ODES, &c, ODE

So dear my Lucio is to me, So well our minds and tempers blend, That seasons may for ever flee, And ne'er divide me from my friend; But let the favour'd boy forbear To tempt with love my only fair.

O Lycon! born when ev'ry Muse, When ev'ry Grace, benignant smil'd, With all a parent's breast could chuse To bless her lov'd, her only child; 'Tis thine, so richly grac'd, to prove More noble cares than cares of love.

Together we from early youth Have trod the flow'ry tracks of time, Together mus'd in search of truth, O'er learned sage or bard sublime; And well thy cultur'd breast I know, What wondrous treasure it can show.

Come, then, resume thy charming lyre, And sing some patriot's worth sublime, Whilst I in fields of soft desire Consume my fair and fruitless prime; Whose reed aspires but to display The flame that burns me night and day.

O come! the Dryads of the woods Shall daily sooth thy studious mind, The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder floods Shall meet and court thee to be kind; And Fame sits list'ning for thy lays To swell her trump with Lucio's praise.

Like me, the plover fondly tries To lure the sportsman from her nest, And flutt'ring on with anxious cries, Too plainly shews her tortur'd breast; O let him, conscious of her care, Pity her pains, and learn to spare.