Here let me thro' the vales purfue
A guide a father-and a friend,
Once more great nature's works renew,
Once more on wisdom's voice attend.
From falfe careffes, caufelefs ftrife,

Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov'd;
Here let me learn the use of life,

When beft enjoy'd-when moft improv'd.
Teach me, thou venerable bower,
Cool meditation's quiet feat,
The generous fcorn of venal power,
The filent grandeur of retreat.
When pride by guilt to greatness climbs,
Or raging factions rush to war,
Here let me learn to fhun the crimes

I can't prevent, and will not fhare.
But left I fall by fubtler foes,

Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art,
The fwelling paffions to compose,
And quell the rebels of the heart.

MIDSUMMER,

AN OD E.

O

PHOEBUS! down the western sky,
Far hence diffufe thy burning ray,
Thy light to diftant worlds fupply,
And wake them to the cares of day.

I

Come,

Come, gentle Eve, the friend of care,
Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night!
Refresh me with a cooling breeze,

And cheer me with a lambent light.
Lay me, where o'er the verdant ground
Her living carpet Nature spreads;
Where the green bower, with roses crown'd,
In fhowers its fragrant foliage fheds.
Improve the peaceful hour with wine,

Let mufick die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,

And every strain be tun'd to love. Come, Stella, queen of all my heart! Come, born to fill its vaft defires! Thy looks perpetual joys impart,

Thy voice perpetual love infpires.
Whilst all my wifh and thine complete,
By turns we languish and we burn,
Let fighing gales our fighs repeat,

Our murmurs-murmuring brooks return.
Let me when nature calls to rest,
And blufhing fkies the morn foretell,
Sink on the down of Stella's breast,
And bid the waking world farewell.

AUTUMN,

AN OD E.

A

LAS! with fwift and filent pace, Impatient time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and nature's face Now fweetly fmiles, now frowns fevere.

'Twas

'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay, Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are fwept away,

And Summer-fruits defert the bough.
The verdant leaves that play'd on high,
And wanton'd on the western breeze,
Now trod in duft neglected lie,

As Boreas ftrips the bending trees.
The fields that wav'd with golden grain,
As ruffet heaths are wild and bare;
Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain,
Nor health, nor pleasure, wanders there.
No more while thro' the midnight fhade,

Beneath the moon's pale orb I ftray,
Soft pleafing woes my heart invade,

As Progne pours the melting lay.
From this capricious clime fhe foars,

O! would fome god but wings fupply!
To where each morn the Spring restores,
Companion of her flight I'd fly.
Vain with! me fate compels to bear
The downward feafon's iron reign,
Compels to breathe polluted air,

And shiver on a blasted plain.
What blifs to life can Autumn yield,

If glooms, and showers, and ftorms prevail; And Ceres flies the naked field,

And flowers, and fruits, and Phoebus fail? Oh! what remains, what lingers yet,

To cheer me in the darkening hour? The grape remains! the friend of wit,

In love, and mirth, of mighty power.

Hafte-prefs the clusters, fill the bowl;
Apollo! fhoot thy parting ray :
This gives the funshine of the foul,
This god of health, and verse, and day.
Still-ftill the jocund ftrain fhall flow,

The pulfe with vigorous rapture beat; My Stella with new charms fhall glow, And every blifs in wine fhall meet.

WINTER,

AN OD E.

No

O more the morn, with tepid rays,
Unfolds the flower of various hue;
Noon spreads no more the genial blaze,
Nor gentle eve diftills the dew.
The lingering hours prolong the night,
Ufurping Darkness shares the day;
Her mifts restrain the force of light,

And Phoebus holds a doubtful fway.
By gloomy twilight half reveal'd,

With fighs we view the hoary hill, The leaflefs wood, the naked field,

The fnow-topt cot, the frozen rill. No mufick warbles thro' the grove,

No vivid colours paint the plain; No more with devious fteps I rove

Thro' verdant paths now fought in vain. Aloud the driving tempeft roars,

Congeal'd, impetuous fhowers defcend Hafte, close the window, bar the doors, Fate leaves me Stella, and a friend.

In

In nature's aid let art fupply

With light and heat my little sphere;
Rouze, rouze the fire, and pile it high,
Light up a conftellation here.
Let mufick found the voice of joy,

Or mirth repeat the jocund tale;
Let Love his wanton wiles employ,

And o'er the season wine prevail. Yet time life's dreary winter brings,

When mirth's gay tale fhall please no more; Nor mufick charm-tho' Stella fings;

Nor love, nor wine, the fpring restore. Catch then, O! catch the tranfient hour, Improve each moment as it flies; Life's a fhort fummer-man a flower, He dies-alas! how foon he dies!

THE WINTER's WALK.

B

EHOLD, my fair, where'er we rove,
What dreary prospects round us rife;
The naked hill, the leaflefs grove,
The hoary ground, the frowning skies!
Nor only thought the wafted plain,

Stern Winter in thy force confefs'd;
Still wider fpreads thy horrid reign,

I feel thy power ufurp my breaft. Enlivening hope, and fond defire,

Refign the heart to spleen and care; Scarce frighted Love maintains her fire, And rapture faddens to despair,