128 MEMOIRS OP 



pleafure. She took her tablets and pen- 

 cil, and, feated on a flower-bank, In the 

 midft of that luxuriant retreat, wrote the 

 following lines, while the fun was gilding 

 the glen, and w r hile birds, of every plume, 

 poured their fong from the boughs. 



O, come not here, ye Proud; whofe breafts infold 



Th' infatiate wifli of glory, or of gold ; 



O come not ye, whofe branded foreheads wear 



Th' eternal frown of envy, or of care ; 



For you no Dryad decks her fragrant bowers 1 , 



For you her fparkling urn no Naiad pours ; 



Unmark'd by you light Graces fkim the green, 



And hovering Cupids aim their (hafts unfeen. 



But, thou ! whofe mind the well-attemper'd rajr 

 Of Tafte, and Virtue, lights with purer day ; 

 Whofe finer fenfe each foft vibration owns, 

 Mate and unfeeling to difcorded tones j 

 Like the fair flower that fpreads its -lucid form 

 To meet the fun, but fliuts it to the fiorm ; 

 For thee my borders nurfe the glowing wreath, 

 My fountains murmur, and my zephyrs breathe - f 

 My painted birds their vivid plumes unfold, 

 And infect armies wave their wings of gold. 



And 



