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Compassionates my present case,
The storm subsides, the mount I gain,
grace the sweetly-vary'd scene.
O'er all my eyes transported range,
Beneath a hill, whose hoary brow Ne'er felt the wound of scythe or plow, (Along whose wild and heathy side Britannia's naval heroes ride, When they, with colors wide display'd, That proud Iberia's sons upbraid, In tawny troop, from India's shore, Guard in rough pomp their captive ore) Mid circling waters lies an isle, Whose verdant shores reflected smile With Flora's painted hues ; above,
Soft-bosom’d in a shady grove,
If chance from hence at evening fair The rising song soft steals on air, Which to the well-according strings The skilful voice sweet warbling sings, The passing swain suspended stands, And, wondering, lifts to heaven his hands, Doubts if beneath some leafy spray Soft Philomela pours her lay, Or some blest spirit from above Enchants with harmony the grove; Nor guesses that the tuneful art, Which awes and charms his simple heart, Is Her's, whose bounty loves to bless Sad sickening want, and lone distress, And Her's the sweet enchanting song, To whom the listening groves belong, And all, that Her Newcastle's art In boundless fondness can impart, Each level walk, each shelving glade, Whate'er employs the laborer's spade, Whate'er rewards his patient toil, And makes the barren desert smile,
This isle in tempting prospect stands,
For hark! the threat’ning winds arise,
My chaise regain'd, I cross the plain, When lo! the sun beams forth again. Hope, gay impostor, points the way, Where, near the road, fair Esher lay; And who at Esher would not stay? I turn'd. Retiring from the town, The noble Owner just came down. I saw the gate behind him close, Then murmur'd at this short repose From cares for Britain's safety shewn, Grudg'd his repose, who guards my own!
I now pursue my former way, And with my journey ends this day Of hope, and fear, and pain, and pleasure, Of all my other days the measure !
Your's a more even tenor know, And scarce perceive an ebb or flow. The cause is plain. To fortune’s gale You, cautious, never spread a sail ; Safe in your port, content at home, You ne'er for painful pleasure roam,
And think it folly, if not sin,
Yet sure, without offence, You may On nature's open leaf display Your harmless unambitious skill, To sink a grott, or slope a hill, A dell with flowers adorn, or lead A winding rill along the mead, Or bid opposing trees be join'd, In hospitable league intwin'd, Without their leave, whose madness dares Rouze human states to cruel wars; Or, if the Bourbon of the air Against your feather'd folk declare Fell war, betake you to th'alliance.