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Why sleep the sons of Genius now!
Why, Wartons, rest the lyre unstrung?

And thou, blest Bard! around whose sacred brow, Great Pindar's delegated wreath is hung :

Arise, and snatch the majesty of song From dullness' servile tribe, and art's unhallow'd

throng.

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ODE XVIII.

то

HEALTH.

BY ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE, ESQ.

Come, rosy Health, celestial maid,
On Zephyr's silken wing convey'd,
In smiles thy heavenly features drest,
Descend thou sweet enchanting guest
All charming, whether you appear
In STAMERS's lovely form and air,
Or her's who yonder shines from far
Fair as the morning's silver star,
In youth's soft prime and beauty's pride,
On Shannon's flower-enamellid side,
By shepherds, in each amorous tale,
Yclept the Lily of the vale.

Bright daughter of the blushing dawn, Nymph of the wood, and daisied lawn, Who Aiest the busy, full resorts Of peopled cities, revelling courts,

But, clad in russet, lov'st to dwell
With Temperance in the rural cell,
Attend the sheep-boy at his stand,
Or ploughman o'er the furrow'd land,
Or wait, at spring of fragment morn,
The opening hound, and chearing horn :

Ever chearful, ever gay, Hither come and chase away Sorrow of dejected eye, The plaintive tear, the struggling sigh, Disease with sickly yellow spread, And Pain that holds the hanging head; And in their stead conduct along Fantastic Dance, and airy Song, Wit, of taste correct and fine, Frolic Mirth, that waits on wine, Hope that fans the lover's fires, Pleasing Follies, gay Desires; For these are thine, a sprightly train, Without thee lifeless, joyless, vain.

who pour

'Tis you

o'er Beauty's face The artless bloom, the native grace ; You robb’d the bashful rose, and shed Its soft, refin’d, delicious red On WALLER's cheek; 'tis you bestow On Mansel's lips the ripening glow, With quickening spirits you supply The trembling lustre of her eye.

Through every form of mystic birth, The swarming air, the teeming earth, Through all the fruitful deep contains, Thy sovereign vital influence reigns, Mixes, ferments, inspires the whole, Pours the glad warmth, the genial soul, Breathes in the breeze, distils in showers, Swells the young bud, and wakes the flowers: With livelier green the herbage springs, The violet blows, the linnet sings, Its richest colouring Nature wears, And Pleasure leads the wanton years.

O! see I pine distress'd, forlorn,
And seek in vain thy wish'd return:
Return then, Goddess, heavenly mild,
Indulgent now as once you smild,
In golden Youth's propitious May,
When jocund danc'd my

hours

away,
With love, and joy, and rapture blest,
And thou wast there to crown the rest.
Then, as round the Seasons range,
And

years in sweet succession change,
On Shannon's silver-flowing stream
I'll sing, and thou shalt be my theme ;
Rich in my verse, thy charms shall shine,
And Harold's beauties yield to thine.

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Health! to thee thy vot'ry owes
All the blessings life bestows,

All the sweets the summer yields,
Melodious woods, and clover'd fields;
By thee he tastes the calm delights

Of studious days and peaceful nights:
By thee his eye each scene with rapture views ;
The Muse shallsing thy gifts, for they inspire the Muse.

Does increase of wealth impart
Transport to a bounteous heart?

Does the sire with smiles survey
His prattling children round him play?
Does love with mutual blushes streak

The swain's and virgin's artless cheek? From Health these blushes, smiles, and transports flow;

[owe Wealth, children, love itself, to Health their relish

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