HUSBAND.

WHEN on fair Celia's eyes I gaze,

And bless their light divine;

I stand confounded with amaze,
To think on what they shine.

On one vile clod of earth she seems

To fix their influence;

Which kindles not at those bright beams,
Nor wakens into sense.

Lost and bewilder'd with the thought,
I could not but complain,
That Nature's lavish hand had wrought
This fairest work in vain.

Thus some, who have the stars survey'd,
Are ignorantly led,

To think those glorious lamps were made To light Tom-fool to bed.

OCCASIONED BY

HIS FIRST VISIT TO LADY WARWICK,
AT HOLLAND HOUSE.

HEARING that Chloe's bower crown'd
The summit of a neighbouring hill,
Where every rural joy was found,
Where health and wealth were plac'd around,
To wait like servants on her will,

I went, and found 'twas as they said,

That every thing look'd fresh and fair; Her herds in flowery pastures stray'd, Delightful was the green-wood shade,

And gently breath'd the balmy air.
But when I found my troubled heart

Uneasy grown within my breast,
My breath come short, and in each part
Some new disorder seem to start,

Which pain'd me sore and broke my rest:

"Some noxious vapour sure," I said,

"From this unwholesome soil must rise; Some secret venom is convey'd

Or from this field, or from that shade,
That does the power of life surprise."

Soon as the skilful Leach beheld

The change that in my health was grown: "Blame not," he cry'd, " nor wood nor field; Diseases which such symptoms yield,

Proceed from Chloe's eyes alone.

"Alike she kills in every air,

The coldest breast her beauties warm ;
And though the fever took you there,
If Chloe had not been so fair,

The place had never done you harm."

STANZAS TO LADY WARWICK.

ON MR. ADDISON'S GOING TO IRELAND.

YE gods and Nereid nymphs who rule the sea! Who chain loud storms, and still the raging main! With care the gentle Lycidas convey,

And bring the faithful lover safe again.

When Albion's shore with cheerless heart he left,
Pensive and sad upon the deck he stood,

Of every joy in Chloe's eyes bereft,
And wept his sorrows in the swelling flood.

Ab, fairest maid! whom, as I well divine,

The righteous gods his just reward ordain; For his return thy pious wishes join,

That thou at length may'st pay him for his pain.

And since his love does thine alone pursue,
In arts unpractis'd and unus'd to range;
I charge thee be by his example true,

And shun thy sex's inclination, change.

When crowds of youthful lovers round thee wait, And tender thoughts in sweetest words impart; When thou art woo'd by titles, wealth, and state, Then think on Lycidas, and guard thy heart. When the gay theatre shall charm thy eyes, When artful wit shall speak thy beauty's praise;

When harmony shall thy soft soul surprise, Sooth all thy senses, and thy passions raise: Amidst whatever various joys appear,

Yet breathe one sigh, for one sad minute mourn; Nor let thy heart know one delight sincere, Till thy own truest Lycidas return.

THE VISIT.

Wir and beauty t' other day,
Chanc'd to take me in their way;
And, to make the favour greater,
Brought the graces and good-nature,
Conversation care-beguiling,
Joy in dimples ever smiling,
All the pleasures here below,
Men can ask, or gods bestow,
A jolly train, believe me! No:
There were but two, Lepell' and How.

THE CONTENTED SHEPHERD:
TO MRS. AD.

As on a summer's day
In the greenwood shade I lay,
The maid that I lov'd,
As her fancy mov'd,
Came walking forth that way.

And as she passed by
With a scornful glance of her eye,
What a shame," quoth she,
"For a swain must it be,
Like a lazy loon for to die!

"And dost thou nothing heed,
What Pan our god has decreed;
What a prize to day
Shall be given away,
To the sweetest shepherd's reed!

"There's not a single swain
Of all this fruitful plain,
But with hopes and fears
Now busily prepares
The bonny boon to gain.

"Shail another maiden shine In brighter array than thine? Up, up, dull swain,

Tune thy pipe once again, And make the garland mine."

"Alas! my love," he cry'd, "What avails this courtly pride? Since thy dear desert

Is written in my heart What is all the world beside?

"To me thou art more gay,
In this homely russet gray,
Than the nymphs of our green,
So trim and so sheen;
Or the brightest queen of May.

"What though my fortune frown, And deny thee a silken gown;

1 Afterwards the celebrated lady Harvey 2 Afterwards his wife.

Ah willow, &c.

If the loss of my dear-one, my love is decreed;
Ah willow, &c.

If no more my sad heart by those eyes shall be
Ah willow, &c.
[cheer'd;

If the voice of my warbler no more shall be heard; Ah willow, &c.

Believe me, thou fair-one; thou dear-one believe,
Ah willow, &c.

Few sighs to thy loss, and few tears will I give.
Ah willow, &c.

One fate to thy Colin and thee shall be ty'd,
Ah willow, &c.

And soon lay thy shepherd close by thy 'cold side.
Ah willow, &c.

Then run, gentle brook; and to lose thyself, haste; Ah willow, willow.

Fade thou too, my willow, this verse is my last; Ah willow, willow; ah willow, willow.

TO THE SAME SINGING. WHAT charms in melody are found

To soften every pain!

How do we catch the pleasing sound,
And feel the soothing strain!

Still when I hear thee, O my fair,
I bid my heart rejoice;
I shake off every sullen care,
For sorrow flies thy voice.
The seasons Philomel obey,
Whene'er they hear her sing;
She bids the winter fly away,
And she recalls the spring.

SONG.

THE FAIR INCONSTANT.

HE.

SINCE I have long lov'd you in vain,
And doated on every feature;
Give me at length but leave to complain
Of so ungrateful a creature.
Though I beheld in your wandering eyes
The wanton symptoms of ranging;

Still I resolv'd against being wise,

And lov'd you in spite of your changing.

SHE.

Why should you blame what heaven has made,
Or find any fault in creation?
'Tis not the crime of the faithless maid,
But Nature's inclination.

'Tis not because I love you less,
Or think you not a true one;
But if the truth I must confess,
I always lov'd a new-one.

TO LORD WARWICK.
ON HIS BIRTH-DAY.

WHEN,, fraught with all that grateful minds can

move,

With friendship, tenderness, respect, and love;
The Muse had wish'd, on this returning day,
Something most worthy of herself to say:
To Jove she offer'd up an humble prayer,
To take the noble Warwick to his care.
"Give him," she said, "whate'er diviner grace
Adorns the soul or beautifies the face:
Let manly constancy confirm his truth,
And gentlest manners crown his blooming youth.
Give him to fame, to virtue to aspire,
Worthy our songs and thy informing fire:
All various praise, all honours let him prove,
Let men admire, and sighing virgins love:
With honest zeal inflame his generous mind,
To love his country, and protect mankind."
Attentive to her prayer, the god reply'd,
"Why dost thou ask what has not been deny'd?
Jove's bounteous hand has lavish'd all his power,
And making what he is, can add no more.
Yet since I joy in what I did create,

I will prolong the favourite Warwick's fate, [date."
And lengthen out his years to some uncommon

TO LADY JANE WHARTON.
ON HER STUDYING THE GLOBE.

WHILE o'er the globe, fair nymph, your searches
And trace its rolling circuit round the sun, [run,
You seem'd the world beneath you to survey,
With eyes ordain'd to give its people day.

With two fair lamps methought your nations shone,
While ours are poorly lighted up by one.
How did those rays your happier empire gild!
How clothe the flowery mead and fruitful field!
Your earth was in eternal spring array'd,
And laughing joy amidst its natives play'd.

Such is their day, but cheerless is their night,
No friendly moon reflects your absent light:
And, oh! when yet ere many years are past,
Those beams on other objects shall be plac'd,
When some young hero, with resistless art,
Shall draw those eyes, and warm that virgin heart:
How shall your creatures then their loss deplore,
And want those suns that rise for them no more?
The bliss you give will be confin'd to one,
And for his sake your world must be undone.

TO MRS. PULTENEY,
UPON HER GOING ABROAD.

'TIR'D with the frequent mischiefs of her eyes,
To distant climes the fair Belinda flies.
She sees her spreading flames consume around,
And not another conquest to be found.
Secure in foreign realms at will to reign,
She leaves her vassals here with proud disdain.
One only joy which in her heart she wears,
The dear companion of her flight she bears,
Eneas thus a burning town forsook,
Thus into banishment his gods he took:
But, to retrieve his native Troy's disgrace,
Fix'd a new empire in a happier place.

ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR, 1716.

HAIL to thee, glorious rising Year,

With what uncommon grace thy days appear!
Comely art thou in thy prime,
Lovely child of hoary Time;
Where thy golden footsteps tread,
Pleasures all around thee spread;
Bliss and beauty grace thy train;
Muse, strike the lyre to some immortal strain.
But, oh! what skill, what master hand,
Shall govern or constrain the wanton band?
Loose like my verse they dance, and all without
Images of fairest things
[command.

Crowd about the speaking strings;
Peace and sweet prosperity,

Faith and cheerful loyalty,

With smiling love and deathless poesy.

Ye scowling shades who break away,
Well do ye fly and shun the purple day,
Every fiend and fiend-like form,
Black and sullen as a storm,
Jealous Fear, and false Surmise,
Danger with her dreadful eyes,
Faction, Fury, all are fled,

And bold Rebellion hides her daring head.
Behold, thou gracious Year, behold,

To whom thy treasures all thou shalt unfold,
For whom thy whiter days were kept from times
See thy George, for this is he!
On his right hand waiting free,
Britain and fair Liberty,

[of old!

Every good is in his face,
Every open honest grace.

Thou great Plantagenet; immortal be thy race!
See! the sacred scyon springs,
See the glad promise of a line of kings!
Royal youth! what bard divine,
Equal to a praise like thine,
Shall in some exalted measure
Sing thee, Britain's dearest treasure?
Who her joy in thee shall tell,
Who the sprightly note shall swell,

His voice attempering to the tuneful shell?
Thee Audenard's recorded field,

Bold in thy brave paternal band, beheld,
And saw with hopeless heart thy fainting rival yield:
Troubled be, with sore dismay,
To thy stronger fate gave way,
Safe beneath thy noble scorn,
Wingy-footed was he borne,

Swift as the fleeting shades upon the golden core.

What valour, what distinguish'd worth, From thee shall lead the coming ages forth?

Crested helms and shining shields, Warriors fam'd in foreign fields; Hoary heads with olive bound, Kings and lawgivers renown'd; Crowding still they rise anew, Beyond the reach of deep prophetic view. Young Augustus! never cease! Pledge of our present and our future peace, Still pour the blessings forth, and give thy great All the stock that fate ordains [increase. To supply succeeding reigns, Whether glory shall inspire Gentler arts or martial fire, Still the fair descent shall be Dear to Albion, all, like thee,

Patrons of righteous rules, and foes to tyranny.

Ye golden lights who shine on high,
Ye potent planets who ascend the sky,
On the opening year dispense
All your kindest influence;
Heavenly powers be all prepar'd
For our Carolina's guard;
Short and easy be the pains,

Which for a nation's weal the heroine sustains.
Britannia's angel, be thou near

The growing race is thy peculiar care,
Oh spread thy sacred wing above the royal fair.
George by thee was wafted o'er

To the long expected shore:
None presuming to withstand

Thy celestial armed hand,
While his sacred head to shade,

[play'd

The blended cross on high thy silver shield dis

But, oh! what other form divine
Propitious near the hero seems to shine!
Peace of mind, and joy serene,
In her sacred eyes are seen,
Honour binds her mitred brow,
Faith and truth beside her go,
With zeal and pure devotion bending low.
A thousand storms around her threat,
A thousand billows roar beneath her feet,
While, fix'd upon a rock, she keeps her stable seat

Still in sign of sure defence,
Trust and mutual confidence,

The idle air with curses fill;

[thern hill;

There your exile vainly moan;

There where, with murmurs horrid as your own,
Beneath the sweeping winds, the bending forests
But thou, Hope, with smiling cheer, [groan,
Do thou bring the ready year;
See the Hours! a chosen band!
See with jocund looks they stand,

All in their trim array, and waiting for command.

The welcome train begins to move,

Hope leads increase and chaste connubial love:
Flora sweet her bounty spreads,
Smelling gardens, painted meads;
Ceres crowns the yellow plain;
Pan rewards the shepherd's pain;
All is plenty, all is wealth,

And on the balmy air sits rosy-colour'd health,
I hear the mirth, I hear the land rejoice,
Like many waters swells the pealing noise,
While to their monarch, thus, they raise the pub-
"Father of thy country, hail!
[lic voice.
Always every where prevail;
Pious, valiant, just, and wise,

Better suns for thee arise,

Purer breezes fan the skies,

Earth in fruits and flowers is drest,

Joy abounds in every breast,

Finer than the painted bow; Carolina shall repay thee

All thy sweetness, all thy show. She herself a glory greater

Than thy golden sun discloses; And her smiling offspring sweeter Than the bloom of all thy roses.

ODE FOR THE NEW YEAR, 1717. WINTER! thou hoary venerable sire,

All richly in thy furry mantle clad;
What thoughts of mirth can feeble age inspire,
To make thy careful wrinkled brow so glad'

Now I see the reason plain,
Now I see thy jolly train:
Snowy-headed Winter leads,
Spring and Summer next succeeds;
Yellow Autumn brings the rear,
Thou art father of the year.

While from the frosty mellow'd earth
Abounding plenty takes her birth,
The conscious sire exulting sees
The seasons spread their rich increase;

SONG.

FOR THE KING'S BIRTH-DAY, MAY 28, 1716.

LAY thy flowery garlands by,
Ever-blooming gentle May!
Other honours now are nigh;

Other honours see we pay.

Lay thy flowery garlands by, &c.

Majesty and great renown
Wait thy beamy brow to crown.
Parent of our hero, thou,
George on Britain didst bestow,
Thee the trumpet, thee the drum,
With the plumy helm, become:
Thee the spear and shining shield,
With every trophy of the warlike field.

Call thy better blessings forth,
For the honour of his birth:
Still the voice of loud commotion,
Bid complaining murmurs cease,
Lays the billows of the ocean;
And compose the land in peace.
Call thy better, &c.

Queen of odours, fragrant May,
For this boon, this happy day,
Janus with the double face

On beauteous form, their lovely child.

O fair variety!

What bliss thou dost supply!
The foul brings forth the fair
To deck the changing year,
When our old pleasures die,
Some new one still is nigh;
Oh! fair variety;

Our passions, like the seasons turn ;
And now we laugh, and now we mourn.
Britannia late oppress'd with dread,
Hung her declining drooping head:
A better visage now she wears,
And now at once she quits her fears:
Strife and war no more she knows,
Rebel sons nor foreign foes.

Safe beneath her mighty master,
In security she sits;

Plants her loose foundations faster,
And her sorrows past forgets.

Happy isle the care of Heaven,
To the guardian hero given,
Unrepining still obey him,
Still with love and duty pay him.

Though he parted from thy shore,

While contesting kings attend him; Could he, Britain, give thee more

Than the pledge he left behind him?