8 Teach me, thou venerable bower! Cool Meditation's quiet seat, The generous scorn of venal power, The silent grandeur of retreat. 9 When pride by guilt to greatness climbs, Or raging factions rush to war, Here let me learn to shun the crimes I can't prevent, and will not share. 10 But lest I fall by subtler foes, Bright Wisdom, teach me Curio's art, The swelling passions to compose, And quell the rebels of the heart! * * * * * MIDSUMMER. 1 O Phoebus! down the western sky, Far hence diffuse thy burning ray; Thy light to distant worlds supply, And wake them to the cares of day. 2 Come, gentle Eve! the friend of Care, Come, Cynthia, lovely queen of night! Refresh me with a cooling breeze, And cheer me with a lambent light. 3 Lay me where, o'er the verdant ground, Her living carpet Nature spreads; Where the green bower, with roses crown'd, In showers its fragrant foliage sheds. 4 Improve the peaceful hour with wine; Let music die along the grove; Around the bowl let myrtles twine, And every strain be tuned to love. 5 Come, Stella, queen of all my heart! Come, born to fill its vast desires! Thy looks perpetual joys impart, Thy voice perpetual love inspires. 6 While, all my wish and thine complete, By turns we languish and we burn, Let sighing gales our sighs repeat, Our murmurs, murmuring brooks return. 7 Let me, when Nature calls to rest, And blushing skies the morn foretell, Sink on the down of Stella's breast, And bid the waking world farewell. * * * * * AUTUMN. 1 Alas! with swift and silent pace, Impatient Time rolls on the year; The seasons change, and Nature's face Now sweetly smiles, now frowns severe. 2 'Twas Spring, 'twas Summer, all was gay; Now Autumn bends a cloudy brow; The flowers of Spring are swept away, And Summer fruits desert the bough. 3 The verdant leaves that play'd on high, And wanton'd on the western breeze, Now trod in dust neglected lie, As Boreas strips the bending trees. 4 The fields, that waved with golden grain, As russet heaths are wild and bare; Not moist with dew, but drench'd in rain, Nor Health, nor Pleasure wanders there. 5 No more, while through the midnight shade, Beneath the moon's pale orb I stray, Soft pleasing woes my heart invade, As Prognè[1] pours the melting lay. 6 From this capricious clime she soars, Oh! would some god but wings supply! To where each morn the Spring restores, Companion of her flight, I'd fly. 7 Vain wish! me Fate compels to bear The downward season's iron reign, Compels to breathe polluted air, And shiver on a blasted plain.