THE

LETTER.

IN rural innocence fecure I dwell,

Alike to fortune and to fame unknown; Approving confcience cheers my humble cell, And focial quiet marks me for her own.

Next to the bleflings of religious truth,
Two gifts my endless gratitude engage;
A wife, the joy and transport of my youth,
Now, with a fon, the comfort of my age.

Seek not to draw me from this kind retreat,

In loftier fpheres unfit, untaught to move; Content, with calm, domeftic life, where meet

The smiles of friendship, and the sweets of love.

THE

JOHN

Bibl
Bodl

ODE I.

I. 1.

AUGHTER of Chaos and old Night,

DAUGHTER

Cimmerian Mufe! all hail!

That wrapt in never-twinkling gloom canft write,

And shadowest meaning with thy dusky veil!

What Poet fings, and strikes the strings?
It was the mighty Theban spoke.

He, from the ever-living lyre,

With magic hand elicits fire.

Heard ye the din of modern Rhymers bray?

It was cool Mn, or warm G-y

Involv'd in tenfold fmoke.