RURAL SIMPLICITY. AN ODE. John Langhorne Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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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. 176-178. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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RURAL SIMPLICITY . AN ODE . BY THE SAME . O Thou , whom Love and Fancy lead To wander near this woodland hill , If ever music sooth'd thy quill , Or pity wak'd thy gentle reed , Repose beneath my humble tree , If thou lov'st Simplicity . Stranger , if thy lot has laid In toilsome scenes of busy life , Full sorely may'st thou see the strife Of weary passions ill repaid , In a garden live like me , If thou lov'st Simplicity . Flowers have sprung for many a year O'er the village-maiden's grave , That , one memorial-sprig to save , Bore it from a sister's bier ; And homeward walking , wept o'er me The true tears of Simplicity . And soon , her cottage-window near , With care my slender stem she plac'd , And fondly thus her Grief embrac'd , And cherish'd sad Remembrance dear ; For Love sincere and Friendship free Are children of Simplicity . When past was many a painful day , Slow-pacing o'er the village-green In white were all its maidens seen , And bore my guardian friend away . Ah , Death ! what sacrifice to thee The ruins of Simplicity ! One generous swain her heart approv'd , A youth , whose fond and faithful breast . With many an artless sigh confest , In Nature's language that he lov'd : But , Stranger , 'tis no tale for thee , Unless thou lov'st Simplicity . He died — and soon her lip was cold , And soon her rosy lip was pale , The village wept to hear the tale When for both the slow bell toll'd — Beneath yon flowery turf they lie , The lovers of Simplicity . Yet one boon have I to crave ; Stranger , if thy pity bleed , Wilt thou do one tender deed , And strew my pale flowers o'er their grave ? So lightly lie the turf on thee , Because thou lov'st Simplicity !