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Detested are these sad abodes
By modern dames of mortal make,

who rank not with such gods,
Their solitary seats forsake.
For now 'tis quite another case,
The country wears a different face.
When sometimes (oh! the cruel Lent !)
Thither her ladyship is sent,
As Sol through Taurus mounts the sky,
Or George prorogues his parliament,
Her beauteous bosom heaves a sigh,
Five months in rustic banishment.
Thither, alas! no viscounts rove,
Nor heart bewitching colonels come,
Dull is the music of the grove,
Unheeded fades the meadow's bloom;
The verdant copse may take the birds,
The breath of morn and evening's dew
To bleating flocks and lowing herds
Be pleasant, and be wholesome too;
But how can these ('tis out of nature)
Have charms for any human creature ?'

Such are the sentiments, I own,
Of all that lazy loitering race,
Form daily ushers to his grace,
Who never leave the guilty town;
But in the purlieus of the court,
By knaves are spaniel'd up and down,
To fetch and carry each report.

Far other images arise
To those who inward turn their eyes
To view the' inhabitants of mind;
Where Solitude's calm votaries find
Of knowledge the inexhausted prize:

And Truth, immortal Truth bestows,
Clad in etherial robes of light,
Pure as the flakes of falling snows,
Unenvied unreproved delight.

On me, my lord, on humble me
The intellectual train attends;
Science oft seeks my company,
And Fancy's children are my friends.
Here, bless'd with independent ease,
I look with pity on the great,
For who, that with enjoyment sees
The Laughs and Graces at his gate,
And little Loves attending nigh,
Or fondly hovering o'er his head,
To wing his orders through the sky,
Whilst warbling Muses round him shed
Sweet flowers, which on Parnassus blow,
Would wish these thorny paths to tread,
Which slaves and courtiers only know.

Thanks to my ancestors and Heaven ! To me the happier lot is given, In calm retreat my time to spend With far, far better company Than those who on the court attend In honourable drudgery. Warriors and statesmen of old Rome Duly observe my levee day, And wits from polish'd Athens come, Occasional devoirs to pay. With me great Plato often holds Discourse


powers, And Attic Xenophon unfolds Rich honey from Lycéum's flowers;

Cæsar and Tully often dine,
Anacreon rambles in my grove,
Sweet Horace drinks Falernian wine,
Catullus makes, on haycocks, love.
With these, and some akin to these,
The living few who grace our days,
I live in literary ease;
My chief delight their taste to please
With soft and unaffected lays.
Thus, to each votary's wish, kind fate
Dívides the world with equal line :
She bids ambition, care, and state
Be the high portion of the great,
Peace, friendship, love, and bliss be mine.



To Lady

Quo me cunque rapit tempestas deferor hospes.


I've oft, Melissa, heard you say,
- The world observes I never wear
An aspect gloomy or severe;
That, constitutionally gay,
Whether dark clouds obscure the sky,
Or Phoebus gilds the face of day,
In pleasure's true philosophy
I pass the winged years away.'

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In most, 'tis true, the human sense
Is subjected to smiles or tears,
To swelling pride or trembling fears,

By every skyey influence.'
Cameleonlike, their souls agree
With all they hear and all they see
Or, as one instrument resounds
Another's unison of sounds,
Their mutable complexions carry
The looks of anger, hope, and joy;
Just as the scenes around them vary,
Pleasures delight, or pains annoy.
But I, by philosophic mood,
Let the wise call it-happy folly,
Educe, from every evil, good;
And rapture e’en from melancholy.
When in the silent midnight grove
Sweet Philomela swells her throat
With tremulous and plaintive note,
Expressive of disastrous love;
I with the pensive pleasures dwell,
And in their calm sequester'd cell
Listen with rapturous delight
To the soft songster of the night.
Here Echo, in her mossy cave,
Symphonious to the lovelorn song,
Warbles the vocal rocks among;
Whilst gently trickling waters lave
The oak-fringed mountain's hoary brow,
Whose streams, united in the vale,
O'er pebbled beds loquacious flow,
Tuned to the sad melodious tale
In murmurs querulously slow,

And, whilst immersed in thought I lie,
From ages past and realms unseen,
There moves before the mental eye
The pleasing melancholy scene
Of nymphs and youths unfortunate,
Whose fame shall spread from shore to shore,
Preserved by bards from death and fate,
Till time itself shall be no more.

Thus, not by black misanthropy
Impell’d, to caves or rocks I fly;
But when, by chance or humour led,
My wandering feet those regions tread,
Taught by philosophy so sweet
To shun the fellowship of care,
Far from the world I go to meet
Such pleasures as inhabit there.

With rebel will I ne'er oppose
The current of my destiny,
But, pliant as the torrent flows,
Receive my course implicitly.
As, from some shaded river's side
If chance a tender' osier's blown,
Subject to the controling tide,
The' obedient shrub is carried down:
A while it floats upon the streams,
By whirlpools now is forced below,
Then mounts again where Titan's beams
Upon the shining waters glow:
Sweet flowery vales it passes by,
Cities and solitudes by turns,
Or where a dreary desert burns
In sorrowful obscurity,

I See the Chartreuse of Gresset, from whence this passage is imitated; but the subsequent particular application to Aristippus is the author's.

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