CXXIV
A PINDARIQUE ODE
Written in a Garden
[_]
The attribution of this poem is questionable.
I
Blest Shade! where I securely stay,
And taste the Fragrance of the Plain;
Which wanton Zephyr does convey
In his refreshing Play,
To chear the panting Flock, and panting Swain.
Here on this flow'ry Carpet laid,
By Nature's Hand, in Nature's Pride array'd;
My Soul, unus'd to balmy Ease,
By Sympathy at Rest,
Is lull'd within my Breast,
Unhurt by Care or Sorrow's worse Disease.
II
So have I seen the warb'ling Lark,
When Winter's cheerless Frosts were o'er,
And noisy Bear has ceas'd to roar,
The Day no longer cold, nor dark,
The narrow Compass of a Cage forget,
And broadling o'er a Turf, in silent Pleasure sit.
Here Solitude and gentle Ease combine
To give a Taste of Joy divine;
Here every Object seems design'd,
Whither thro' blooming Groves or flow'ry Meads we stray,
To drive Anxiety away,
And help Philosophy to cure the Mind.
III
With Joy I hear the tuneful Choir,
Which now are hov'ring o'er my Head;
Whilst I beneath supinely spread,
Their various Notes, and little Cares admire:
The Bird that sits upon this Bough,
Fearless by me to be distress'd,
Pursues the Building of her Nest;
Sure she by Instinct knows me now:
But my harmonious Friend, beware,
In me tho' safely you confide,
Thy Nestlings for the future hide;
All are not gentle, nor thy Work would spare.
IV
I feel, ah! lovely Seats, I feel your Influence,
That native Truth, and Innocence,
Which liv'd, e'er Virtue was deprav'd by Sense;
E'er momentary Trifles, transient Joy,
Did Man's Posterity destroy;
E'er foul Oppression had its Rise,
When all was blissful Paradise,
Before the Birth of Law, or its curs'd Parent Vice.
Oh! Let me here, kind Fate, remain
Upon this harmless, happy Plain;
Secure of peaceful Virtue and Content,
In no inglorious Ease and Banishment.
V
The Sun withdraws his genial Ray,
And reddens in the Western Sky;
The wand'ring Rooks do Homeward fly,
And, 'till the Morn appears, forsake the Prey
The Nightingale her mournful Story trills
In yonder Hawthorn Shade;
The Bleating Sheep are laid;
And on the Earth the nightly Dew Distills:
The Shepherd hasts to sound Repose,
Such sleep the Guilty never knew;
'Till Phœbus shall again his Beams disclose,
Blest Solitude, Adieu.
