Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My pérspective still as they pass; Or else remove me hence unto that hill, 40 Where I shall need no glass. _Henry Vaughan._ PART THE THIRD. CXXXV _ODE ON SOLITUDE._ Happy the man, whose wish and care A few paternal acres bound, Content to breathe his native air, In his own ground. Whose herds with milk, whose fields with bread, 5 Whose flocks supply him with attire; Whose trees in summer yield him shade, In winter fire. Blest, who can unconcern’dly find Hours, days, and years slide soft away, 10 In health of body, peace of mind, Quiet by day, Sound sleep by night; study and ease, Together mixed; sweet recreation, And innocence, which most does please 15 With meditation. Thus let me live, unseen, unknown; Thus unlamented let me die, Steal from the world, and not a stone Tell where I lie. 20 _Alexander Pope._ CXXXVI _STELLA’S BIRTHDAY. 1720._ All travellers at first incline Where’er they see the fairest sign; And, if they find the chambers neat, And like the liquor and the meat, Will call again, and recommend 5 The Angel-inn to every friend. What though the painting grows decayed, The house will never lose its trade: Nay, though the treacherous tapster Thomas Hangs a new Angel two doors from us, 10 As fine as daubers’ hands can make it, In hopes that strangers may mistake it, We think it both a shame and sin To quit the true old Angel-inn. Now this is Stella’s case in fact, 15 An angel’s face a little cracked: (Could poets or could painters fix How angels look at thirty-six:) This drew us in at first to find In such a form an angel’s mind; 20 And every virtue now supplies The fainting rays of Stella’s eyes. See at her levee crowding swains, Whom Stella freely entertains With breeding, humour, wit, and sense; 25 And puts them but to small expense; Their mind so plentifully fills, And makes such reasonable bills, So little gets for what she gives, We really wonder how she lives; 30 And, had her stock been less, no doubt She must have long ago run out. Then who can think we’ll quit the place, When Doll hangs out a newer face? Or stop and light at Chloe’s head, 35 With scraps and leavings to be fed? Then, Chloe, still go on to prate