LYRIC Assume the load, end pant and sweat Beneath th' imaginary weight. With our dear selves we live at strife, While the most constant scenes of life From peevish humours are not free ; Still we affect variety : Rather than pass an easy day, We fret and chide the hours away, Grow weary of this circling sun, And vex that he should ever run The same old track ; and still, and still Rise red behind yon eastern hill, And chides the moon that darts her light Theo' the same casement every night. We shift our chambers, and our homes, To dwell where trouble never comes Silvia has left the city crowd, Against the court exclaims aloud, Fhes to the woods ; a hermit- saint ! She. baths her patches, pins, and paint, Dear. diamonds from ber neck are torn : But Humour, that eternal thorn., Sticks in her heart; she's hurried. still, 'Mild her wildpassions and her will : Haunted andhagg'dwhere'er she roves, By purling streams, and silent grove's, )} Or withher furies, or her loves. Thenour own native land we hate, 'Too cold, too windy, or too wet ; Change the thick climate, and repair To France or Italy for air ; in vain we change, in vain we fly ; Go, Silvia, mount the whirlingsky, Or ride upon the feather'd wind In vain ; if this, diseased mind Clings fast, and still sits close behind. Faithful disease, that never fails Attendance at ber lady's side, Over the desert or the tide, On rolling wheels, or flying sails. Happy the soul that virtue shows To fix the place of her repose, Needless tp move; for she can dwell Inher old grandsire's ball as well. Virtue thatuever loves to roam, But sweetly hides herself at home And easy on a native throne Of humble turf sits gently down. Yet should tumultuous storms arise, And mingle earth and seas, and skies, Should the wavesswell,and make her roll Across the line, or near the pole, Still she's atpeace : for well she knows To launch the stream that duty shows, )} Andmakesher home where'er she goes. Bear her, ye seas, upon your breast, Or waft her, winds, from east to west On the soft air ; she cannot find A couch so easy as her S( Norbreathe a climate half so kind. POEMS. 281 To JOHN HARTOPP, Esq. Now Sir JOHN ' HARTOPP, Bart- Casimir,. Book I. Ode 4. imitated. Vier ,jocundre metuens ,jemcuár, tee. July, í70o. I LIVE, my dear Hartopp, live to -day, Nor let the sun look down and say, " Inglorious here he lies," .,¡name Shake off your ease, and send your To immortality and fame, By ev'ry hour that flies. 2 Youth's a soft scone, but trust her not: Her airy minutes, swift as thought, Slide off the slipp'ry sphere; Moons with their. months make hasty rounds Thesiso has pass'd his vernal 'bounds, And whirls about the year. . 3 Let folly dress in green and red, And gird her waist with flowing gold, Knit blushing roses round her. head, Alas! the gaudy colours fade; The garment waxes old. Hartopp, mark the withering rose, And the pale gold how dim it shows ! 4 Bright and lasting bliss below Is all romance and dream; Only the joys celestial flow In an eternal stream, The pleasures that the smiling day With large right-hand bestows, Falsly her left conveys away, And shuffles in our woes. So have I seen a mother play, And cheat her silly child, She gave and took a toy awayy, The infant cry'd and smil'r. 5 Airy chance, and iron fate Harry and vex our mortal state, And all the race of ills create Now fiery joy, now sullen grief, Commands the reins of human life, ...Thewheels impetuous roll ; The harnest hours and minutes strive, And days with stretching pinions drier -- - -down fiercely on the goal. 6 Not half só fast, the galley flies O'er the Venet ni sea, . {skies When sails, and 'oars, and Iab'ring Contend to make her way. Swift wings for all the flying hours The God of time prepares, The rest lie still yet in their neat And grow for future years. To THOMAS GUNSTON, Esq. . 1700. Happy Solitude. Casimire, Book: IV, Ode 11. imitated. Ruud use latentem, $c. 1 THE noisy worldcomplains of me That I should shun their sight, and flee
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