• That henceforth I, and my immortal train, • Forfake Britannia's ifle; who fondly ftoops. • To Vice, her favourite paramour.' She spoke, And as fhe turn'd, her round and rofy neck, Her flowing train, and long ambrofial hair, Breathing rich odours, I enamour'd view.

O who will bear me, then, to western climes, (Since Virtue leaves our wretched land) to fields Yet unpolluted with Iberian fwords!

The ifles of innocence, from mortal view
Deeply retir'd, beneath a plantane's shade,
Where Happiness and Quiet fit enthron'd
With fimple Indian fwains, that I may hunt
The boar and tiger thro' Savannah's wild,
Thro' fragrant defarts, and thro' citron groves.
There fed on dates and herbs, would I defpife
The far-fetch'd cates of Luxury, and hoards
Of narrow-hearted Avarice; nor heed
The diftant din of the tumultuous world.

So when rude whirlwinds rouze the roaring main,
Beneath fair Thetis fits, in coral caves,

Serenely gay, nor finking failors' cries

Disturb her sportive nymphs, who round her form
The light fantaftick dance, or for her hair
Weave rofy crowns, or with according lutes
Grace the foft warbles of her honied voice.

SOLITUD E.

AN ODE.

BY DR. GRAINGER.

I.

Solitude, romantick maid!

Whether by nodding towers you tread,

Or haunt the defart's trackless gloom,
Or hover o'er the yawning tomb;

Or climb the Andes' clifted fide,

Or by the Nile's coy fource abide;
Or starting from your half-year's fleep,
From Hecla view the thawing deep;
Or Tadmor's marble waftes furvey,
Or in yon roofless cloyster stray :
You, reclufe, again I woo,

And again your steps pursue.

II.

Plum'd Conceit himself furveying;
Folly with her shadow playing;
Purfe-proud, elbowing Infolence;
Bloated empirick, puff'd Pretence;
Noife that thro' a trumpet speaks;
Laughter in loud peals that breaks;
Intrufion, with a fopling's face,
Ignorant of time and place;

Sparks of fire Diffention blowing;
Ductile, court-bred Flattery, bowing;
Restraint's stiff neck; Grimace's leer;
Squint-ey'd Cenfure's artful fneer;
Ambition's bufkins fteep'd in blood;
Fly thy prefence, Solitude.

IV.

You with the tragick Mufe retir'd,
The wife Euripides infpir'd;
You taught the fadly-pleasing air
That Athens fav'd from ruins bare † ;
You gave the Cean's tears to flow,
And unlock'd the fprings of woet;
You penn'd what exil'd Naso thought,
And pour'd the melancholy note.

With Petrarch o'er Valclufe you stray'd,
When Death fnatch'd his long-lov'd maid §;
You taught the rocks her lofs to mourn,
You ftrew'd with flowers her virgin urn:
And late in Hagley you were feen,
With bloodshed eyes and fombre mien;
Hymen his yellow vestment tore,
And Dirge a wreathe of cypress wore.
But chief your own the folemn lay
That wept Narciffa young and gay:
Darkness clapp'd her fable wing,
While you touch'd the mournful string;
Anguifh left the pathlefs wild,
Grim-fac'd Melancholy fmil'd;
Drowfy Midnight ceas'd to yawn,
The ftarry hoft put back the dawn ;
Afide their harps e'en feraphs flung,
To hear thy fweet Complaint, O Young!
V.

When all nature's hush'd asleep,

Nor Love nor Guilt their vigils keep,

Soft you leave your cavern'd den,
And wander o'er the works of men;

In the island Salamis.

+ See Plutarch, in the Life of Lyfander.
Simonides.

Laura, twenty years, and ten after her death.
Lord Lyttelton's Monody on the death of his lady.

But

But when Phosphor brings the dawn,

By her dappled courfers drawn,

Again you to the wild retreat,
And the early huntsman meet;
Where, as you pensive pace along,
You catch the distant shepherd's fong,
Or brush from herbs the pearly dew,
Or the rifing primrose view.

Devotion lends her heav'n-plum'd wings;
You mount, and Nature with you fings.
But when mid-day fervors glow,

To upland airy shades you go;

Where never fun-burn'd woodman came,
Nor sportsman chac'd the timid game;
And there, beneath an oak reclin'd,
With drowsy waterfalls behind,

You fink to reft:

Till the tuneful bird of night,
From the neighb'ring poplars height,

Wake you with her folemn ftrain,
And teach pleas'd Echo to complain.

VI.

With you roses brighter bloom,

Sweeter every fweet perfume;
Purer every fountain flows,
Stronger every wilding grows.

VII.

Let those toil for gold who please,
Or for fame renounce their ease!
What is fame? an empty bubble!
Gold a tranfient, fhining trouble!
Let them for their country bleed;
What was Sidney's, Raleigh's meed?
Man's not worth a moment's pain;
Bafe, ungrateful, fickle, vain!

Then

Then let me, fequefter'd fair,
To your Sibyl grot repair;

On yon hanging cliff it ftands,

Scoop'd by Nature's falvage hands;
Bofom'd in the gloomy shade

Of cyprefs, not with age decay'd:
Where the owl ftill-hooting fits,
Where the bat inceffant flits,
There in loftier ftrains I'll fing
Whence the changing feafons fpring;
Tell how ftorms deform the fkies,
Whence the waves fubfide and rife;
Trace the comet's blazing tail,
Weigh the planets in a scale;

Bend, great God! before thy fhrine,
The bournlefs macrocofm's thine.

VIII.

Save me! what's yon shrouded shade,
That wanders in the dark-brown glade?
It beckons me!-Vain fears adieu !
Mysterious ghoft, I follow you.

Ah, me! too well that gait I know;

My youth's first friend, my manhood's woe!

It's breaft it bares !-What, ftain'd with blood?

Quick let me ftanch the vital flood!

Oh, fpirit! whither art thou flown?
Why left me comfortlefs alone?—
O Solitude, on me beftow

The heart-felt harmony of woe;
Such, fuch, as on th' Aufonian fhore,
Sweet Dorian Mofchus trill'd of yore*:

No time fhould cancel thy defert;

More, more than Bion was, thou wert .

* See Idyll.

Alluding to the death of a friend.

IX. O goddess