Hymn to Health

Sweet as the fragrant breath of genial May, Come, fair Hygeia, heavenly born; More lovely than the sun's returning ray, To northern regions at the half year's morn.

Where shall I seek thee? in the wholesome grot, Where Temperance her scanty meal enjoys? Or Peace, contented with her humble lot, Beneath her thatch th' inclement blast defies?

Swept from each flower that sips the morning dew, Thy wing besprinkles all the scenes around; Where-e'er thou fly'st the blossoms blush anew, And purple violets paint the hallow'd ground.

Thy presence renovated nature shows, Each shrub with variegated hue is dy'd, Each tulip with redoubled lustre glows, And all creation smiles with flowery pride.

But in thy absence joy is seen no more, The landscape wither'd even in spring appears, The morn lowers ominous o'er the dusky shore, And evening suns set half extinct in tears.

Ruthless disease ascends, when thou art gone, From the dark regions of th' abyss below, With Pestilence, the guardian of her throne, Breathing contagion from the realms of woe.

In vain her citron groves Italia boasts, Or Po the balsam of her weeping trees, In vain Arabia's aromatic coasts Tincture the pinions of the passing breeze.

No wholesome scents impregn the western gale, But noxious stench exhal'd by scorching heat; Where gasping swains the poisonous air exhale, That once diffus'd a medicinal sweet.

Me, abject me, with pale disease opprest, Heal with the balm of thy prolific breath; Re-kindle life within my clay-cold breast, And shield my youth from canker-worms of death.

Then on the verdant turf, thy favourite shrine, Restor'd to thee, a votary I'll come, Grateful to offer, as a rite divine, Each herb that grows round Aesculapius' tomb.