Answered from Canterbury

A Song, O Philo, from the rural shade, Due to thy friendship, and so long unpaid, O would the muse in lays like thine inspire, And in my bosom wake the lingering fire, I pray, but pray in vain, with scornful eyes She still the tributary song denies. O how shall I invoke a wanton maid, Who loves to wander thro' the rural shade, But scorns the senseless jargon of the schools, Foe to proud science, and her frigid rules! I whom that goddess in her chain has bound To tread her tedious and unvaried round; I whose dull genius is untaught to roam Beyond the narrow limits of her home. Thee, thee, my friend, whom happier fate conveys To regions worthy of immortal lays, Thee every muse with rapture shall inspire, And kindle in thy breast the latent fire. Where thousand venerable domes arise, Where Verrio's breathing canvas meets thine eyes, Where pleas'd thou view'st how Scarborough's rugged brow Frowns horrid o'er the darken'd floods below; So sings the lark high-towering to the skies, And views hill, dale, and forest as she flies, While the poor linnet, by some tyrant hind To the close prison of the cage confin'd, Forgets the sprightly wildness of her song, The grove, the valley, and th' aerial throng.

The time shall come when to the shades retir'd, With nature charm'd, and by the muse inspir'd, Happy some little rural flock to tend, Happy to boast that Philo is my friend, I'll try once more my long-forgotten strain, And in retirement court the tuneful train; There o'er each labour shall the muses smile, And bless my evening walk and morning toil; Each season to my friend the song I'll give, And he well-pleas'd each offering shall receive; And while with smiles he reads the artless line, His judgment shall correct, his taste refine.

Come then, my friend, together let us tread Once more where science lifts th' aspiring head; Dull goddess, from whose seat and barren plain Fly all the nymphs, and all the sylvan train: Yet, pleas'd even here, we'll own sweet friendship's power, Smiling in converse o'er the social hour; Here patient o'er the dreary desert toil, Cheer'd with the prospect of a happier soil!