They err, who think the MUSES not ally'd
To THEMIS ; both are of celeftial birth:
Both give peace, order, harmony to earth;
Both by one heav'nly fountain are supply'd;
And men and angels hymn, in general quire,
What law ordains, and what the NINE inspire.
I Rural life enjoy, the town's
In this we differ, twins in all the reft.
Yet when the dog-star brings diseases on,
And each fond mother trembles for her fon;
Now when the Mall's forlorn, the beaux and belles
All for retirement crowd to Tunbridge-Wells;
Say, will not CLOE for awhile withdraw
From dear Vaux-hall and charming Ranelagh?
Sure at this homely hutt one may contrive
Awhile not only to exift but live;
For not dull landscapes here my thoughts engross,
Woods, lawns, and rills, and grottoes green with moss.
No, the fame appetite that courts infufe,
Haunts in retreat, and to the fhade pursues.
Here all my cares are to receive and pay
Vifits, my studies a romance or play.
And then to pass the live-long Sunday off,
Walks or a ride, nay church ferves well enough.
At church, one has a chance to fee cockades,
Lur'd thither in purfuit of country maids :
Or tall Hibernian, fmit with fond defire
To wed the only daughter of a squire.
Cards have their turn, to kill a tedious hour,
If baulk'd of whift, piquette is in my pow'r;
For oft the captain, fresh from town, bestows
A friendly week upon his friend my spouse.
Then gaily glide the days on downy feet,
For fure the captain has prodigious wit;
OI could hear his fweet difcourfe for ever,
Of all that's done, and who and who's together.
Oft far and wide for new delights I range,
True fex, and conftant to the love of change.
Is there within ten miles a troop review'd
An auction of old goods, an interlude
By ftrolling players, an horfe-race, or a ball!
There to be feen I have an urgent call.
The labours of the plough are then forgot,
And THOMAS mounts the box in liv'ry coat.
Scenes odd as thefe, if CLOE can endure,
(And yet these fcenes are town in miniature)
Come, and reflect on Ranelagh with scorn,
Content e'en here, at least till routs return.
Herefore was man thus form'd with eye fubWith active joints, to traverse hill or plain, But to contemplate nature in her prime,
Lord of this ample world, his fair domain ? Why on this various earth fuch beauty pour'd, But for thy pleasure, man, her fovereign lord?
Why does the mantling vine her juice afford
Nectareous, but to cheer with cordial taste ?
Why are the earth and air and ocean stor'd
With beaft, fish, fowl; if not for man's repaft!
Yet what avails to me, or tafte, or fight,
Exil'd from every object of delight?
So much I feel of anguish, day and night
Tortur'd, benumb'd; in vain the fields to range Me vernal breezes, and mild funs invite,
In vain the banquet fmokes with kindly change Of delicacies, while on every plate
Pain lurks in ambush, and alluring fate.
Fool, not to know the friendly powers create
These maladies in pity to mankind;
These abdicated reason reinftate,
When lawless appetite ufurps the mind;
Heaven's faithful centries at the door of blifs
Plac'd to deter, or to chastise excess.
Weak is the aid of wisdom to reprefs
Paffion perverfe; philofophy how vain!
'Gainft Circe's cup, enchanting forcerefs;
Or when the Syren fings her warbling strain.
Whate'er or fages teach, or bards reveal,
Men ftill are men, and learn but when they feel.
As in fome free and well-pois'd common-weal
Sedition warns the rulers how to steer,
As ftorms and thunders rattling with loud peal,
From noxious dregs the dull horizon clear;
So when the mind imbrutes in floth supine,
Sharp pangs awake her energy divine.
Ceafe, then, ah cease, fond mortal, to repine
At laws, which nature wifely did ordain ;
Pleasure, what is it? rightly to define,
"Tis but a fhort liv'd interval from pain :
Or rather, each, alternately renew'd,
Give to our lives a sweet viciffitude,
HORACE, Ode 14. Book I. imitated in 1746. By the Same.
Ship! fhall new waves again bear thee to fea? Where, alas! art thou driving? keep steady to shore. Thy fides are left without an oar,
And thy fhaken maft groans, to rude tempests a prey.
Thy tackle all torn, can no longer endure
The affaults of the furge that now triumphs and reigns,
None of thy fails entire remains,
Nor a GoD to protect in another fad hour.
Tho' thy outside bespeaks thee of noble descent, The foreft's chief pride, yet thy race and thy fame, What are they but an empty name?
Wife mariners truft not to gilding and paint.
Beware then left Thou float, uncertain again,
The sport of wild winds; late my forrowful care,
And now my fondeft wish, beware
Of the changeable shoals where the Rhine meets the Main.
|