SPRING; AN ODE.

Stern winter now, by spring repress’d,
  Forbears the long-continued strife;
And nature, on her naked breast,
  Delights to catch the gales of life. 
Now o’er the rural kingdom roves
  Soft pleasure with the laughing train,
Love warbles in the vocal groves,
  And vegetation plants the plain. 
Unhappy! whom to beds of pain,
  Arthritick[a] tyranny consigns;
Whom smiling nature courts in vain,
  Though rapture sings, and beauty shines. 
Yet though my limbs disease invades,
  Her wings imagination tries,
And bears me to the peaceful shades,
  Where—­s humble turrets rise;
Here stop, my soul, thy rapid flight,
  Nor from the pleasing groves depart,
Where first great nature charm’d my sight,
  Where wisdom first inform’d my heart. 
Here let me through the vales pursue
  A guide—­a father—­and a friend,
Once more great nature’s works renew,
  Once more on wisdom’s voice attend. 
From false caresses, causeless strife,
  Wild hope, vain fear, alike remov’d,
Here let me learn the use of life,
  When best enjoy’d—­when most improv’d. 
Teach me, thou venerable bower,
  Cool meditation’s quiet seat,
The gen’rous scorn of venal power,
  The silent grandeur of retreat. 
When pride, by guilt, to greatness climbs,
  Or raging factions rush to war,
Here let me learn to shun the crimes,
I can’t prevent, and will not share. 
  But, lest I fall by subtler foes,
Bright wisdom, teach me Curio’s art,
  The swelling passions to compose,
And quell the rebels of the heart.

[a] The author being ill of the gout.

MIDSUMMER; AN ODE.

O Phoebus! down the western sky,
  Far hence diffuse thy burning ray,
Thy light to distant worlds supply,
  And wake them to the cares of day. 
Come, gentle eve, the friend of care,
  Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! 
Refresh me with a cooling air,
  And cheer me with a lambent light: 
Lay me, where o’er the verdant ground
  Her living carpet nature spreads;
Where the green bow’r, with roses crown’d,
  In show’rs its fragrant foliage sheds;
Improve the peaceful hour with wine;
  Let musick die along the grove;
Around the bowl let myrtles twine,
  And ev’ry strain be tun’d to love. 
Come, Stella, queen of all my heart! 
  Come, born to fill its vast desires! 
Thy looks perpetual joys impart,
  Thy voice perpetual love inspires. 
Whilst, all my wish and thine complete,
  By turns we languish and we burn,
Let sighing gales our sighs repeat,
  Our murmurs—­murmuring brooks return,
Let me, when nature calls to rest,
  And blushing skies the morn foretell,
Sink on the down of Stella’s breast,
  And bid the waking world farewell.