2 The time has been when I have frown'd To hear thy voice the woods invade; And while thy solemn accent drown'd Some sweeter poet of the shade, Thus, thought I, thus the sons of care Some constant youth or generous fair With dull advice upbraid. 3 I said, 'While Philomela's song Proclaims the passion of the grove, It ill beseems a cuckoo's tongue Her charming language to reprove'-- Alas, how much a lover's ear Hates all the sober truth to hear, The sober truth of love! 4 When hearts are in each other bless'd, When nought but lofty faith can rule The nymph's and swain's consenting breast, How cuckoo-like in Cupid's school, With store of grave prudential saws On fortune's power and custom's laws, Appears each friendly fool! 5 Yet think betimes, ye gentle train Whom love, and hope, and fancy sway, Who every harsher care disdain, Who by the morning judge the day, Think that, in April's fairest hours, To warbling shades and painted flowers The cuckoo joins his lay. ODE IV. TO THE HONOURABLE CHARLES TOWNSHEND; IN THE COUNTRY. 1750. I.--1. How oft shall I survey This humble roof, the lawn, the greenwood shade, The vale with sheaves o'erspread, The glassy brook, the flocks which round thee stray? When will thy cheerful mind Of these have utter'd all her dear esteem? Or, tell me, dost thou deem No more to join in glory's toilsome race, But here content embrace That happy leisure which thou hadst resign'd? I.--2. Alas, ye happy hours, When books and youthful sport the soul could share, Ere one ambitious care Of civil life had awed her simpler powers; Oft as your winged, train Revisit here my friend in white array, Oh, fail not to display Each fairer scene where I perchance had part, That so his generous heart The abode of even friendship may remain. I.--3. For not imprudent of my loss to come, I saw from Contemplation's quiet cell His feet ascending to another home, Where public praise and envied greatness dwell. But shall we therefore, O my lyre, Reprove ambition's best desire,-- Extinguish glory's flame? Far other was the task enjoin'd When to my hand thy strings were first assign'd: Far other faith belongs to friendship's honour'd name. II.--1. Thee, Townshend, not the arms Of slumbering Ease, nor Pleasure's rosy chain, Were destined to detain; No, nor bright Science, nor the Muse's charms. For them high heaven prepares Their proper votaries, an humbler band: And ne'er would Spenser's hand Have deign'd to strike the warbling Tuscan shell, Nor Harrington to tell What habit an immortal city wears; II.--2.