ODE V. To Health

The Lesbian Lute no more can charm, Nor my once-panting Bosom warm, No more I breathe the tender sigh; Nor, when my beauteous Swain appears With downcast Look, and starting Tears, Confess the Lustre of his Eye.

With Freedom blest, at early Dawn, I wander o'er the verdant Lawn, And hail the sweet returning Spring; The fragrant Breeze, the feather'd Choir To raise my vernal Joys conspire, Whilst Peace and Health their Treasures bring.

Come, lovely Health! divinest Maid! And lead me through the rural Shade! To thee the rural Shades belong; 'Tis thine to bless the simple Swain; And, while he tries the tuneful Strain, To raise the raptur'd Poet's Song.

Behold the patient Village-Hind! No Cares disturb his tranquil Mind By thee, and sweet Contentment, blest; All Day he turns the stubborn Plain, And meets at Eve his Infant Train While guiltless Pleasure fills his Breast.

O, ever good, and bounteous! still By Fountain fresh, or murmuring Rill, Let me thy blissful Presence find; Thee, Goddess, thee my Steps pursue, When careless of the Morning Dew, I leave the lessening Vales behind.