Your happy frame at once controls V. Let not old Rome boast Fabius's fate; You bought it at a cheaper rate; To show it cost its price in war; War that mad game the world so loves to play, For, though with loss, or victory, a while VI. Only the laurel got by peace No thunder e'er can blast: Shoots to the earth and dies: And ever green and flourishing 'twill last, Nordipt in blood, nor widow's tears, nor orphan's, cries. About the head crown'd with these bays Nor, its triumphal cavalcade to grace, VII. The wily shifts of state, those juggler's tricks, (As (As in a theatre the ignorant fry, How plain I see through the deceit ! The thoughts of monarchs, and designs of states; How the mouse makes the mighty mountain shake! See how they tremble! how they quake! fears. VIII. Then tell, dear favourite Muse! What serpent's that which still resorts, Still lurks in palaces and courts? Take thy unwonted flight, And on the terrace light. See where she lies! See how she rears her head, And rolls about her dreadful eyes, To drive all virtue out, or look it dead! VOL. XVI. с 'Twas 'Twas sure this basilisk sent Temple thence, Made up of virtue and transparent innocence; He ne'er could overcome her quite, Till, at last, tir'd with loss of time and ease, Resolv'd to give himself, as well as country, peace. 1x. Sing, belov'd Muse! the pleasures of retreat, Show the delights thy sister Nature yields; Go, publish o'er the plain How mighty a proselyte you gain ! fo the lov'd pasture where he us'd to feed, The crooked paths of wandering. Thames! Oft Oft she looks back in vain, Oft 'gainst her fountain does complain, And softly steals in many windings down, As loth to see the hated court and town, And murmurs as she glides away. ས In this new happy scene Are nobler subjects for your learned pen; Here we expect from you More than your predecessor Adam knew; Whatever moves our wonder, or our sport, Whatever serves for innocent emblems of the court; How that which we a kernel see, (Whose well-compacted forms escape the light, Unpierc'd by the blunt rays of sight) Shall ere long grow into a tree; Whence takes it its increase, and whence its birth, How some go downward to the root, And form the leaves, the branches, and the fruit. XI. Shall I believe a spirit so divine Was cast in the same mould with mine? Why then does Nature so unjustly share Among her elder sons the whole estate, And all her jewels and her plate? Poor we! cadets of Heaven, not worth her care, Take up at best with lumber and the leavings of a fare: Some she binds 'prentice to the spade, Some to the drudgery of a trade; Some she does to Egyptian bondage draw, Bids us make bricks, yet sends us to look out for straw: Some she condemns for life to try To dig the leaden mines of deep philosophy: And when I almost reach the shore, Straight the Muse turns the helm, and I launch out again : And yet, to feed my pride, Whene'er I mourn, stops my complaining breath, With promise of a mad reversion after death. XII. Then, Sir, accept this worthless verse, 'Tis all the portion of my niggard stars; Nature the hidden spark did at my birth infuse, And kindled first with indolence and ease; And since too oft debauch'd by praise, 'Tis now grown an incurable disease: In vain all wholesome herbs I sow, Whate'er I plant (like corn on barren earth) Seeds, and runs up to poetry. ODE |