ADDRESSED TO MISS

ON READING

THE PRAYER FOR INDIFFERENCE.

[1762.]*

AND dwells there in a female heart,
By bounteous heav'n design'd

The choicest raptures to impart,
To feel the most refin'd-

Dwells there a wish in such a breast

Its nature to forego,

To smother in ignoble rest

At once both bliss and woe!

Far be the thought, and far the strain,
Which breathes the low desire,

How sweet soe'er the verse complain,

Tho' Phoebus string the lyre.

* For Mrs. Greville's Ode, see Annual Register, vol. v. p. 202.

Come then, fair maid (in nature wise) Who, knowing them, can tell

From gen'rous sympathy what joys

The glowing bosom swell.

In justice to the various pow'rs
Of pleasing, which you share,
Join me, amid your silent hours,
To form the better pray❜r.

With lenient balm, may Ob'ron hence

To fairy-land be driv'n;

With ev'ry herb that blunts the sense Mankind receiv'd from heav'n.

"Oh! if my Sov'reign Author please,

Far be it from my fate,

To live, unblest, in torpid ease,

And slumber on in state.

D

Each tender tie of life defied

Whence social pleasures spring,

Unmov'd with all the world beside,
A solitary thing”

Some Alpine mountain, wrapt in snow,
Thus braves the whirling blast,

Eternal winter doom'd to know,
No genial spring to taste.

In vain warm suns their influence shed,
The zephyrs sport in vain,

He rears unchang'd his barren head,
Whilst beauty decks the plain.

What tho' in scaly armour drest,

Indifference may repel

The shafts of woe-in such a breast

No joy can ever dwell. ·

'Tis woven in the world's great plan,

And fix'd by Heav'n's decree, That all the true delights of man Should spring from Sympathy.

'Tis nature bids, and whilst the laws

Of nature we retain,

Our self-approving bosom draws

A pleasure from its pain.

Thus grief itself has comforts dear,

The sordid never know;

And ecstasy attends the tear,

When virtue bids it flow.

For, when it streams from that pure source, No bribes the heart can win,

To check, or alter from its course

The luxury within.

Peace to the phlegm of sullen elves,

Who, if from labour eas'd,

Extend no care beyond themselves,

Unpleasing and unpleas'd.

Let no low thought suggest the pray'r, Oh! grant, kind Heav'n, to me, Long as I draw ethereal air

Sweet Sensibility.

Where'er the heav'nly nymph is seen,

With lustre-beaming eye,

A train, attendant on their Queen,

(Her rosy chorus) fly.

The jocund Loves in Hymen's band,

With torches ever bright,

And gen'rous Friendship hand in hand,

With Pity's wat❜ry sight.