Ode II. on Leaving the Country

Ohills! O dales! O chearful fields! Where Pleasure roams at large, Now o'er your heights, now thro' your wilds, Now by your mossy marge. No longer shall I see her laid Your banks along; No longer meet her in the glade; No longer wooe the willing maid With rural pipe or song.

Ah might ye as ye cite the lay An equal vein inspire, Your varied graces should portray The offspring of the lyre: With Nature's genuine wealth o'ergrown, From gaudy splendor free; Tho' here and there a flower bestrown; While Fancy's ray with gold should crown The stream of harmony.

To recompense the joys recluse, That in your reign she found, In Fame's fair shrine the grateful Muse Should paint your classic ground. Your rills should thro' the mimic plain Desporting stray; Your songsters warble in the strain; Your groves their vernal pomp maintain Where Winter bears no sway.

Still echo to my pensive ear The breezes of the dawn, That wont new life and bliss to bear Along your dewy lawn; Where rosy Health delights to dwell, And wooe the western Gale, That scatters o'er her rustic cell, With liberal wing, each balmy smell That scents the heathy vale.

Sweet Goddess, thee my languid soul, On rising pinions borne, Shall with the warbling lark extol At early breath of Morn. When Noon from his meridian tower Extends his ray, My steps shall seek thy pleasing power, Where by some green enwoven bower The cooling waters play.

Nor when the parting sigh of Eve Pants o'er the twilight mead, Shall thy enamoured votary leave Thy ample paths to tread. Without thee what is life? A dream In sloth immerst and pain. At thy command, Oh queen supreme! Youth opes her pure ambrosial stream, And tunes the frame again.

Round thee the laughing Pleasures still Their purple plumes display, And from their nectared urns distil The blooming sweets of May. Stout Vigour, dimpled Smiles, and Play, That antic boy, Still trace thy flowery sprinkled way, With Beauty, Wit, and Fancy gay, And Love and Peace and Joy.

Ah happy, did he know his state, He who of thee possest, Enjoys the riches safe from Fate, The riches of the breast. Him not the costly halls of Pride, In pageant splendor drest, Shall win with Languor to reside: The great while gilded mansions hide, The cot oft shields the blest.

But where, beside a sunny hill That stems the Eastern wrath, The mazes of some nameless rill Pursue their lonely path, Concealed amid the winding glade From vulgar eyes, Where groves in sable gloom arrayed Their venerable refuge spread His lowly shed shall rise.

Far from the plodding arts of Care; Far from the city's coil, Where Business plants his mazy snare, And Strife contends with Guile. From Superstition's bigot ire; And Pomp's tyrannic frown; From Avarice's low desire; And Luxury's seducing fire; And Fashion's fickle throne.

There meek Content has reared her fane, And there the gladsome Hours O'er life's coutracted span amain Diffuse their sweetest flowers. Felicity's celestial light Illumes the day; While o'er the quiet of the night Elysian dreams and slumbers bright Divide their golden sway.

There erst the blush of Innocence And young Simplicity Maintained their happy residence With Love and Courtesy. Stern Justice leagued with radiant Truth Governed the willing throng: And there the infant Muse to sooth The plaint of Age, and toil of Youth, First poured the sprightly song.

The Naiads held in wizard care The music of each flood; And silver footed Dryads fair Paced thro' each haunted wood. The Graces to the favoured reed Of some young swain The mazes of their measures led, Where fragrant Flora's purfled brede Still decked the laughing plain.

But, ah, ye pleasing visions where Do ye enjoy your reign? Alas, your fairy glories ne'er Were known save in the strain. Inherit still the vale of life All Crimes that soil the great; Ambition, Fraud, and lawless Strife, And Avarice and Wrong are rife As in the domes of state.

Favoured of heaven is he, the man Who, monarch of his mind, Each hope and fear in reason's chain With equal rule can bind. No change of Fortune's varying clime Finds his recess; No dart of Fate, or theft of Time The tenor of his thought sublime Can change, or happiness.

The happiness in every part Of life's revolving scene, That brightens the benevolent heart Still constant and serene. But chief thy shades, O Solitude, In every distant age A philosophic shrine have stood To guard the knowing and the good, The poet and the sage.

All hail ye fathers of each theme That chears our evil doom, That warms the soul with fancy's beam Or wisdom's vital bloom! While seeming good and real ill Divide our day; The fair enchantments of your skill The stormy shades with light can fill And smooth our dreary way.

Still let me hear your sapient lore, Your sweetest raptures prove, As I your sacred steps adore In wonder lost, and love. And if at times the Power of song May hail my calm retreat; No other bliss to me belong! Let wealth still crown the vulgar throng, And power the vulgar great.