ODE TO MIRTH. Tobias Smollett 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. 139-141. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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ODE TO MIRTH . BY THE SAME . PArent of Joy ! heart-easing Mirth ! Whether of Venus or Aurora born ; Yet Goddess sure of heavenly birth , Visit benign a son of Grief forlorn : Thy glittering colours gay , Around him , Mirth , display ; And o'er his raptur'd sense Diffuse thy living influence : So shall each hill in purer green array'd , And flower adorn'd in new-born beauty glow ; The grove shall smooth the horrors of his shade , And streams in murmurs shall forget to flow . Shine , Goddess , shine with unremitting ray , And gild ( a second sun ) with brighter beam our day . Labour with thee forgets his pain , And aged Poverty can smile with thee , If thou be nigh , Grief's hate is vain , And weak the uplifted arm of Tyranny . The morning opes on high His universal eye ; And on the world doth pour His glories in a golden shower . Lo ! Darkness trembling 'fore the hostile ray Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn ; The brood obscene , that own her gloomy sway , Troop in her rear , and fly th' approach of morn . Pale shivering ghosts , that dread th' all-chearing light , Quick , as the lightnings flash , glide to sepulchral night . But whence the gladdening beam That pours his purple stream O'er the long prospect wide ? 'Tis Mirth . I see her sit In majesty of light , With Laughter at her side . Bright-ey'd Fancy hovering near Wide waves her glancing wing in air ; And young Wit flings his pointed dart , That guiltless strikes the willing heart . Fear not now Affliction's power , Fear not now wild Passion's rage , Nor fear ye aught in evil hour , Save the tardy hand of Age . Now Mirth hath heard the suppliant Poet's prayer ; No cloud , that rides the blast , shall vex the troubled air .