An Irregular ODE writ at Wickham in 1746

Ye sylvan scenes with artless beauty gay, Ye gentle shades of Wickham say, What is the charm that each successive year, Which sees me with my LUCY here, Can thus to my transported heart, A sense of joy unfelt before impart?

Is it glad summer's balmy breath that blows From the fair jess'mine, and the blushing rose? Her balmy breath, and all her blooming store Of rural bliss was here before: Oft have I met her on the verdant side Of Norwood hill, and in the yellow meads Where Pan the dancing graces leads, Array'd in all her flow'ry pride. No sweeter fragrance now the gardens yield, No brighter colours paint th' enamell'd field.

Is it to Love these new delights I owe? Four times has the revolving sun His annual circle thro' the zodiack run; Since all that Love's indulgent pow'r On favour'd mortals can bestow, Was given to me in this auspicious bow'r.

Here first my LUCY, sweet in virgin charms Was yielded to my longing arms; And round our nuptial bed, Hovering with purple wings, th' Idalian boy Shook from his radiant torch the blissful fires Of innocent desires, While Venus scatter'd myrtles o'er her head. Whence then this strange increase of joy? He, only he can tell, who match'd like me, (If such another happy man there be) Has by his own experience tried How much the Wife, is dearer than the Bride.