LETTER

A LE

то

A FRIEND IN THE COUNTRY.

WHILST thou art happy in a blest retreat,

And free from care doft rural fongs repeat,

Whilft fragrant air fans thy poetic fire,
And pleasant groves with sprightly notes infpire,
(Groves, whofe receffes and refreshing shade
Indulge th' invention, and the judgment aid)
1, 'midst the smoke and clamours of the town,
That choke my Mufe, and weigh my fancy down,
Pafs my unactive hours;

In fuch an air, how can foft numbers flow,
Or in fuch foil the facred laurel grow?

All we can boaft of the poetic fire,

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Are but fome sparks that foon as born expire.
Hail happy woods! harbours of peace and joy!
Where no black cares the mind's repose destroy! 15
Where grateful Silence unmolested reigns,

Affifts the Mufe, and quickens all her strains.
Such were the fcenes of our first parents” love,
In Eden's groves with equal flames they strove,
While warbling birds, foft whispering breaths of

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wind, And murmuring streams, to grace their nuptials join'd. All Nature smil'd; the plains were fresh and green, Unftain'd the fountains, and the heavens ferene.

Ye

Ye blest remains of that illustrious age!
Delightful fprings and woods -

Might I with you my peaceful days live o'er,
You, and my friend, whofe abfence I deplore,
Calm as a gentle brook's unruffled tide.
Should the delicious flowing minutes glide;
Difcharg'd of care, on unfrequented plains,
We'd fing of rural joys in rural trains.

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No falfe corrupt delights our thoughts should move,
But joys of friendship, poetry, and love.
While others fondly feed ambition's fire,
And to the top of human ftate afpire,
That from their airy eminence they may
With pride and fcorn th' inferior world furvey,
Here we should dwell obfcure, yet happier far than
they.

H OR A CE,

BOOK I. ODE XXII.

Integer vitæ, fcelerifque purus,

"Non eget Mauri jaculis, neque arcu," &c.

Wrapp'd in thick clouds, and shades of night,
To confcious fouls direct thy flight!

There brood on guilt, fix there a loath'd embrace,
And propagate vain terrors, frights,

Dreams, goblins, and imagin'd fprights,

Thy vifionary tribe, thy black and monstrous race. Go, haunt the flave that stains his hands in gore Poffefs the perjur'd mind, and rack the Ufurer more, Than his oppreffion did the poor before.

II.

Vainly, you feeble wretches, you prepare
The glittering forgery of war;

The poison'd shaft, the Parthian bow, and spear
Like that the warlike Moor is wont to wield,

Which pois'd and guided from his ear

He hurls impetuous through the field:

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In vain you lace the helm, and heave in vain the

fhield;

He's only fafe, whofe armour of defence

Is adamantine innocence.

If o'er the fteepy Alps he go,

Vaft mountains of eternal fnow,

Or where fam'd Ganges and Hydaspes flow;

If o er parch'd Libya's defart land,

Where threatening from afar

Th' affrighted traveller

Encounters moving hills of fand.;

No fenfe of danger can disturb his reft;

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He

He fears no human force, nor favage beaft; Impenetrable courage steels his manly breast.

IV.

Thus, late within the Sabine grove,

While free from care, and full of love,
I raise my tuneful voice, and stray
Regardless of myself and way,

A grizly wolf, with glaring eye,

View'd me unarm'd, yet pass'd unhurtful by.
A fiercer monfter ne'er, in queft of food,

Apulian forefts did moleft;

Numidia never faw a more prodigious beast;
Numidia, mother of the yellow brood,

Where the stern lion makes his knotted mane,

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And roars aloud for prey, and scours the fpacious plain.

V.

Place me where no foft breeze of fummer wind

Did e'er the ftiffen'd foil unbind,

Where no refreshing warmth e'er durft invade, 45
But Winter holds his unmolested seat,
In all his hoary robes array'd,

And rattling ftorms of hail, and noisy tempefts beat.
Place me beneath the fcorching blaze
Of the fierce fun's immediate rays,

Where house or cottage ne'er were seen,
Nor rooted plant or tree, nor fpringing green;
Yet, lovely Lalage, my generous flame
Shall ne'er expire; I'll boldly fing of thee,
Charm'd with the mufic of thy name,

And guarded by the gods of Love and Poetry.

H 3

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HORACE,

INDULGENT Quiet! power ferene,
Mother of Peace, and Joy, and Love!
O fay, thou calm propitious queen,

Say, in what folitary grove,

Within what hollow rock, or winding cell, 5

By human eyes unfeen,

Like fome retreated Druid doft thou dwell?

And why, illufive goddess! why,

When we thy manfion would furround,

Why dost thou lead us through inchanted ground, To mock our vain refearch, and from our wishes fly?

II.

The wandering failors, pale with fear,
For thee the gods implore,

When the tempeftuous fea runs high,

And when, through all the dark benighted sky, 15

No