« AnteriorContinuar »
Pope. Sweetness, an Ode.
Anacreon. Hymn in the Oratorio of Abel.
162 164 171 174 177 179 182 188
194 197 200
Η Ε Α Σ Τ Η.
BY PARNEL L.
Now early shepherds o'er the meadows pass,
When Damon softly trod the shaven lawn,
Here, wafted o'er by mild Etesian air, Thou country Goddefs, beauteous Health! repair, Here let my breast through quiv’ring trees inhale Thy rosy blessings with the morning gale. What are the fields, or flow'rs, or all I fee: Ah! tasteless all, if not enjoy'd with thee.
Joy to my soul! I feel the goddess nigh,
Çome, country Goddess, come, nor thou fuffice,
Let sloth lie soft'ning 'till high noon in down, Or-lolling fan her in the sultry town, Unnery'd with rest; and turn her own disease, Or foster others in luxurious ease: I mount the courser, call the deep-mouth'd bounds, The fox unkennell’d flies to covert grounds;
I lead where stags through tangled thickets tread,
To wound the fowl I load the gun with fate.
Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural song!
Now friends conversing my soft hours refine,