Written from Dublin, to a Lady in the Country. Mary Barber 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. T42622 519 p. 45 Barber, Mary, ca. 1690-1757. Poems on Several Occasions [poems only]. London Printed for C. Rivington, at the Bible and Crown in St. Paul's Church-Yard 1734 pp. 99-102. xlviii,283,[7]p.; 8⁰.

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Written from Dublin , to a Lady in the Country . A wretch , in smoaky Dublin pent , Who rarely sees the Firmament , You graciously invite , to view The Sun's enliv'ning Rays with you ; To change the Town for flow'ry Meads , And sing beneath the sylvan Shades . You're kind in vain — It will not be — Retirement was deny'd to me ; Doom'd by inexorable Fate , To pass thro' crouded Scenes I hate . O with what Joy could I survey The rising , glorious Source of Day ! Attend the Shepherd's fleecy Care , Transported with the vernal Air ; Behold the Meadow's painted Pride , Or see the limpid Waters glide ; Survey the distant , shaded Hills , And , pensive , hear the murm'ring Rills . Thro' your Versailles with Pleasure rove , Admire the Gardens , and the Grove ; See Nature's bounteous Hand adorn The blushing Peach , and blooming Thorn ; Beheld the Birds distend their Throats , And hear their wild , melodious Notes . Delighted , thro' your Pastures roam , Or see the Kine come lowing home ; Whose od'rous Breaths a Joy impart , That sooths the Sense , and glads the Heart ; With Pleasure view the frothing Pails , And silent hear the creaking Rails ; See whistling Hinds attend their Ploughs , Who never hear of broken Vows ; Where no Ambition to be great , E'er taught the Nymph , or Swain , Deceit . Thus thro' the Day , delighted , run ; Then raptur'd view the setting Sun ; The rich , diffufive God behold , On distant Mountains pouring Gold , Gilding the beauteous , rising Spire , While Crystal Windows glow with Fire ; Gaze , till he quit the Western Skies , And long to see his Sister rise ; Prefer the silent , Silver Moon To the too radiant , noisy Noon . Or Northward turn , with new Delight , To mark what Triumphs wait the Night ; When Shepherds think the Heav'ns foreshow Some dire Commotions here below ; When Light the human Form assumes , And Champions meet with nodding Plumes , With Silver Streamers , wide unfurl'd , And gleaming Spears amaze the World . Thence to the higher Heav'ns I soar , And the great Architect adore ; Behold what Worlds are hung in Air , And view ten thousand Empires there ; Then prostrate to Jehovah fall , Who into Being spake them all .