Say, should disease or pain befall,
Wilt thou assume the nurse's care,
Nor wistful those gay scenes recall

Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

And when at last thy love shall die,
Wilt thou receive his parting breath?
Wilt thou repress each struggling sigh,
And cheer with smiles the bed of death?

And wilt thou o'er his breathless clay

Strew flow'rs, and drop the tender tear,

Nor then regret those scenes so gay,
Where thou wert fairest of the fair?

EXERCISE XI.

Though frost and snow lock'd from mine eyes

That beauty which without door lies,
The gardens, orchards, walks, that so
I might not all thy pleasures know;
Yet, Saxham, thou, within thy gate,
Art of thyself so delicate,

So full of native sweets, that bless
Thy roof with inward happiness;
As neither from, nor to thy store,
Winter takes aught, or spring adds more.
The stranger's welcome each man there
Stamp'd on his cheerful brow doth wear;
Nor doth this welcome, or his cheer,
Grow less, 'cause he stays longer here.
There's none observes, much less repines,
How often this man sups or dines.

H

Thou hast no porter at the door
T'examine or keep back the poor;

Nor locks nor bolts: thy gates have been
Made only to let strangers in;

Untaught to shut, they do not fear
To stand wide open all the year;
Careless who enters, for they know
Thou never didst deserve a foe;

And as for thieves, thy bounty's such,
They cannot steal, thou giv'st so much.

EXERCISE XII.

He shall not dread Misfortune's angry mien,
Nor feebly sink beneath her tempest rude,
Whose soul hath learned, through many a trying scene,
To smile at fate, and suffer unsubdued.

In the rough school of billows, clouds, and storms,
Nursed and matured, the pilot learns his art:
Thus Fate's dread ire, by many a conflict, forms
The lofty spirit, and enduring heart.

EXERCISE XIII.

Song.

O'er the smooth enamell'd green

Where no print of step hath been,
Follow me, as I sing

And touch the warbled string,

Under the shady roof

Of branching elm star-proof.

Follow me;

I will bring you where she sits,

Clad in splendour as befits
Her deity.

Such a rural queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

EXERCISE XIV.

Song.

Nymphs and shepherds, dance no more

By sandy Ladon's lilied banks;
On old Lycæus, or Cyllene hoar,
Trip no more in twilight ranks;
Though Erymanth your loss deplore,
A better soil shall give ye thanks.
From the stony Mænalus

Bring your flock, and live with us;
Here ye shall have greater grace,

To serve the lady of this place.

Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were,

Yet Syrinx well might wait on her.

Such a rural queen

All Arcadia hath not seen.

EXERCISE XV.

Thrice, oh, thrice happy, shepherd's life and state! When courts are happiness, unhappy pawns!1

His cottage low, and safely humble gate,

Shuts out proud Fortune with her scorns and fawns:2
No feared treason breaks his quiet sleep:

Singing all day, his flocks he learns to keep;
Himself as innocent as are his simple sheep.

No Serian worms3 he knows, that with their thread
Draw out their silken lives:-nor silken pride!
His lambs' warm fleece well fits his little need,
Not in that proud Sidonian tincture dy'd:

No empty hopes, no courtly fears him fright;
Nor begging wants his middle fortune bite;
But sweet content exiles both misery and spite.

His certain life, that never can deceive him, Is full of thousand sweets and rich content:

The smooth-leav'd beeches in the field receive him With coolest shades, till noon-tide's rage is spent: His life is neither tost in boist'rous seas

Of troublous world, nor lost in slothful ease;

Pleas'd and full blest he lives, when he his God can please.

1 Pawns, the lowest in rank; the least valuable of chess-men are called pawns.

2 Fawns, fawnings, flatteries.

3 Serian worms; silk-worms, originally brought from the country of the Seres, or northern Chinese.

4 Sidoniun, purple: the finest purple dye known to the ancients was obtained from a shell-fish found on the coasts of Tyre and Sidon. The colour is more frequently called Tyrian than Sidonian.

EXERCISE XVI.

Ode on the Creation.

The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,

And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.

The unwearied sun, from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display,

And publishes to every land,

The work of an Almighty hand.

Soon as the evening shades prevail,

The moon takes up the wondrous tale; And nightly, to the listening earth,

Repeats the story of her birth;

Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn,

Confirm the tidings as they roll,

And spread the truth from pole to pole.

What though in solemn silence all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball;
What though no real voice, nor sound,
Amidst their radiant orbs be found:
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice;
For ever singing, as they shine,
"The hand that made us is Divine."