ODE TO HEALTH. Frances Brooke (née Moore) 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. T116245 1137 K093079.004 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. IV. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 93-94. 4v. ; 8⁰.

This e-text is part of the Works section of the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

XML created for the Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive (ECPA).

The text has been typographically modernized, but without any silent modernization of spelling, capitalization, or punctuation. The source of the text is given and all editorial interventions have been recorded in textual notes. Based on the electronic text originally produced by the TCP project, this text has been edited to conform to the recommendations found in Level 5 of the Best Practices for TEI in Libraries version 4.0.0.

Library of Congress Name Authority File (LCNAF) text-indent: 1em; margin-bottom: 1em; text-align: center; text-align: right; text-align: left; display: inline font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;
ODE TO HEALTH . BY MRS. BROOKE . THE Lesbian lute no more can charm , Nor my once-panting bosom warm ; No more I breathe the tender sigh ; Nor when my beauteous swain appears , With down-cast look , and starting tears , Confess the lustre of his eye . With Freedom blest , at early dawn I wander o'er the verdant lawn , And hail the sweet returning Spring : The fragrant breeze , the feather'd choir , To raise my vernal joys conspire , While Peace and Health their treasures bring . Come , lovely Health ! divinest maid ! And lead me thro' the rural shade , To thee the rural shades belong : 'Tis thine to bless the simple swain ; And , while he tries the tuneful strain , To raise the raptur'd Poet's song . Behold the patient village-hind ! No cares disturb his tranquil mind ; By thee , and sweet Contentment , blest : All day he turns the stubborn plain , And meets at eve his infant train , While guiltless pleasure fills his breast . O ! ever good and bounteous ! still By fountain fresh , or murmuring rill , Let me thy blissful presence find ! Thee , Goddess , thee my steps pursue , When , careless of the morning dew , I leave the lessening vales behind .