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ODE XII.

THE

HAPPINESS OF A MODERATE FORTUNE,

AND

MODERATE DESIRES.

FROM THE FRENCH OF MR. GRESSET.

Written in M DCC LX.

BY JOHN LANGHORNE, D.D.

O GODdess of the golden mean,

Whom still misjudging folly flies,
Seduc'd by each delusive scene;

Thy only subjects are the wise.
These seek thy paths with nobler aim,
And trace them to the gates of Fame.

See, foster'd in thy fav'ring shade,

Each tender bard of verse divine !
Who, lur'd by fortune's vain parade,

Had never form'd the tuneful line;
By fortune lur'd or want confin'd,
Whose cold hand chills the genial mind.

In vain you slight the flowery crown,

That fame wreaths round the favour'd head! Whilst laurel’d victory and renown

Their heroes from thy shades have led; There form’d, from courtly softness free, By rigid virtue and by theę.

By thee were form’d, from cities far,

FABRICIUS just; CAMILLUS wise, Those philosophic sons of war,

That from imperial dignities Returning, plough'd their native plain, And plac'd their laurels in thy fane.

Thrice happy he, on whose calm breast

The smiles of peaceful wisdom play, With all thy sober charms possest,

Whose wishes never learnt to stray. Whom truth, of pleasures pure but grave, And pensive thoughts, froin folly save.

of life,

Far from the crowd's low-thoughted strife,

From all that bounds fair freedom's aim, He envies not the pomp

A length of rent-roll, or of name : For safe he views the vale-grown elm, While thunder-sounding storms the mountain

pine o'erwhelm.

Of censure's frown he feels no dread,

No fear he knows of vulgar eyes, Whose thought to nobler objects led,

Far, far o'er their horizon Alies: With reason's suff'rage at his side, Whose firm heart rests self-satisfied,

And while alternate conquest sways

The northern, or the southern shore, He smiles at Fortune's giddy maze,

And calmly hears the wild storm roar. Ev'n Nature's groans, unmov'd with fear, And bursting worlds, he'd calmly hear.

Such are the faithful hearts you love,

O FRIENDSHIP fair, immortal maid; The few caprice could never move,

The few whom interest never sway'd; Nor shed unseen, with hate refin'd, The pale cares o'er the gloomy mind.

Soft sleep, that lov'st the peaceful cell,

On these descends thy balmy power ; While no terrific dreams dispel

The slumbers of the sober hour; Which oft, array'd in darkness drear, Wake the wild eye of pride to fear.

Content with all a farm would yield,

Thus Sidon's monarch liv'd unknown, And sigh'd to leave his little field

For the long glories of a throneThere once more happy and more free, Than rank'd with Dido's ancestry.

With these pacific virtues blest,

These charms of philosophic ease, Wrapt in your RICHMOND's tranquil rest.

You pass, dear C-, your useful days, Where THAMES your silent vallies laves, Proud of his yet untainted waves.

Should life's more public scenes engage

Your time that thus consistent Aows, And following still these maxims sage

For ever brings the same repose ; Your worth may greater fame procure, But hope not happiness so pure.

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DEAR Chloe, while the busy crowd,
The vain, the wealthy, and the proud,

In Folly's maze advance;
Though singularity and pride
Be call’d our choice, we'll step aside,

Nor join the giddy dance.

From the gay world we'll oft retire
To our'own family and fire,

Where love our hours employs ;
No noisy neighbour enters here,
No intermeddling stranger near,

To spoil our heart-felt joys.

If solid happiness we prize,
Within our breast this jewel lies;

And they are fools who roam :
The world has nothing to bestow,
From our own selves our joys must flow,

And that dear hut, our home.

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