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How various greens in faint degrees
Tinge the tall groups of various trees;
While, careless of the changing year,
The pine cerulean, never fear,
Towers diftinguish'd from the rest,
And proudly vaunts her winter vest.
Within fome whifp'ring ofier ifle,
Where Glym's low banks neglected smile;
And each trim meadow ftill retains
The wint'ry torrent's oozy ftains:
Beneath a willow, long forfook,
The fisher feeks his cuftom'd nook;
And bursting thro' the crackling fedge
That crowns the current's cavern'd edge,
He fartles from the bord'ring wood
The bafhful wild-duck's early brood.

O'er the broad downs, a novel race,
Frisk the lambs, with fault'ring pace,
And, with eager bleatings, fill
The fofs that skirts the beacon'd hill.
His free-born vigour yet unbroke
To lordly man's ufurping yoke,
The bounding colt forgets to play:
Bafking beneath the noontide ray,
And ftretch'd among the daifies pride
Of a green dingle's floping fide:
While far beneath, where nature spreads
Her boundless length of level ineads,
In loose luxuriance taught to ftray,
A thoufand tumbling rills inlay
With filver veins the vale, or pafs
Redundant thro' the fparkling grafs.
Yet, in these prefages rude,
Midft her penfive folitude,
Fancy, with prophetic glance,
Sees the teeming months advance;
The field, the foreft, green and gay,
The dappled flope, the tedded hay,
Sees the reddening orchard blow,
The harvest wave, the vintage flow
Sees June unfold his gloffy robe
Of thousand hues o'er all the globe;
Sees Ceres grafp her crown of corn,
And plenty load her ample horn.

$67. Ode. The Suicide. T. WARTON.
BENEATH the beech, whose branches bare,
Smit with the lightning's livid glare,
O'erhang the craggy road,
And whistle hollow as they wave ;
Within a folitary grave,

A wretched Suicide holds his accurs'd abode.

Lowr'd the grim morn, in murky dies
Damp mifts involv'd the fcowling skies,

And dimm'd the struggling day;

As by the brook that ling ring laves
Yon rush-grown moor with fable waves,

Full of the dark refolve he took his fullen way.

I mark'd his desultory pace,

His geftures ftrange, and varying face,
With many a mutter'd found;

And ah! too late aghaft I view'd
The recking blade, the hand embru’d:

He fell, and groaning grafp'd in agony the ground.

Full many a melancholy night
He watch'd the flow return of light;
And fought the pow'rs of fleep
To fpread a momentary calm
O'er his fad couch, and in the balm
Of bland oblivion's dews his burning eyes to fleep.

Full oft, unknowing and unknown,
He wore his endless noons alone,

Amid th'autumnal wood:
Oft was he wont, in hafty fit,

Abrupt the focial board to quit,

[flood.

And gaze with eager glance upon the tumbling Beck'ning the wretch to torments new, Defpair, for ever in his view,

A fpectre pale, appear'd;

While, as the fhades of eve arofe

And brought the day's unwelcome close, More horrible and huge her giant-shape the rear'd.

'Is this,' mistaken Scorn will cry, Is this the youth, whofe genius high Could build the genuine rhime? 'Whose bosom mild the fav'ring Muse 'Had ftor'd with all her ample views, 'Parent of fairest deeds, and purposes fublime?” Ah! from the Mufe that bofom mild, By treach'rous magic, was beguil'd,

To ftrike the deathful blow: She fill'd his foft ingenuous mind With many a feeling too refin'd,

[woe!

And rous'd to livelier pangs his wakeful fente of
Tho' doom'd hard penury to prove,
And the sharp ftings of hopeless love,

To griefs congenial prone,

More wounds than nature gave he knew,
While mifery's form his fancy drew

In dark ideal hues, and horrors not its own.
Then with not o'er his earthly tomb
The baleful nightshade's lurid bloom
To drop its deadly dew:

Nor oh! forbid the twisted thorn,
That rudely binds his turf forlorn

[anew.

With fpring's green-fwelling bunch, to yegetate

What tho' no marble-piled bust

Adorn his defolated dust

With fpeaking fculpture wrought? Pity thall woo the weeping Nine

To build a vifionary fhrine,

[brought,

Hung with unfading flow'rs, from fairy regions

What tho' refus'd each chanted rite?

Here viewless mourners fhall delight

To touch the fhadowy shell:

And Petrarch's harp, that wept the doom
Of Laura, loft in early bloom,

In melancholy tones fhall ring his penfive knell

To footh a lone, unhallow'd fhade,

This votive dirge fad duty paid,

Within an ivy'd nook:

Sudden the half-funk orb of day

More radiant fhot its parting ray,

And thus a cherub-voice my charm'd attention

took. Cs

• Forbear,

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Forbear, fond bard, thy partial praise;
Nor thus for guilt in fpecious lays
The wreath of glory twine:
In vain with hues of gorgeous glow
'Gay Fancy gives her veft to flow, [confine.
Unlefs Truth's matron-hand the floating folds
'Juft Heav'n, man's fortitude to prove,
Permits thro' life at large to rove
. The tribes of hell-born woe:
Yet the fame Pow'r that wilely fends
'Life's fierceft ills, indulgent lends
[foe:
Religion's golden fhield to break th'embattled
Her aid, divine had lull'd to rest

Yon foul felf-murd'ier's throbbing breast,
And itay'd the rifing ftorm:
Had bade the fun of hope appear
To gild the darken'd hemifphere,

[form.

And give the wonted bloom to nature's blafted

Vain man! 'tis Heaven's prerogative

To take, what firft it deign'd to give,

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Thy tributary breath:

In awful expectation plac'd,

Await thy doom, nor impious hafte

To pluck from God's right hand his inftru6 ments of death;'

68.

Who, mufing, wafte the fummer hour,
Where high o'er-arching trees embow'r
The graffy lane, fo rarely pac'd,
With azure flow'rets idly grac'd! ·
Unnotic'd now, at twilight's dawn
Returning reapers crofs the lawn:
Nor fond attention loves to note
The wether's bell, from folds remote !
While own'd by no poetic eye,
Thy penfive ev'ning fhade the fky!

For lo! the bard who rapture found
From ev'ry rural fight or found;
Whofe genius warm, and judgment chaste,
No charm of genuine nature past;
Who felt the Mufe's purest fires,
Far from thy favour'd haunt retires : '
Who peopled all thy vocal bow'rs
With thadowy fhapes and airy pow'rs.

Behold, a dread repofe resumes,
As erft, thy fad fequefter'd glooms!

From the deep dell, where thaggy roots
Fringe the rough brink with wreathed shoots
Th'unwilling genius flies forlorn,
His primrote chaplet rudely torn.

With hollow fhrick the nymphs forfake
The pathlefs copfe and hedge-row brake;
Where the delv'd mountain's headlong fide
Its chalky entrails opens wide.

Ode. Sent to a Friend on his leaving d On the green fummit, ambush'd high,
favourite Village in Hampshire.

T. WARTON.

AH, mourn the lov'd retreat! No more
Shall claffic fteps thy fcenes explore!
When morn's pale rays but faintly peep
er vonder oak-crown'd airy steep,
Who now thall climb its brows, to view
The length of landfkips ever new;
Where Summer flings, in carclefs pride,
Her vary'd vetture far and wide!
Who mark, beneath, each village-charin,
Or grange, or elm-encircled farin:
The flinty dove-cote's crowded roof,
Watch'd by the kite that fails aloof:
The tufted pines, whofe umbrage tall
Darkens the long deferted hall:
The vet'ran beech, that on the plain
Collects at eve the playful train:
The cot that fiokes with early fire,
The low-roof'd fane's embofom'd tpire!
Who now thall indolently ftrav
Thro' the deep forett's tangled way;
Pleas'd at his cuftom'd tafk to find
The well-known hoary-treffed hind,
That toils with feeble hands, to glean
"Of wither'd boughs his pittance mean!
Who mid thy nooks of hazle fit,
Loft in fome melancholy fit;
And lift'ning to the raven's croak,
The diftant flail, the falling oak!
Who, thro' the funthine and the show'r,
Defcry the rainbow-painted tow'r?
Who, wand'ring at return of May,
Catch the first cuckow's vernal lay?

No longer echo loves to lie.

No pearl-crown'd maids, with wily look,
Rife beck'ning from the reedy brook.
Around the glow-worm's glimm'ring bank
No fairies run in fiery rank;

Nor brush, half-feen, in airy tread,
The violet's unprinted head.
But fancy, from the thickets brown,
The glades that wear a confcious frown,
The foreft-oaks, that pale and lone,
Nod to the blaft with hoarfer tone,
Rough glens, and fullen waterfalls,
Her bright ideal offspring calls,
So by fome fage inchanter's fpell
(As old Arabian fablers tell)
Amid the folitary wild,
Luxuriant gardens gaily fimil'd:

From fapphire rocks the fountains ftream'd;
With golden fruit the branches beam'd;
Fair forms, in ev'ry wonderous wood,
Or lightly tripp'd, or folemn food;
And oft, retreating from the view,
Betray'd, at difrance, beauties new;
While gleaming o'er the crifped bow'rs
Rich fpires arofe, and sparkling tow'rs.
If bound on fervice new to go,
The mafter of the magic fhow
His transitory charm withdrew,
Away th'illufive landicape flew :
Dun clouds obfcur'd the groves of gold,
Blue lightning fimote the blooming mold;
In vifionary glory rear'd,

The gorgeous caftle difappear'd:
And a bare heath's unfruitful plain
Ufurp'd the wizard's proud domain."

The

$69. The Art of preferving Health. ARMSTRONG.

Book I. AIR.

DAUGHTER of Pæon, queen of ev'ry joy,
Hygeia; whofe indulgent fmile fuftains
The various race luxuriant nature pours,
And on th'immortal effences beltows
Immortal youth, aufpicious, O defcend!
Thou cheerful guardian of the rolling year,
Whether thou wanton'ft on the western gale,
Or fhak'ft the rigid pinions of the north,
Diffufeft life and vigour thro' the tracts
Of air, thro' earth, and ocean's deep domain !
When thro' the blue ferenity of heav'n
Thy pow'r approaches, all the wasteful hoft
Of pain and ficknefs, fqualid and deform'd,
Confounded fink into the loathsome gloom,
Where, in deep Erebus involv'd, the fiends
Grow more profane. Whatever fhapes of death,
Shook from the hideous chambers of the globe,
Swarm thro' the fhudd'ring air; whatever plagues
Or meagre famine breeds, or with flow wings
Rife from the putrid wat'ry element,
The damp wafte foreft, motionlefs and rank,
That fmothers earth and all the breathlefs winds,
Or the vile carnage of th'inhuman field;
Whatever baneful breathes the rotten fouth
Whatever ills th'extremes or fudden change
Of cold and hot, or moift and dry produce,
They fly thy pure effulgence: they, and all
The fecret poifons of avenging Heav'n,
And all the pale tribes halting in the train
Of vice and heedlefs pleafure: or if aught
The comet's glare amid the burning sky,
Mournful eclipfe, or planets ill-combin'd,
Portend difaftrous to the vital world,
Thy falutary pow'r averts their rage,
Averts the gen'ral bane: and, but for thee,
Nature would ficken, nature foon would die.

Without thy cheerful active energy
No rapture fwells the breast, no poet fings,
No more the maids of Helicon delight
Come then with me, O goddefs heav'nly-gay!
Begin the fong, and let it fweetly flow;
And let it wilely teach thy wholesome laws
"How beft the fickle fabric to fupport
"Of mortal inan; in healthful body, how
"A healthful mind the longest to maintain."
'Tis hard, in fuch a ftrife of rules, to chufe
The beft, and thofe of moft extenfive ufe;
Harder in clear and animated fong
Dry philofophic precepts to convey.
Yet, with thy aid, the fecret wilds I trace
Of nature, and, with daring fteps, proceed
Thro' paths the Mufes never trod before.

Nor fhould I wander doubtful of my way,
Had I the lights of that fagacious mind
Which taught to check the peftilential fire,
And quell the deadly Python of the Nile.
O thou, belov'd by all the graceful arts,
Thou, long the fav'rite of the healing pow'rs,
Indulge, O Mead! a well-defign'd clay,

Howe'er imperfect; and permit that I
My little knowledge with my country fhare,
Till
you the rich Afclepian ftores unlock,
And, with new graces, dignify the theme.
Ye who, amid this fev'rith world, would wear
A body free of pain, of cares a mind,
Fly the rank city, fhun its turbid air;
Breathe not the chaos of cternal smoke
And volatile corruption, from the dead,
The dying, fick'ning, and the living world
Exhal'd, to fully heav'n's tranfparent doine
With dim mortality. It is not Air

That from a thousand lungs recks back to thine,
Sated with exhalations rank and fell,

The fpoil of dunghills, and the putrid thaw
Of nature, when from fhape and texture the
Relapfes into fighting elements :

It is not Air, but floats a nauseous mafs
Of all obfcene, cor: upt, offenfive things.
Much moisture hurts, but here a fordid bath,
With oily rancour fraught, iclaxes more
The folid frame than fimple moisture can.
Befides, immur'd in many a fullen bay
That never felt the freshness of the breeze,
This flumb'ring Deep remains, and ranker grows
With fickly reft: and (tho' the lungs abhor
To drink the dun fuliginous abyfs)
Did not the acid vigour of the mine,
Roll'd from fo many thund'ring chimneys, tame
The putrid fteams that over-fwarm the sky,
This cauftic venom would, perhaps, corrode
Thofe tender cells that draw the vital air,
In vain with all their unctuous rills bedew'd;
Or by the drunken venous tubes, that yawn
In countless pores o'er all the pervious skin,
Imbib'd, would poifon the balfamic blood,
And roufe the heart to ev'ry fever's rage.
While yet you breathe, away; the rural wilds
Invite; the mountains call you, and the vales;
The woods, the ftreams, and cachambrofial brecze
That fans the ever-undulating sky;

A kindly fky whofe foft'ring pow'r regales
Man, beaft, and all the vegetable reign. [1miles
Find then fome woodland fcene where Nature
Benign, where all her honeft children thrive.
To us there wants not many a happy feat;
Look round the finiling land, fuch numbers rife
We hardly fix, bewilder'd in our choice.
See where, enthron'd in adamantine ftate,
Proud of her bards, imperial Windfor fits;
There chufe thy feat, in fome afpiring grove
Faft by the flowly-winding Thaines; or where
Broader the loves fair Richmond's green retreats
(Richmond that fees an hundred villas rife,
Rural or gay). O! from the fummer's rage,
O! wrap me in the friendly gloom that hides
Umbrageous Ham! But if the busy Town
Attracts thee ftill to toll for pow'r or gold,
Sweetly thou may'ft thy vacant hours poffefs
In Hampstead, courted by the western wind;
Or Greenwich, waving o'er the winding flood;
Or lofe the world amid the fylvan wilds

Hygeia, the goddess of health, was, according to the genealogy of the heathen deities, the daughter of Afculapius; who, as well as Apollo, was diftinguithed by the name of Pzon.

Cc 2

Of

Of Dulwich, yet by barb'rous arts unspoil'd.
Green rife the Kentifh hills in cheerful air;
But on the marthy plains that Effex spreads
Build not, nor reft too long thy wand'ring feet;
For on a rustic throne of dewy turf,
With baneful fogs her aching temples bound,
Quartana there prefides: a meagre fiend,
Begot by Eurus, when his brutal force
Comprefs'd the flothful Naiad of the fens.
From such a mixture iprung, this fitful pest
With fev'rish blasts fubdues the fick'ning land:
Cold tremors come, with mighty love of reft,
Convulfive yawnings, laflitude, and pains
That fting the burthen'd brows, fatigue the loins,
And rack the joints, and ev'ry torpid limb;
Then parching heat fucceeds, till copious fweats
O'erflow: a thort relief from former ills.
Beneath repeated fhocks the wretches pine;
The vigour finks, the habit melts away;
The cheerful, pure, and animated bloom
Dies from the face with fqualid atrophy
Devour'd, in fallow melancholy clad.
And oft the forc'refs, in her fated wrath,
Refigns them to the furies of her train;
The bloated Hydrops, and the yellow fiend
Ting'd with her own accumulated gall.

But as the pow'r of chufing is deny'd
To half mankind, a further task enfees;
How best to mitigate thefe fell extremel,
How breathe unhurt the with'ring element,
Or hazy atmosphere: Tho' cuftom mould
To ev'ry clume the foft Promethean clay;
And he who firft the fogs of Ellex breath'd
(So kind is native air) may in the funs
Of Effex from invet'rate ills revive,
At pure Montpelier or Bermuda caught!
But if the raw and oozy heav'n offend,
Correct the foil, and dry the fources up
Of wat'ry exhalation; wide and deep
Conduct your trenches thro' the quaking beg
Solicitous, with all your winding ans,
Betray th'unwilling lake into the ftream;
And weed the foreft, and invoke the winds
To break the toils where ftrangled vapour.
Or thro' the thickets fend the crackling fare
Meantime, at home with cheerful fires difpe
The humid air: And let your table finoke
With folid roaft or bak'd; or what the bat
Of tamer breed fupply; or what the wild
Yield to the toilfome pleatures of the chart.
Gen'rous your wine, the boast of rip'ning w
But frugal be your cups; the languid fract
Vapid and funk from yesterday's debauch,
Shrinks from the cold embrace of wat 'ry heart
But neither thefe, nor all Apollo's arts,
Difarm the dangers of the dropping ky,
Unlefs with exercife and manly toil
You brace your nerves, and four the
The fatt'ning clime let all the fons of car
Avoid if Indolence would with to live,
Go, yawn and loiter out the long flow yo
In fairer fkies. If droughty regions parch
The skin and lungs, and bake the thick'ning
Deep in the waving foreft chufe your fa
Where fuming trees refresh the thirty air,
And wake the fountains from their fecreta
And into lakes dilate the rapid ftream.
Here fpread your gardens wide; and letthe-
The moift, relaxing, vegetable ftore
Prevail in cach repaft: Your food tupply
By bleeding life, be gently waited down,
By toft decoction and a mellowing hest,
To liquid balm; or, if the folid mats
You chufe, tormented in the boiling ware:
That, through the thirty channels of the t
A fimooth diluted chyle may ever Äow;
The fragrant dairy, from its cold rectis,
Its nectar acid or benign will pour
To drown your thirft; or let the mantingas
Of keen Sherbet the fickle task relieve;
For with the viscous blood the imple fram
Will hardly mingle; and fermented cap
Oft diffipare more moisture than they gat
Yet when pale teafons rise, or winter re
His horrors o'er the world, thou may`t 196.
In fealts more genial, and impatient breach
The mellow cafk. Then too the fconrg
Provokes to keener toils than fultry drough
Allow. But rarely we fuch fkies blatpir
Steep'd in continuak rains, or with raw fe
Bedew'd, our feafons droop: incumbent re

In queft of fites, avoid the mournful plain
Where offers thrive, and trees that love the lake;
Where many lazy muddy rivers flow:
Nor, for the wealth that all the Indies roll,
Fix near the marshy margin of the inain
For from the humid foil and watʼry reign,
Eternal vapours rife; the fpungy air
For ever weeps; or, turgid with the weight
Of waters, pours a founding deluge down.
Skies fuch as thefe let ev'ry mortal shun
Who dreads the dropfy, palfy, or the gout,
Tertian, corrofive fcurvy, or moift catarrh ;
Or any other injury that grows
From raw-fpun fibres idle and unftrung,
Skin ill-perfpiring, and the purple flood
In languid eddies loit'ring into phlegm.

Yet not alone from humid fkies we pine;
For air may be too dry. The fubtle heav'n,
That winnows into duft the blafted downs,
Bare and extended wide without a stream,
Too faft imbibes th'attenuated lymph,
Which, by the furface, from the blood exhales.
The lungs grow rigid, and with toil effay
Their flexible vibrations; or inflam❜d,
Their tender ever-moving structure thaws.
Spoil'd of its litnpid vehicle, the blood
A mafs of ices remains, a droffy tide
That, flow as Lethe, wanders thro' the veins;
Unactive in the fervices of life,
Unfit to lead its pitchy current thro'
The fecret mazy channels of the brain.
The melancholy Fiend (that worft defpair
Of phyfic) hence the ruft-complexion'd man
Purfues, whofe blood is dry, whole fibres gain
Too ftretch'd a tone: And hence in climes aduft
So fudden tumults feize the trembling nerves,
And burning fevers glow with double rage.

Fly, if you can, these violent extremes
Of air; the wholesome is nor muist nor dry.

A pond'rous heav'n o'erwhelms the finking foul,
Lab'ring with ftorms, in heapy mountains rife
Th'imbattled clouds, as if the Stygian fhades
Had left the dungeon of eternal night,
Till, black with thunder, all the South defcends.
Scarce in a fhow'rlefs day the heav'ns indulge
Our melting clime, except the baleful East
Withers the tender spring, and fourly checks
The fancy of the year. Our fathers talk
Of summers, balmy airs, and skies ferene.
Good Heav'n! for what unexpiated crimes
This dismal change! The brooding elements,
Do they, your pow'rful minifters of wrath,
Prepare fome fierce exterminating plague ?
Or is it fix'd in the decrees above
That lofty Albion melt into the main?
Indulgent nature! O diffolve this gloom!
- Bind in eternal adamant the winds

*

That drown or wither: Give the genial Weft
To breathe, and in its turn the fprightly North;
And may once more the circling seasons rule
The year; not mix in ev'ry monftrous day!
Meantime, the moift malignity to fhun [paign |
Of burthen'd fkies, mark where the dry cham-
Swells into cheerful hills; where marjoram
And thyme, the love of bees, perfume the air;
And where the cynorrhodon with the rofe
For fragrance vies; for in the thirsty foil
Moft fragrant breathe the aromatic tribes.
There bid thy roofs high on the basking steep
Afcend; there light thy hofpitable fires,
And let them fee the winter inorn arife;
The fummer ev'ning blushing in the weft:
While with umbrageous oaks the ridge behind
O'erhung, defends you from the bluft'ring north,
And bleak affliction of the peevish east.
O! when the growling winds contend, and all
The founding forest fluctuates in the storm;
To fink in warm repose, and hear the din
Howl o'er the steady battlements, delights
Above the luxury of vulgar fleep.

The murm'ring riv'let, and the hoarfer ftrain
Of waters rushing o'er the flipp'ry rocks,
Will nightly lull you to ambrofial rest.
To please the fancy is no trifling good
Where health is ftudied; for whatever moves
The mind with calm delight, promotes the juft
And natʼral movements of th'harmonious frame.
Befides, the fportive brook for ever shakes
The trembling air, that floats from hill to hill,
From vale to mountain, with inceffant change
Of pureft element, refreshing ftill
Your airy feat, and uninfected gods.
Chiefly for this I praife the man who builds
High on the breezy ridge, whofe lofty fides.
Th'ethereal deep with endlefs billows chafes.
His
purer manfion nor contagious years
Shall reach, nor deadly putrid airs annoy.

But may no fogs, from lake or fenny plain,
Involve my hill! And wherefoe'er you build;
Whether on fun-burnt Epfom, or the plains
Wafh'd by the filent Lee; in Chelsea low,
Or high Blackheath with wint'ry winds affail'd,

Dry be your house; but airy more than warm.
Elfe ev'ry breath of ruder wind will strike
Your tender body thro' with rapid pains;
Fierce coughs will teaze you, hoarfenefs bind
your voice,

Or moift Gravedo load your aching brows.
Thefe to defy, and all the fates that dwell
In cloister'd air, tainted with steaming life,
Let lofty cielings grace your ample rooms
And still at azure noontide may your dome
At ev'ry window drink the liquid fky.

Need we the funny fituation here,
And theatres open to the fouth, commend;
Here, where the morning's mifty breath infefts
More than the torrid noon, how fickly grow,
How pale, the plants in thofe ill-fated vales
That, circled round with the gigantic heap.
Of mountains, never felt, nor ever hope
To feel, the genial vigour of the fun!
While on the neighb'ring hill the rose inflames
The verdant fpring; in virgin beauty blows
The tender lily, languifhingly fweer;
O'er ev'ry hedge the wanton woodbine roves,
And autumn ripens in the fummer's ray.
Nor lefs the warmer living tribes demand
The foft'ring fun, whofe energy divine
Dwells not in mortal fire; whofe gen'rous heat
Glows thro' the mafs of groffer elements,
And kindles into life the pond'rous spheres.
Cheer'd by thy kind invigorating warmth,
We court thy beams, great Majefty of Day!
If not the foul, the regent of this world,
Firft-born of heav'n, and only less than God!

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ENOUGH of Air. A defart fubject now,
Rougher and wilder, rifes to my fight.
A barren wafte, where not a garland grows
To bind the Mufe's brow; not ev'n a proud
Stupendous folitude frowns o'er the heath,
To roufe a noble horror in the foul:
But rugged paths fatigue, and error leads
Thro' endlefs labyrinths the devious feet.
Farewell, ethereal fields! the humbler arts
Of life; the Table and the homely Gods
Demand my fong. Elyfian gates adieu! [flow,

The Blood, the fountain whence the fpirits
The gen'rous ftream that waters ev'ry part,
And motion, vigour, and warm life conveys
To ev'ry particle that moves or lives;
This vital fluid, through unnumber'd tubes
Pour'd by the heart, and to the heart again
Refunded; fcourg'd for ever round and round;
Enrag'd with heat and toil, at laft forgets
Its balmy nature; virulent and thin
It grows; and now, but that a thousand gates
Are open'd to its flight, it would deftroy
The parts it cherish'd and repair'd before.
Befides, the flexible and tender tubes
Melt in the mildest moift nectareous tide

The wild rofe, or that which grows on the common briar.
Cc 3

That

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