Page:The lives of the poets of Great Britain and Ireland to the time of Dean Swift - Volume 4.djvu/106

Be far, that guilt! be never known that ſhame!
That England ſhould retract her rightful claim!
Or ceaſing to be dreaded and ador’d,
Stain with her pen the luſtre of her ſword.
Or doſt thou give the winds, a-far to blow,
Each vexing thought, and heart-devouring woe,
And fix thy mind alone on rural ſcenes,
To turn the levell’d lawns to liquid plains;
To raiſe the creeping rills from humble beds,
And force the latent ſprings to lift their heads;
On watry columns capitals to rear,
That mix their flowing curls with upper air?
Or doſt thou, weary grown, late works neglect,
No temples, ſtatues, obeliſks erect;
But catch the morning breeze from fragrant meads.
Or ſhun the noon-tide ray in wholeſome ſhades;
Or lowly walk along the mazy wood,
To meditate on all that’s wiſe and good:
For nature, bountiful, in thee has join’d,
A perſon pleaſing, with a worthy mind,
Not giv’n the form alone, but means and art,
To draw the eye, or to allure the heart.
Poor were the praiſe, in fortune to excel,
Yet want the way to uſe that fortune well.
While thus adorn’d, while thus with virtue crown’d,
At home in peace; abroad, in arms renown’d;
Graceful in form, and winning in addreſs,
While well you think, what aptly you expreſs;
With health, with honour, with a fair eſtate,
A table free, and elegantly neat.
What can be added more to mortal bliſs?
What can he want that ſtands poſſeſt of this?
What can the fondeſt wiſhing mother more,
Of heav’n attentive, for her ſon implore?
And yet, a happineſs remains unknown,
Or to philoſophy reveal’d alone;

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