SUBLIME
STRAINS
.
On
the
Author's
walking
to
visit
Stella
,
in
a
windy
morning
,
at
Privy
Garden
.
O
nymph
divine
!
as
op'ning
morning
fair
!
Bright
as
the
sun
!
yet
lighter
than
the
air
!
Harmless
as
bleating
lambs
,
or
mountain
hinds
!
Yet
more
uncertain
than
the
whistling
winds
!
Where
shall
we
find
,
or
fix
your
resting
place
?
Now
here
,
now
there
,
eluding
still
the
chace
.
O
'tis
in
vain
,
as
ancient
proverbs
say
,
To
seek
a
needle
in
a
load
of
hay
;
As
vain
it
is
to
fix
your
certain
bound
:
Like
Happiness
,
you're
no
where
to
be
found
.
And
yet
I
sought
you
where
soft
pleasure
dwells
,
And
mirth
and
case
each
low-born
care
expels
.
Pleasure
,
thou
soft
retreat
!
but
hard
to
find
,
And
op'ning
only
to
the
patient
mind
.
Thro'
various
alleys
,
perilous
and
dark
,
My
way
I
shape
,
and
ev'ry
foot-step
mark
;
Lest
thro'
some
passage
,
elbow'd
to
and
fro
,
I
feel
the
pond'rous
weight
of
chairman's
toe
.
Meanwhile
the
blust'ring
wind
the
deep
deforms
,
And
Boreas
vext
your
slave
with
all
his
storms
.
Like
a
small
skiff
my
little
bark
was
hurl'd
,
Toss'd
to
and
fro
amidst
a
laughing
world
;
And
,
what
is
worse
—
my
tresses
all
uncurl'd
.
Yet
,
spite
of
these
,
I
boldly
ventur'd
forth
,
And
bid
defiance
to
the
surly
North
.
By
You
,
my
Polar
Star
,
awhile
I
steer
,
But
that
once
lost
,
towards
St.
James's
veer
;
There
,
there
I
land
,
no
more
of
winds
the
sport
,
And
found
the
gallant
Lovelace
safe
in
port
.
The
sailor
thus
,
in
search
of
India's
coast
,
His
reck'ning
failing
,
and
his
compass
lost
,
Some
hospitable
shore
at
length
in
view
,
Pushes
to
land
,
with
all
his
jovial
crew
:
There
,
pleas'd
,
the
myrtle's
fragrant
breath
inhales
,
Nor
envies
India
,
or
her
spicy
gales
.