HYMN to CONTENT. Anna Laetitia Barbauld (née Aikin) Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T236 K019955.000 Barbauld, Mrs. (Anna Letitia), 1743-1825. Poems. London printed for Joseph Johnson 1773 pp. 53-56. vi,138p. ; 4⁰.

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HYMN to CONTENT . — natura beatis Omnibus esse dedit , si quis cognoverit uti . CLAUDIAN . O Thou , the Nymph with placid eye ! O seldom found , yet ever nigh ! Receive my temperate vow : Not all the storms that shake the pole Can e'er disturb thy halcyon soul , And smooth unalter'd brow . O come , in simplest vest array'd , With all thy sober cheer display'd To bless my longing sight ; Thy mien compos'd , thy even pace , Thy meek regard , thy matron grace , And chaste subdued delight . No more by varying passions beat , O gently guide my pilgrim feet To find thy hermit cell ; Where in some pure and equal sky Beneath thy soft indulgent eye The modest virtues dwell . Simplicity in Attic vest , And Innocence with candid breast , And clear undaunted eye ; And Hope , who points to distant years , Fair opening thro' this vale of tears A vista to the sky . There Health , thro' whose calm bosom glide The temperate joys in even tide , That rarely ebb or flow ; And Patience there , thy sister meek , Presents her mild , unvarying cheek To meet the offer'd blow . Her influence taught the Phrygian sage A tyrant master's wanton rage With settled smiles to meet ; Inur'd to toil and bitter bread He bow'd his meek submitted head , And kiss'd thy sainted feet . But thou , oh Nymph retir'd and coy ! In what brown hamlet dost thou joy To tell thy simple tale ; The lowliest children of the ground , Moss rose , and violet , blossom round , And lily of the vale . O say what soft propitious hour I best may chuse to hail thy power , And court thy gentle sway ? When Autumn , friendly to the Muse , Shall thy own modest tints diffuse , And shed thy milder day . When Eve , her dewy star beneath , Thy balmy spirit loves to breathe , And every storm is laid ; If such an hour was e'er thy choice , Oft let me hear thy soothing voice Low whispering thro' the shade .