Ode

SO dear my Lucio is to me,
So well our minds and tempers blend,
That seasons may for ever flee,
And ne'er divide me from my friend;
But let the favour'd boy forbear
To tempt with love my only fair.

O Lycon! born when ev'ry Muse,
When ev'ry Grace, benignant smil'd,
With all a parent's breast could chuse
To bless her lov'd, her only child;
'Tis thine, so richly grac'd, to prove
More noble cares than cares of love.

Together we from early youth
Have trod the flow'ry tracks of time,
Together mus'd in search of truth,
O'er learned sage or bard sublime;
And well thy cultur'd breast I know,
What wondrous treasure it can show.

Come, then, resume thy charming lyre,
And sing some patriot's worth sublime,
Whilst I in fields of soft desire
Consume my fair and fruitless prime;
Whose reed aspires but to display
The flame that burns me night and day.

O come! the Dryads of the woods
Shall daily sooth thy studious mind,
The blue-ey'd nymphs of yonder floods
Shall meet and court thee to be kind;
And Fame sits list'ning for thy lays
To swell her trump with Lucio's praise.

Like me, the plover fondly tries
To lure the sportsman from her nest,
And flutt'ring on with anxious cries,
Too plainly shews her tortur'd breast;
O let him, conscious of her care,
Pity her pains, and learn to spare.