Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies including The Chessiad, a Mock-Heroic, in Five Cantos; and The Wreath of Love, in Four Cantos. By C. Dibdin, the Younger |
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HEALTH,
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 | Comic Tales and Lyrical Fancies |  |
239
HEALTH,
AN ODE, FROM THE GREEK OF ARIPHRON.
Health, most ancient gift of Heaven,
Gift coeval with the soul;
Life and thou, together given,
Never, never, should be riven,
Till nature reach her mortal goal.
Gift coeval with the soul;
Life and thou, together given,
Never, never, should be riven,
Till nature reach her mortal goal.
Yet from Life thou oft wilt flee,
Leaving pensive Life to moan;
As lately thou hast flown from me,
And, pining, still I watch for thee,
With wearied longing eyes—alone!
Leaving pensive Life to moan;
As lately thou hast flown from me,
And, pining, still I watch for thee,
With wearied longing eyes—alone!
Oh! heavenly Health, to me return,
For we were twins—bethink thee, Health;
A claim so tender never spurn;
Canst thou, by nature kind, be stern?
Thy friendship was my only wealth.
For we were twins—bethink thee, Health;
A claim so tender never spurn;
Canst thou, by nature kind, be stern?
Thy friendship was my only wealth.
240
With thee let Life's remainder pass;
To bless my cot, ah! ne'er refuse;
For what in worth with thee can class?
All pomp can show, or wealth amass,
Is worthless, if thy smiles I lose.
To bless my cot, ah! ne'er refuse;
For what in worth with thee can class?
All pomp can show, or wealth amass,
Is worthless, if thy smiles I lose.
To wealth, to pleasure, sov'reign sway,
The pride of ancestry, or heirs;
To all that splendour gives the day,
To all that gives the spirits play,
Or gives repose to soothe our cares,
The pride of ancestry, or heirs;
To all that splendour gives the day,
To all that gives the spirits play,
Or gives repose to soothe our cares,
Thou giv'st to bless—the soft desires
That into Love's sweet toil we chase;
The balmy hopes, and holy fires,
And all that sympathy requires,
From thee, alone, derive their grace.
That into Love's sweet toil we chase;
The balmy hopes, and holy fires,
And all that sympathy requires,
From thee, alone, derive their grace.
Parent of happiness! with thee
The dearest joys alone are bless'd;
Only where thou art bloom can be;
Thou spring of sweetness! live with me,
Or vainly must I hope for rest.
The dearest joys alone are bless'd;
Only where thou art bloom can be;
Thou spring of sweetness! live with me,
Or vainly must I hope for rest.
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