24 But what can courts discover more

Than these rude haunts have seen before,

Each fount and shady tree?

Have not these trees and fountains seen
The pride of courts, the winning mien
Of peerless Aylesbury?

25 And Grenville, she whose radiant eyes
Have mark'd by slow gradation rise
The princely piles of Stowe ;
Yet praised these unembellish'd woods,
And smiled to see the babbling floods
Through self-worn mazes flow.

26 Say, Dartmouth, who your banks admired,
Again beneath your caves retired,

Shall grace the pensive shade;
With all the bloom, with all the truth,
With all the sprightliness of youth,
By cool reflection sway'd?

27 Brave, yet humane, shall Smith appear;
Ye sailors! though his name be dear,
Think him not yours alone:
Grant him in other spheres to charm;
The shepherds' breasts though mild are warm,
And ours are all his own.

28 O Lyttleton! my honour'd guest,
Could I describe thy generous breast,
Thy firm yet polish'd mind;

How public love adorns thy name,
How Fortune, too, conspires with Fame;

The song should please mankind.

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ODE TO HEALTH, 1730.

O Health! capricious maid!

Why dost thou shun my peaceful bower,
Where I had hope to share thy power,
And bless thy lasting aid?

Since thou, alas! art flown,

It 'vails not whether Muse or Grace, With tempting smile, frequent the place; I sigh for thee alone.

Age not forbids thy stay:

Thou yet mightst act the friendly part;

Thou yet mightst raise this languid heart; Why speed so swift away?

Thou scorn'st the city air;

I breathe fresh gales o'er furrow'd ground, Yet hast not thou my wishes crown'd,

O false! O partial Fair!

I plunge into the wave;

And though with purest hands I raise

A rural altar to thy praise,

Thou wilt not deign to save.

Amid my well-known grove,
Where mineral fountains vainly bear
Thy boasted name, and titles fair,

Why scorns thy foot to rove?

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Thou hear'st the sportsman's claim;
Enabling him, with idle noise,

To drown the Muse's melting voice,
And fright the timorous game.

Is thought thy foe? Adieu,
Ye midnight lamps! ye curious tomes!
Mine eye o'er hills and valleys roams,
And deals no more with you.

Is it the clime you flee?

Yet midst his unremitting snows
The poor Laponian's bosom glows,
And shares bright rays from thee.

There was, there was a time,

When, though I scorn'd thy guardian care,
Nor made a vow, nor said a prayer,

I did not rue the crime.

Who then more blest than I,

When the glad schoolboy's task was done,
And forth, with jocund spirit, I run

To freedom and to joy ?

How jovial then the day!

What since have all my labours found,
Thus climbing life, to gaze around,

That can thy loss repay?

Methinks no frown that Fortune wears,
Nor lessen'd hopes, nor growing cares,
Could sink my cheerful mind.

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Whate'er my stars include,

What other breasts convert to pain,
My towering mind should soon disdain,
Should scorn-Ingratitude!

Repair this mouldering cell,

And, blest with objects found at home,
And envying none their fairer dome,
How pleased my soul should dwell!

Temperance should guard the doors; From room to room should Memory stray, And, ranging all in neat array,

Enjoy her pleasing stores

There let them rest unknown,
The types of many a pleasing scene ;
But to preserve them bright or clean,
Is thine, Fair Queen! alone.

TO A LADY OF QUALITY,

FITTING UP HER LIBRARY.

1 Ah! what is science, what is art,
Or what the pleasure these impart ?
Ye trophies, which the learn'd pursue
Through endless, fruitless toils, adieu!

2 What can the tedious tomes bestow,
To soothe the miseries they show?
What like the bliss for him decreed,
Who tends his flock and tunes his reed?

3 Say, wretched Fancy! thus refined
From all that glads the simplest hind,
How rare that object which supplies
A charm for too discerning eyes!

4 The polish'd bard, of genius vain,
Endures a deeper sense of pain;
As each invading blast devours
The richest fruits, the fairest flowers.

5 Sages, with irksome waste of time,
The steep ascent of knowledge climb;
Then, from the towering heights they scale,
Behold contentment range-the vale.

6 Yet why, Asteria, tell us why

We scorn the crowd when you are nigh?
Why then does reason seem so fair,
Why learning, then, deserve our care?

7 Who can unpleased your shelves behold,
While you so fair a proof unfold,
What force the brightest genius draws
From polish'd wisdom's written laws?

8 Where are our humbler tenets flown?
What strange perfection bids us own
That Bliss with toilsome Science dwells,
And happiest he who most excels?