Here wafted o'er by mild Etefian air,

Thou, country Goddefs, beauteous Health! repair!
Here let my breaft, thro' quiv'ring trees inhale
Thy rofy bleffings with the morning gale;
What are the fields, or flow'rs, or all I fee?
Ah! tafteless all, if not enjoy'd with thee.
Joy to my foul! I feel the Goddefs nigh,
The face of nature cheers as well as I
O'er the flat green refreshing breezes run,
The fmiling dazies blow beneath the fun,
The brooks run purling down with filver waves,
The planted lanes rejoice with dancing leaves,
The chirping birds from all the compass rove
To tempt the tuneful echoes of the grove:
High funny fummits, deeply fhaded dales,
Thick mofly banks, and flow'ry winding vales,
With various profpect gratify the fight,
And scatter fix'd attention in delight.

Come, country Goddefs, come; nor thou fuffice,
But bring thy mountain-fifter, Exercife. Po dru
Call'd by thy lively voice, fhe turns her pace,
Her winding horn proclaims the finifh'd chafe;
She mounts the rocks, fhe fkims the level plain;
Dogs, hawks, and horfes, crowd her early train;
Her hardy face repels the tanning wind,
And lines and meshes loosely float behind.
All thefe, as means of toil the feeble fee,
But these are helps to pleasure join'd with thee.
Let Sloth lie foft'ning till high noon in down,
Or lolling fan her in the fult'ry town,
Unnerv'd with reft; and turn her own difeafe,
Or fofter others in luxurious eafe.:

I mount the courfer, call the deep-mouth'd hounds,
The fox unkennell'd flies to covert grounds;
I lead where ftags thro' tangled thickets tread,
And fhake, the faplings with their branching head;
I make the faulcons wing their airy way,
And foar to feize, or ftooping ftrike their prey;
To fnare the fifh I fix the luring bait;
To wound the fowl I load the gun with fate.
"Tis thus thro' change of exercife I range,

And strength and pleasure rife from ev'ry change.fired
Here beauteous Health for all the year remain,
When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again...

Oh come, thou Goddess of my rural fong,
And bring thy daughter, calm Content, along,
Dame of the ruddy cheek and laughing eye,
From whofe bright prefence clouds of forrow fly:
For her I mow my walks, I platt my bow'rs,
Clip my low hedges, and fupport my flow'rs;
To welcome her this fummer-feat I dreft,
And here I court her when he comes to reft;
When the from exercife to learned ease

Shall change again, and teach the change to pleafe.
Now friends converfing, my foft hours refine,

And Tully's Tufculum revives in mine:

Now to grave books I bid the mind retreat,
And fuch as make me rather good than great.
Or o'er the works of eafy Fancy rove,
Where flutes and innocence amufe the grove:
The native Bard that on Sicilian plains
Firft fung the lowly manners of the fwains;
Or Maro's mufe, that in the fairest light o
Paints rural profpects and the charms of fight.
Thefe foft Amufements bring Content along,
And Fancy, void of forrow, turns to Song.

Here beauteous Health for all the year remain,
When the next comes, I'll charm thee thus again.

A CONTEMPLATION on NIGHT.

[GAY.] for peded so

7HETHER amid the gloom of night I ftray, WOr my glad eyes enjoy revolving day,

Still Nature's various face informs my fenfe,
Of an all-wife, all-powerful Providence.

When the gay fun firft breaks the fhades of night,
And strikes the diftant eaftern hills with light,
Colour returns, the plains their liv'ry wear,
And a bright verdure clothes the fmiling year;
The blooming flow'rs with opening beauties glow,
And grazing flocks their milky fleeces fhow,
The barren cliffs with chalky fronts arife,
And a pure azure arches o'er the fkies.
But when the gloomy reign of night returns,
Stript of her fading pride all nature mourns:
The trees no more their wonted verdure boaft,
But weep in dewy tears their beauty loft;

No

No diftant landskips draw our curious eyes,
Wrapt in night's robe the whole creation lies.
Yet ftill, ev'n now, while darkness clothes the land,
We view the traces of th'.Almighty hand;
Millions of ftars in heav'n's wide vault appear,
And with new glories hang the boundless sphere:
The filver Moon her weftern couch forfakes,
And o'er the skies her nightly circle makes,
Her folid globe beats back the funny rays,
And to the world her borrow'd light repays.

Whether those stars that twinkling luftre fend,
Are funs, and rolling worlds thofe funs attend,
Man may conjecture, and new fchemes declare,
Yet all his fyftems but conjectures are ;

But this we know, that heav'n's eternal King,
Who bid this univerfe from nothing spring,
Can at his Word bid num'rous worlds appear,
And-rifing worlds th' all-powerful Word fhall hear.
When to the western main the fun defcends,
To other lands a rifing day he lends,

The spreading dawn another fhepherd fpies,
The wakeful flocks from their warm folds arife;
Refresh'd, the peafant feeks his early toil,
And bids the plow correct the fallow foil,
While we in fleep's embraces waste the night,
The climes oppos'd enjoy meridian light;
And when thofe lands the bufy fun forfakes,
With us again the rofy morning wakes;
In lazy fleep the night rolls fwift away,
And neither clime laments his abfent ray.
When the pure foul is from the body flown,
No more fhall night's alternate reign be known:
The fun no more fhall rolling light beftow,
But from th' Almighty ftreams of glory flow.
Oh, may fome nobler thought my foul employ
Than empty, tranfient, fublunary joy!
The ftars fhall drop, the fun fhall lofe his flame,
But thou, O God, for ever shine the same.

A THOUGHT on ETERNITY.
[GAY.]

E

RE the foundations of the world were laid,

Ere kindling light th' Almighty word obey'd,
Thou wert; and when the fubterraneous flame
L

Shal

Shall burst its prison, and devour this frame,
From angry heav'n when the keen lightning flies,
When fervent heat diffolves the melting fkies,
Thou ftill fhalt be; ftill, as thou wert before,
And know no change, when time fhall be no more.
O endless thought! divine eternity!

Th' immortal foul fhares but a part of thee;
For thou wert prefent when our life began,
When the warm duft fhot up in breathing man.
Ah! what is life? with ills encompass'd round,
Amidft our hopes, Fate ftrikes the fudden wound:
To-day the ftatefman of new honour dreams,
To-morrow death deftroys his airy schemes;
Is mouldy treasure in thy cheft confin'd?
Think all that treasure thou must leave behind;
Thy heir with fmiles fhall view thy blazon'd herfe,
And all thy hoards with lavish hand difperfe.
Should certain fate th' impending blow delay,
Thy mirth will ficken, and thy bloom decay;
Then feeble age will all thy nerves difarm,
No more thy blood its narrow channels warm.
Who then would wish to ftretch this narrow fpan,
To fuffer life beyond the date of man?

The virtuous foul purfues a nobler aim,
And life regards but as a fleeting dream:
She longs to wake, and wishes to get free,
To launch from earth into eternity.

For while the boundless theme extends our thought,
Ten thousand thoufand rolling years are nought.

ΚΑ

To Sir GODFREY KNELLER, on his Picture of
KING GEORGE I. [ADDISON.]
NELLER, with filence and furprise
We fee Britannia's Monarch rife,
A godlike form, by thee difplay'd
In all the force of light and fhade;
And, aw'd by thy delufive hand,
As in the prefence-chamber ftand.

The magic of thy art calls forth
His fecret foul and hidden worth,
His probity and mildnefs fhows,
His care of friends, and feorn of foes:
In every stroke, and every line,
Does fome exalted virtue faine,

And

And Albion's happiness we trace
Through all the features of his face.
O may I live to hail the day,"
When the glad nation fhall furvey
Their Sov'reign, thro' his wide command,
Paffing in progrefs o'er the land!
Each heart fhall bend, and every voice
In loud applauding fhouts rejoice,
Whilft all his gracious afpect praise,
And crouds grow loyal as they gaze.
The image on the medal placed,
With its bright round of titles graced,
And ftampt on British coins fhall live;
To richest ores the value give :
Or, wrought within the curious mold,
Shape and adorn the running gold.
To bear this form, the genial fun
Has daily fince his courfe begun,
Rejoic'd the metal to refine,
And ripen'd the Peruvian mine.

Thou, Kneller, long with noble pride,
The foremost of thy art, haft vy'd
With nature in a generous ftrife,
And touch'd the canvas into life.
Thy pencil has, by monarchs fought,
From reign to reign in ermine wrought,
And in the robes of ftate array'd,
The kings of half an age display'd.
Here fwarthy Charles appears, and there
His Brother with dejected air:
Triumphant Naffau here we find,
And with him bright Maria join'd;
There Anna, great as when the fent
Her armies thro' the Continent,
Ere yet her hero was difgrac't:
O may fam'd Brunfwick be the laft,
(Tho' heaven fhould with my wifh agree,
And long preferve thy art in thee)
The laft, the happiest British king,
Whom thou fhalt paint, or I fhall fing!
Wife Phidias, thus his fkill to prove,
Thro' many a God advanc'd to Jove,
And taught the polifh'd rocks to fhine
With airs and lineaments divine;

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