 | [Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral |  |
143
A Discourse of Life.
[Verse extracted from the prose narrative.]
I.
Ah Solitude! what shall I doThy worth to show!
Thou source of Poetry, and gay Desire;
Love's brightest Spark, and Wit's immortal Fire:
School of Sense, and Learned Arts;
With Whom Philosophy is bred:
The glory of Ambitious Hearts;
And honour of each Laurel Head:
Thou giv'st new Life to the Immortal Dead.
144
II.
First State, and Best of Men!Free from all Cares!
Ancorite Adam happy still had been,
Free from Lust, and free from Fears
Had not Company and Vice come rowling in;
And with it all that Mortals vex:
Envy pale, and Discontent
Hand in hand together went;
Envy could not be withstood,
It dy'd the Earth with Brother's Blood.
Noisy Tumults then perplext
The quiet Sylvane Scene, and silent Shade;
Where, drunk with Rest, the Creature was supinely laid.
III.
The greatest Scipio Thee admir'd,After his Conquests to a Grove retir'd.
'Tis Solitude that gives us Rest;
'Tis Solitude inspires each noble Breast.
145
Or Taverns cramm'd with loads of Knaves and Fools:
Let them boast on of Wit in Company,
While all the Wise grow Great in good Obscurity.
147
[Could we our Passions guide by Reason's Law]
Could we our Passions guide by Reason's Law,And keep th' Affections in severest Awe:
Could we a Limit set to boundless Love,
And make our Wrath in peaceful Order move:
Could we unruly Hate in Fetters bind,
And tame the wild Desires of the Mind;
Not Lovers would enjoy more Blissful Ease,
Or Halcions brooding on the silent Seas:
More Damage would the sturdy Oaks sustain
From Fighting Winds, and the Tempestuous Rain,
Than We; though Passion should its Storms raise,
Wild as the Wind, and raging as the Seas.
Grant me, good God! a Melancholy Seat,
Free from the Noise and Tumults of the Great:
Like some Blest Man, who his Retinue sees
A tall and sprightly Grove of servile Trees,
Of complemental Trees, that fright the Hindes,
Making low Congees to the roaring Winds:
148
And some good Friends make short the tedious Day.
Fraught full of Mirth, the Hours more Joy would bring,
Than the black Days attend a Regent King.
FINIS.
| [Poems on Several Occasions with A Pastoral | |