Why sleep the sons of Genius now ? 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. ODE XVIII. ΤΟ HEALTH. BY ISAAC HAWKINS BROWNE, ESQ. COME, rosy Health, celestial maid, In youth's soft prime and beauty's pride, Bright daughter of the blushing dawn, Nymph of the wood, and daisied lawn, Who fliest the busy, full resorts Of peopled cities, revelling courts, But, clad in russet, lov'st to dwell Ever chearful, ever gay, The plaintive tear, the struggling sigh, 'Tis you who pour 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, HEALTH! to thee thy vot'ry owes All the sweets the summer yields, By thee his eye each scene with rapture views; The Muse shall sing thy gifts, for they inspire the Muse. Does increase of wealth impart 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 |