To ETHELINDA,
On her doing my Verses the honour of wearing them in her bosom.—Written at Thirteen.
ODE II.
I
Happy verses! that were prest
In fair Ethelinda's breast!
Happy Muse, that didst embrace
The sweet the heav'nly-fragrant place!
Tell me, is the omen true,
Shall the bard arrive there too?
II
Oft thro' my eyes my soul has flown,
And wanton'd on that iv'ry throne:
There with extatic transport burn'd,
And thought it was to heav'n return'd.
Tell me is the omen true,
Shall the body follow too?
III
When first at nature's early birth,
Heav'n sent a man upon the earth,
Ev'n Eden was more fruitful found,
When Adam came to till the ground:
Shall then those breasts be fair in vain,
And only rise to fall again?
IV
No, no, fair nymph—for no such end
Did heav'n to thee its bounty lend;
That breast was ne'er design'd by fate,
For verse, or things inanimate;
Then throw them from that downy bed,
And take the poet in their stead.
