Thy mien compos'd, thy even pace, Thy meek regard, thy matron grace, And chafte fubdued delight. No more by varying paffions beat, O gently guide my pilgrim feet To find thy hermit cell; Where in fome pure and equal sky Beneath thy foft indulgent eye The modeft virtues dwell. Simplicity in Attic vest, And Innocence with candid breast, And clear undaunted eye; And Hope, who points to distant years, Fair opening thro' this vale of tears A vifta to the sky. There Health, thro' whose calm bofom glide The temperate joys in even tide, That rarely ebb or flow; And Patience there, thy fifter meek, Presents her mild unvarying cheek To meet the offer'd blow. Her influence taught the Phrygian fage A tyrant master's wanton rage With fettled fmiles to meet: Inur'd to toil and bitter bread He bow'd his meek fubmitted head, And kiss'd thy fainted feet. But thou, oh Nymph retir'd and coy! In what brown hamlet doft thou joy To tell thy tender tale; |