3 But neither music, nor the powers Of youth and mirth and frolic cheer, Add half that sunshine to the hours, Or make life's prospect half so clear, As memory brings it to the eye From scenes where Amoret was by. 4 Yet not a satirist could there Or fault or indiscretion find; Nor any prouder sage declare One virtue, pictured in his mind, Whose form with lovelier colours glows Than Amoret's demeanour shows. 5 This sure is Beauty's happiest part: This gives the most unbounded sway: This shall enchant the subject heart When rose and lily fade away; And she be still, in spite of time, Sweet Amoret in all her prime. ODE IX. AT STUDY. 1 Whither did my fancy stray? By what magic drawn away Have I left my studious theme, From this philosophic page, From the problems of the sage, Wandering through a pleasing dream? 2 'Tis in vain, alas! I find, Much in vain, my zealous mind Would to learned Wisdom's throne Dedicate each thoughtful hour: Nature bids a softer power Claim some minutes for his own. 3 Let the busy or the wise View him with contemptuous eyes; Love is native to the heart: Guide its wishes as you will; Without Love you'll find it still Void in one essential part. 4 Me though no peculiar fair Touches with a lover's care; Though the pride of my desire Asks immortal friendship's name, Asks the palm of honest fame, And the old heroic lyre; 5 Though the day have smoothly gone, Or to letter'd leisure known, Or in social duty spent; Yet at eve my lonely breast Seeks in vain for perfect rest; Languishes for true content. ODE X. TO THOMAS EDWARDS, ESQ.; ON THE LATE EDITION OF MR. POPE'S WORKS. 1751. 1 Believe me, Edwards, to restrain The licence of a railer's tongue Is what but seldom men obtain By sense or wit, by prose or song: A task for more Herculean powers, Nor suited to the sacred hours Of leisure in the Muse's bowers. 2 In bowers where laurel weds with palm, The Muse, the blameless queen, resides: Fair Fame attends, and Wisdom calm Her eloquence harmonious guides: While, shut for ever from her gate, Oft trying, still repining, wait Fierce Envy and calumnious Hate. 3 Who, then, from her delightful bounds Would step one moment forth to heed What impotent and savage sounds From their unhappy mouths proceed? No: rather Spenser's lyre again Prepare, and let thy pious strain For Pope's dishonour'd shade complain. 4 Tell how displeased was every bard, When lately in the Elysian grove They of his Muse's guardian heard, His delegate to fame above; And what with one accord they said Of wit in drooping age misled, And Warburton's officious aid: