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The worth that dazzles in the tulip's stains,
Or lurks beneath a pebble's various veins.

Sleep's downy god, averse to war's alarms,
Shall o'er thy head diffuse his softest charms;
Ere anxious thought thy dear repose assail,
Or care, my most destructive foe, prevail.
The watery nymphs shall tune the vocal vales,
And gentle zephyrs harmonise their gales,
For thy repose, inform, with rival joy,
Their streams to murmur, and their winds to sigh.
Thus shalt thou spend the sweetly-flowing day,
Till lost in bliss tħou breath'st thy soul away :
Till she t'Elysian bowers of joy repair,
Nor find my charming scenes exceeded there."

She ceas'd ; and on a lily'd bank reclin'd, Her flowing robe wav'd wanton with the wind : One tender hand her drooping head sustains ; One points, expressive, to the flowery plains. Soon the fond youth perceiv'd her influence roll, Deep in his breast, to melt his manly soul : As when Favonius joins the solar blaze, And each fair fabric of the frost decays. Soon, to his breast, the soft harangue convey'd Resolves too partial to the specious maid. He sigh’d, he gaz'd, so sweetly smild the dame; Yet, sighing, gazing, seem'd to scorn his flame, And, oft as virtue caught his wandering eye, A crimson blush condemn'd the rising sigh. 'Twas such the lingering Trojan's shame betray'd, When Maia's son the frown of Jove display'd : When wealth, fame, empire, could no balance prove, For the soft reign of Dido, and of love. Thus ill with arduous glory love conspires ; Soft tender flames with bold impetuous fires !

Some hovering doubts his anxious bosom mov'd, And virtue, zealous fair! those doubts improv’d.

Fly, fly, fond youth, the too indulgent maid,
Nor err, by such fantastic scenes betray'd.
Though in my path the rugged thorn be seen,
And the dry turf disclose a fainter green;
Though no gay rose or flowery product shine,
The barren surface still conceals the mine.

Let

Each thorn that threatens, ev'n the weed that

grows
In virtues path, superior sweets bestows-
Yet should those boasted specious toys allure,
Whence could fond sloth the flattering gifts procure?
The various wealth that tempts thy fond desire,
"Tis I alone, her greatest foe, acquire.
I from old ocean rob the treasur'd store;
I through each region, latent gems explore;
'Twas I the rugged brilliant first reveal’d,
By numerous strata deep in earth conceal'd;
Tis I the surface yet refine, and show
The modest gem's intrinsic charms to glow.
Nor swells the grape, nor spires its feeble tree
Without the firm supports of industry.

But grant we sloth the scene herself has drawn,
The mossy grotto, and the flowery lawn;
Let Philomela tune th' harmonious gale,
And with each breeze eternal sweets exhale ;

gay Pomona slight the plains around,
And choose, for fairest fruits, the favour'd ground;
To bless the fertile vale should virtue cease,
Nor

mossy grots, nor flowery lawns could please;
Nor
gay

Pomona's luscious gifts avail, The sound harmonous, or the spicy gale.

Seest thou yon rocks in dreadful pomp arise,
Whose rugged cliffs deform th' encircling skies?
Those fields, whence Phæbus all their moisture drains,
And, too profusely fond, disrobes the plains ?
When I vouchsafe to tread the barren soil,
Those rocks seem lovely, and those deserts smile.
The form thou view'st, to every scene with ease
Transfers its charms, and every scene can please.
When I have on those pathless wilds appear'd;
And the lone wanderer with my presence cheer'd;
Those cliffs the exile has with pleasure view'd,
And call'd that desert blissful solitude!

Nor I alone to such extend my care :
Fair-blooming health surveys her altars there.
Brown exercise will lead thee where she reigns,
And with reflected lustre gild the plains.
With her, in flower of youth, and beauty's pride,
Her offspring, calm content and peace,

reside.

One ready offering suits euch neighbouring shrine; And all obey their laws, who practise mine.

But health averse from sloth's smooth region flies; And, in her absence, pleasure droops and dies. Her bright companions, mirth, delight, repose, Smile where she smiles, and sicken when she goes. A galaxy of powers! whose forms appear For ever beauteous, and for ever near.

Nor will soit sleep to sloth's request incline, He from her couches flies unbid to mine.

Vain is the sparkling bowl, the warbling strain, Th' incentive song, the labour'd viand vain! Where she relentless reigns without controul, And checks each gay excursion of the soul : Unmuv'd, though beauty, deck'd in all its charms, Grace the rich couch, and spread the softest arms: Till joyless indolence suggests desires; Or drugs are sought to furnish languid fires : Such languid fires as on the vitals prey, Barren of bliss, but fertile of decay. As artful heats apply'd to thirsty lands, Produce no flowers, and but debase the sands.

But let fair health her cheering smiles impart, How sweet is nature, how superfluous art! 'Tis she the fountain's ready draught commends, And smooths the flinty couch which fortune lends. And when my hero from his toils retires, Fills his gay bosom with unusual fires, And, while no check th' unbounded joy reprove, Aids and refines the genuine sweets of love. His fairest prospect rising trophies frame; His sweetest music is the voice of fame; Pleasures to sloth unknown ! she never found How fair the prospect, or how sweet the sound.

See fame's gay structure from yon summit charnis, And fires the manly breast to arts or arms; Nor dread the steep ascent, by which you

rise From grovelling vales to towers which reach the skies.

Love, fame, esteem, 'tis labour must acquire;
The smiling offspring of a rigid sire!
To fix the friend, your service must be shown;
All, ere they lov'd your merit, lov'd their own.

That wondering Greece your portrait may admire,
That tuneful bards may string for you their lyre,
That books may praise, or coins record your name,
Such, such rewards 'tis toil alone can claim!
And the same column which displays to view
The conqueror's name, displays the conquest too.

'Twas slow experience, tedious mistress ! taught
All that e'er nobly spoke, or bravely fought.
'Twas she the patriot, she the bard refin'd
In arts that serve, protect, or please mankind.
Not the vain visions of inactive schools;
Not fancy's maxims, not opinion's rules,
E'er form’d the man whose generous warmth extends
T'enrich his country, or to serve his friends.

On active worth the laurel war bestows:
Peace rears her olive for industrious brows:
Nor earth, uncultur'd, yields its kind supplies:
Nor heaven, its showers without a sacrifice.

See far below such grovelling scenes of shame,
As lull to rest Ignavia's slumbering dame.
Her friends, from all the toils of fame secure,
Alas ! inglorious, greater toils endure.
Doom'd all to mourn,

who in her cause engage,
A youth enervate, and a painful age;
A sickly sapless mass, if reason fiies;
And, if she linger, in potently wise!
A thoughtless train, who, pamper’d, sleek, and gay,
Invite old age, and revel youth away ;
From life's fresh vigour move the load of care,
And idly place it where they least can bear.
When to the mind, diseas'd, for aid they fly,
What kind reflection shall the mind supply?
When, with lost health, what should the loss allay,
Peace, peace is lost : a comfortless decay!
But to my friends, when youth, when pleasure flies,
And earth's dim beauties fade before their eyes,
Through death's dark vista flowery tracts are seen,
Elysian plants, and groves for ever green.
If o'er their lives a refluent glance they cast,
Theirs is the present who can praise the past.
Life has its bliss for these, when past its bloom,
As wither'd roses yield a late perfume.

Serene, and sate from passion's stormy rage, How calm they glide into the port of age ! Of the rude voyage less depriv'd than eas'd; More tir'd than pain'd, and weaken'd than diseas'd. For health on age, 'tis temperance must bestow; And peace from piety alone can flow; And all the incense bounteous Jove requires, Has sweets for him who feeds the sacred fires.

Sloth views the towers of fame with envious eyes ; Desirous still, still impotent to rise. Oft, when resolv'd to gain those blissful towers, The pensive queen the dire ascent explores, Comes onward, wafted by the balmy trees, Some sylvan music, or some scented breeze: She turns her head, her own gay realm she spies, And all the short-liv'd resolution dies. Thus some fond insect's faultering pinions wave, Clasp'd in its favourite sweets a lasting slave : And thus in vain these charming visions please The wretch of glory, and the slave of ease : Doom'd ever in ignoble state to pine, Boast her own scenes, and languish after mine.

But shun her snares : nor let the world exclaim, Thy birth, which was thy glory, prov'd thy shame. With early hope thine infant actions fir'd; Let manhood crown what infancy inspir'd. Let generous toils with health reward thy days, Prolong thy prime, and eternise thy praise. The bold exploits that charms th' attesting age, To latest times shall generous hearts engage ; And with that myrtle shall thy shrine be crown'd, With which, alive, thy graceful brows were bound : Till time shall bid thy virtues freely bloom, And raise a temple were it found a tomb.

Then in their feasts thy name shall Grecians join; Shall pour the sparkling juice to Jove's and thine. Thine, us'd in war, shall raise their native fire; Thine, us'd in peace, their mutual faith inspire. Dulness perhaps, through want of sight, may blame, And spleen, with odious industry, defame; And that, the honours given, with wonder view, And this, in secret sadness, own them due:

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