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No sickening husband damns the hour
Which bounds his joys to female power ;
No pining mother weeps the cares
Which parents waste on thankless heirs :
Th’officious daughters pleas'd attend ;
The brother adds the name of friend :
By thee with flowers their board is crown'd,
With songs from thee their walks resound;
And morn with welcome lustre shines,
And evening unperceiv'd declines.
Is there a youth, whose anxious heart Labours with love's unpitied smart ? Though now he stray by rills and bowers, And weeping waste the lonely hours, Or if the nymph her audience deign, Debase the story of his pain With slavish looks, discolour'd eyes, And accents faltering into sighs ; Yet thou, auspicious power, with ease Canst yield him happier arts to please, Inform his mien with manlier charms, Instruct his tongue with nobler arms, With more commanding passion move, And teach the dignity of love. Friend to the Muse and all her train, For thee I court the Muse again : The Muse for thee may well exert Her
pomp, her charıns, her fondest art, Who owes to thee that pleasing sway Which Earth and peopled Heaven obey, Let Melancholy's plaintive tongue Repeat what later bards have sung ;
But thine was Homer's ancient might,
And thine victorious Pindar's flight:
Thy hand each Lesbian wreath attir'd ;
Thy lip Sicilian reeds inspir’d:
Thy spirit lent the glad perfume
Whence yet the flowers of Teos bloom ;
Whence yet from Tibur's Sabine vale
Delicious blows th’ enlivening gale,
While Horace calls thy sportive choir,
Heroes and nymphs, around his lyre.
But see where yonder pensive sage
(A prey perhaps to fortune's rage,
Perhaps by tender griefs oppress'd,
Or glooms congenial to his breast)
Retires in desert scenes to dwell,
And bids the joyless world farewell!
Alone he treads th' autumnal shade,
Alone, beneath the mountain laid,
He sees the nightly damps ascend,
And gathering storms aloft impend;
He hears the neighbouring surges roll,
And raging thunders shake the pole :
Then, struck by every object round,
And stunn’d by every horrid sound,
He asks a clue for Nature's ways;
But evil haunts him through the maze :
He sees ten thousand demons rise
To wield the empire of the skies,
And chance and fate assume the rod,
And malice blot the throne of God.
--0 thou, whose pleasing power I sing,
Thy lenient influence hither bring ;
Compose the storm, dispel the gloom,
Till Nature wear her wonted bloom,
Till fields and shades their sweets exhale,
And music swell each opening gale:
Then o'er his breast thy softness pour,
And let him learn the timely hour
To trace the world's benignant laws,
And judge of that presiding cause
Who founds on discord beauty's reign,
Converts to pleasure every pain,
Subdues each hostile form to rest,
And bids the universe be blest.
O thou, whose pleasing power I sing,
If right I touch the votive string,
If equal praise I yield thy name,
Still govern thou thy poet's flame;
Still with the Muse my bosom share,
And soothe to peace intruding care.
But most exert thy pleasing power
On friendship’s consecrated hour;
And while my Sophron points the road
To godlike wisdom's calm abode,
Or warm in freedom's ancient cause
Traceth the source of Albion's laws,
Add thou o'er all the generous toil
The light of thy unclouded smile.
But, if by fortune's stubborn sway
From him and friendship torn away,
I court the Muse's healing spell
For griefs that still with absence dwell,
Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams
To such indulgent placid themes,
As just the struggling breast may cheer,
And just suspend the starting tear,
Yet leave that sacred sense of wo
Which none but friends and lovers know.
Hail, cherub of the highest heaven,
Of look divine, and temper even,
Celestial sweetness, exquisite of mien !
Of every virtue, every praise the queen! Soft gracefulness, and blooming youth, Where, grafted on the stem of truth,
That friendship reigns, no interest can divide,
And great humility looks down on pride. Oh! curse on slander's viperous tongue, That daily dares thy merit wrong;
Idiots usurp thy title, and thy fame,
Without or virtue, talent, taste, or namę.
Is apathy, is heart of steel,
Nor ear to hear, or sense to feel,
Life idly inoffensive, such a grace [place?
That it should steal thy name and take thy
No--thou art active--spirit all
Swifter than lightning, at the call
Of injur'd innocence, or griev'd desert,
And large with liberality thy heart.
Thy appetites in easy tides
(As reason's luminary guides)
Soft flow--no wind can work them to a storm,
Correctly quick, dispassionately warm. Yet if a transport thou canst feel, "Tis only for thy neighbour's weal;
Great; generous acts thy ductile passions move,
And smilingly thou weep'st with joy and love.
Mild is thy mind to cover shame,
Averse to envy, slow to blame,
Bursting to praise, yet still sincere, and free
From flattery's fawning tongue and bending
[knee. Extensive, as from west to east, Thy love descends from man to beast,
Nought is excluded, little or infirm, [worm,
Thou canst with greatness stoop to save & Come, goddess, come with all thy charms (For oh! I love thee) to my arms
All, all my actions guide, my fancy feed,
So shall existence then be life indeed.
OFFSPRING of folly and of pride,
To all that's odious, all that's base allied ;
Nurs'd up by vice, by pravity misled,
By podant affectation taught and bred