AN
ODE
.
BY
S—L
J—N
,
L.
L.
D.
STERN
Winter
now
by
Spring
repress'd
,
Forbears
the
long-continued
strife
,
And
Nature
on
her
naked
breast
Delights
to
catch
the
gales
of
Life
.
Now
,
o'er
the
rural
kingdom
roves
Soft
Pleasure
,
with
her
laughing
train
,
Love
warbles
in
the
vocal
groves
,
And
Vegetation
plants
the
plain
.
Unhappy
!
whom
to
beds
of
pain
The
author
being
ill
of
the
gout
.
Arthritic
Tyranny
consigns
,
Whom
smiling
Nature
courts
in
vain
,
Tho'
Rapture
sings
,
and
Beauty
shines
.
Yet
tho'
my
limbs
Disease
invades
,
Her
wings
Imagination
tries
,
And
bears
me
to
the
peaceful
shades
,
Where
—'s
humble
turrets
rise
.
Here
stop
,
my
Soul
,
thy
rapid
flight
,
Nor
from
the
pleasing
groves
depart
,
Where
first
great
Nature
charm'd
my
sight
,
Where
Wisdom
first
inform'd
my
heart
.
Here
let
me
thro'
the
vales
pursue
A
guide
,
a
father
,
and
a
friend
;
Once
more
great
Nature's
work
renew
,
Once
more
on
Wisdom's
voice
attend
.
From
false
caresses
,
causeless
strife
,
Wild
hope
,
vain
fear
,
alike
remov'd
;
Here
let
me
learn
the
use
of
life
,
When
best
enjoy'd
,
when
most
improv'd
.
Teach
me
,
thou
venerable
bower
,
Cool
Meditation's
quiet
seat
,
The
generous
scorn
of
venal
power
,
The
silent
grandeur
of
retreat
.
When
Pride
by
guilt
to
greatness
climbs
,
Or
raging
Factions
rush
to
war
;
Here
let
me
learn
to
shun
the
crimes
I
can't
prevent
,
and
will
not
share
.
But
,
lest
I
fall
by
subtler
foes
,
Bright
Wisdom
,
teach
me
Curio's
art
,
The
swelling
passions
to
compose
,
And
quell
the
rebels
of
the
heart
.