To W. D—, Esq Oxford

You ask me if I spend my day, In the circle of the gay; Or if greater pleasures rise, From the sylvan deities: Listen then, while I confess, How I purchase happiness. 'Tis not on the crouded Styene, Where the great and proud are seen, No, nor do I ever stoop, Where the vari'gated group Bend to Fashion's airy shrine; Such are no pursuits of mine. But when Tyrra-lyrra sings, Spreading his ecstatic wings; With some friend, or fav'rite book, Near some fountain, or some brook, There it is I take my seat, There I always pleasure meet.

Or where Ceres spreads the plain, With her rich luxuriant grain, Or Pomona's fruits invite, Tempting of the ravish'd sight: Oft the mountain's brow I tread, Where the shepherd's care is spread, Or the gradual heights ascend, View or prospect to extend: Plains or distant hills I spy, Proudly tow'ring to the sky, Here a level, there a steep, Or a winding river peep, Shewing oft its glassy face, In some unexpected place, Till some mountain rise between, Vari'gating of the scene, There it is I take my seat, There I always pleasure meet. Here, tho' coy to sluggish wealth, Sits the rosy god of health; Here his fount for ever flows, Ev'ry happy shepherd knows; Here the gentle zephyrs spill Their aromatics round each hill; Here the listless nerve is brac'd, Here the wonted bloom replac'd, Robb'd by dissipation's crew, Here restores its native hue; Then my friend attend to me, Tread the margin of the sea, Seek the woodland or the lawn, Or the hill at early dawn, 'Ere the thirsty sun appears, Tippling on nocturnal tears: There it is I take my seat, There it is I pleasure meet.