The time has been when I have frown'd
To hear thy voice the woods invade;
And while thy solemn accent drown'd
Some sweeter poet of the shade,
Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care
Some constant youth or generous fair
With dull advice upbraid.

I said, 'While Philomela's song
Proclaims the passion of the grove,
It ill beseems a Cuckow's tongue
Her charming language to reprove'
Alas, how much a lover's ear
Hates all the sober truth to hear,
The sober truth of love!

When hearts are in each other bless'd,
When nought but lofty faith can rule
The nymph's and swain's consenting breast,
How cuckow-like in Cupid's school,
With store of grave prudential saws
On fortune's power and custom's laws,
Appears each friendly fool!

Yet think betimes, ye gentle train
Whom love and hope and fancy sway,
Who every harsher care disdain,
Who by the morning judge the day,
Think that, in April's fairest hours,
To warbling shades and painted flowers
The Cuckow joins his lay.

TO THE

HON. CHARLES TOWNSHEND,

IN THE COUNTRY.

1750.

I. 1.

How oft shall I survey

This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade, The vale with sheaves o'erspread,

The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray? When will thy cheerful mind

Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem?

Or, tell me, dost thou deem

No more to join in glory's toilsome race,

But here content embrace

That happy leisure which thou had'st resign'd?

I. 2.

Alas, ye happy hours,

When books and youthful sport the soul could share,
Ere one ambitious care

Of civil life had aw'd her simpler powers;
Oft as your winged train

Revisit here my friend in white array,

Oh fail not to display

Each fairer scene where I perchance had part,

That so his generous heart

The' abode of even friendship may remain.

I. 3.

For not imprudent of my loss to come,
I saw from contemplation's quiet cell
His feet ascending to another home

Where public praise and envied greatness dwell.
But shall we therefore, O my lyre,
Reprove ambition's best desire?
Extinguish glory's flame?

Far other was the task enjoin'd

When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd: Far other faith belongs to friendship's honour'd

name.

II. 1.

Thee, Townshend, not the arms

Of slumbering ease, nor pleasure's rosy chain,
Were destin'd to detain :

No, nor bright science, nor the Muse's charms.
For them high Heaven prepares
Their proper votaries, an humbler band:
And ne'er would Spenser's hand

Have deign'd so strike the warbling Tuscan shell,
Nor Harrington to tell

What habit an immortal city wears.

II. 2.

Had this been born to shield

The cause which Cromwell's impious hand betray'd,
Or that, like Vere, display'd

His redcross banner o'er the Belgian field.
Yet where the will divine

Hath shut those loftiest paths, it next remains,
With reason clad in strains

Of harmony, selected minds to' inspire,
And virtue's living fire

To feed and eternize in hearts like thine.

II. 3.

For never shall the herd, whom envy sways,
So quell my purpose or my tongue controul,
That I should fear illustrious worth to praise,
Because its master's friendship mov'd my soul.
Yet, if this undissembling strain
Should now perhaps thine ear detain
With any pleasing sound,
Remember thou that righteous fame

From hoary age a strict account will claim Of each auspicious palm with which thy youth was crown'd.

III. 1.

Nor obvious is the way

Where Heaven expects thee, nor the traveller leads,
Through flowers or fragrant meads,

Or groves that hark to Philomela's lay.
The' impartial laws of fate

To nobler virtues wed severer cares.
Is there a man who shares

The summit next where heavenly natures dwell?
Ask him (for he can tell)

What storms beat round that rough laborious height.

III. 2.

Ye heroes, who of old

Did generous England Freedom's throne ordain;
From Alfred's parent reign

To Nassau, great deliverer, wise and bold;
I know your perils hard,

Your wounds, your painful marches, wintry seas,
The night estrang'd from ease,

The day by cowardice and falsehood vex'd,
The head with doubt perplex'd,

The indignant heart disdaining the reward

III. 3.

Which envy hardly grants. But, O renown,
O praise from judging Heaven and virtuous men.
If thus they purchas'd thy divinest crown,
Say, who shall hesitate? or who complain?
And now they sit on thrones above:
And when among the gods they move
Before the Sovran Mind,

'Lo, these,' he saith, 'lo, these are they Who to the laws of mine eternal sway From violence and fear asserted human kind.'

IV. 1.

Thus honour'd while the train

Of legislators in his presence dwell;
If I may aught foretell,

The statesman shall the second palm obtain.
For dreadful deeds of arms

Let vulgar bards, with undiscerning praise,
More glittering trophies raise:

But wisest Heaven what deeds may chiefly move
To favour and to love?

What; save wide blessings, or averted harms?

Nor to the' imbattled field

Shall these achievements of the peaceful gown

The green immortal crown

Of valour, or the songs of conquest, yield.
Not Fairfax wildly bold,

While bare of crest he hew'd his fatal way,
Through Naseby's firm array,