The ARBOUR: An ODE to CONTENTMENT. Thomas Cole Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
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Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T131163 K104099.006 Dodsley, Robert, 1703-1764. A Collection of Poems in Six Volumes. By Several Hands. Vol. VI. London printed by J. Hughs, for R. and J. Dodsley 1763 [1st ed. 1758] pp. 91-97. 6v.: music; 8⁰.

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The ARBOUR : An ODE to CONTENTMENT . By Mr. THOMAS COLE . TO these lone shades , where Peace delights to dwell , May Fortune oft permit me to retreat ; Here bid the world , with all its cares , farewel , And leave its pleasures to the rich and great . Oft as the summer's sun shall cheer this scene , With that mild gleam which points his parting ray , Here let my soul enjoy each eve serene , Here share its calm , 'till life's declining day . No gladsome image then should 'scape my sight , From these gay flow'rs , which border near my eye , To yon bright cloud , that decks , with richest light , The gilded mantle of the western sky . With ample gaze , I'd trace that ridge remote , Where op'ning cliffs disclose the boundless main ; With earnest ken , from each low hamlet note The steeple's summit peeping o'er the plain . What various works that rural landscape fill , Where mingling hedge-rows beauteous fields inclose ; And prudent Culture , with industrious skill , Her chequer'd scene of crops and fallows shows ? How should I love to mark that riv'let's maze , Through which it works its untaught course along ; Whilst near its grassy banks the herd shall graze , And blithsome milkmaid chaunt her thoughtless song ? Still would I note the shades of length'ning sheep , As scatter'd o'er the hill's slant brow they rove ; Still note the day's last glimm'ring lustre creep From off the verge of yonder upland grove . Nor should my leisure seldom wait to view The slow-wing'd rooks in homeward train succeed ; Nor yet forbear the swallow to pursue , With quicker glance , close skimming o'er the mead . But mostly here should I delight t' explore The bounteous laws of Nature's mystic pow'r ; Then muse on him who blesseth all her store , And give to solemn thoughts the sober hour . Let Mirth unenvy'd laugh with proud disdain , And deem it spleen one moment thus to waste ; If so she keep far hence her noisy train , Nor interrupt those joys she cannot taste . Far sweeter streams shall flow from Wisdom's spring , Than she receives from Folly's costliest bowl ; And what delights can her chief dainties bring , Like those which feast the heavenly-pensive soul ? Hail Silence then ! be thou my frequent guest ; For thou art wont my gratitude to raise , As high as wonder can the theme suggest , Whene'er I meditate my Maker's praise . What joy for tutor'd Piety to learn , All that my christian solitude can teach , Where weak-ey'd Reason's self may well discern Each clearer truth the gospel deigns to preach ? No object here but may convince the mind , Of more than thoughtful honesty shall need ; Nor can Suspense long question here to find Sufficient evidence to fix its creed . 'Tis God that gives this bow'r its aweful gloom ; His arched verdure does its roof invest ; He breathes the life of fragrance on its bloom ; And with his kindness makes its owner blest . Oh ! may the guidance of thy grace attend The use of all thy bounty shall bestow ; Lest folly should mistake its sacred end , Or vice convert it into means of woe . Incline and aid me still my life to steer , As conscience dictates what to shun or chuse ; Nor let my heart feel anxious hope or fear , For aught this world can give me or refuse . Then shall not wealth's parade one wish excite , For wretched state to barter peace away ; Nor vain ambition's lure my pride invite , Beyond Contentment's humble path to stray . What tho' thy wisdom may my lot deny , The treasur'd plenty freely to dispense ; Yet well thy goodness can that want supply With larger portions of benevolence . And sure the heart that wills the gen'rous deed , May all the joys of Charity command ; For she best loves from notice to recede , And deals her unsought gifts with secret hand . Then will I sometimes bid my fancy steal , That unclaim'd wealth no property restrains ; Soothe with fictitious aid my friendly zeal , And realize each godly act she feigns . So shall I gain the gold without alloy ; Without oppression , toil , or treach'rous snares ; So shall I know its use , its pow'r employ , And yet avoid its dangers and its cares . And spite of all that boastful wealth can do , In vain would Fortune strive the rich to bless , Were they not flatter'd with some distant view Of what she ne'er can give them to possess . E'en Wisdom's high conceit great wants would feel , If not supply'd from Fancy's boundless store ; And nought but shame makes pow'r itself conceal , That she , to satisfy , must promise more . But tho' experience will not fail to show , Howe'er its truth man's weakness may upbraid , That what he mostly values here below , Owes half its relish to kind Fancy's aid ; Yet should not Prudence her light wing command , She may too far extend her heedless flight ; For Pleasure soon shall quit her fairy-land If Nature's regions are not held in sight . From Truth's abode , in search of kind deceit , Within due limits she may safely roam ; If roving does not make her hate retreat , And with aversion shun her proper home . But thanks to those , whose fond parental care To Learning's paths my youthful steps confin'd , I need not shun a state which lets me share Each calm delight that soothes the studious mind . While genius lasts , his fame shall ne'er decay , Whose artful hand first caus'd its fruits to spread ; In lasting volumes stampt the printed lay , And taught the Muses to embalm the dead . To him I owe each fair instructive page , Where Science tells me what her sons have known ; Collects their choicest works from ev'ry age , And makes me wise with knowledge not my own . Books rightly us'd may ev'ry state secure : From fortune's evils may our peace defend ; May teach us how to shun , or to endure , The foe malignant , and the faithless friend . Should rigid Want withdraw all outward aid , Kind stores of inward comfort they can bring ; Should keen Disease life's tainted stream invade , Sweet to the soul from them pure health may spring . Should both at once man's weakly frame infest , Some letter'd charm may still relief supply ; 'Gainst all events prepare his patient breast , And make him quite resign'd to live , or die . For tho' no words can time or fate restrain ; No sounds suppress the call of Nature's voice ; Tho' neither rhymes , nor spells , can conquer pain , Nor magic's self make wretchedness our choice , Yet reason , while it forms the subtile plan , Some purer source of pleasure to explore , Must deem it vain for that poor pilgrim , man , To think of resting 'till his journey's o'er ; Must deem each fruitless toil , by heav'n design'd To teach him where to look for real bliss ; Else why should heav'n excite the hope to find What balk'd pursuit must here for ever miss ?