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Would thy fond love his grace to her controul,
Unjustly for thy partial good detain ?
That heav'nly radiance of eternal light,
Is every mortal bliss ;
E'en love itself, if rising by degrees
No feet but those of harden'd Guilt shall miss.
There yield up all his pow'r ne'er to divide you more.
To the Duchess of Somerset.
WHILE orient skies restore the day,
Ye rural thanes, that o'er the mossy down,
For you does echo bid the rocks reply,
And urg'd by rude constraint resound the jovial cry?
See from the neighbouring hill, forlorn
The wretched swain your sport survey ;
He finds his faithful fences torn,
He finds his labour'd crops a prey;
He sees his flock-no more in circles feed ;
And with no random curses loads the deed.
Nor yet, ye swains, conclude
That nature smiles for you alone;
Your bounded souls, and your conceptions crude,
0 may it still reward your toil!
But tho' the various harvest gild your plains,
The source of your delight profound,
Athirst ye praise the limpid stream, 'tis true:
It mimic no unpleasing song,
The limpid fountain murmurs not for you.
Unpleas'd ye see the thickets bloom,
Unpleas'd the Spring her flowery robe resume; Unmov'd the mountains airy pile,
The dappled mead without a smile.
O let a rural conscious muse,
For well she knows, your froward sense accuse: Forth to the solemn oak you bring the square, And span the massy trunk, before you cry, 'tis fair.
Nor yet ye learn'd, nor yet ye courtly train,
To waste with us a summer's day,
She, where she pleases kind or coy,
Then hither bring the fair ingenuous mind,
Lo! not an hedge-row hawthorn blows,
Or valley winds, or fountain flows,
For such the rivers dash the foaming tides,
Ev'n thriftless furze detains their wandering sight, And the rough barren rock grows pregnant with delight.
With what suspicious fearful care
The sordid wretch secures his claim,
If haply some luxurious heir
Should alienate the fields that wear his name!
What scruples lest some future birth
Should litigate a span of earth!
Bonds, contracts, feoffments, names unmeet for prose,
The towering muse endures not to disclose;
Alas! her unrevers'd decree,
More comprehensive and more free,
Her lavish charter, taste, appropriates all we see.
Let gondolas their painted flags unfold,
When to confirm his lofty plea,
In nuptial sort, with bridal gold,
Ev'n Adria scorns the mock embrace,
To some lone hermit on the mountain's brow,
With all her myrtle shores in dow'r.