46
ODE IX.
Nor yet those awful joys present,
For chiefs and heroes only meant:
The figur'd brass, the choral song,
The rescued people's glad applause,
The list'ning senate, and the laws
Bent on the dictates of [1]Timolean's tongue,
Are scenes too grand for fortune's private ways;
And tho' they shine to youth's ingenious view,
The sober gainful arts of modern days,
To such romantic thoughts have bid a long adieu.
Blest be my fate! I need not pray
That lovesick dreams be kept away:
No female charms, or fancy born,
Nor damask cheek, nor sparkling eye,
With me the bands of sleep untie,
Or steal by minutes half the sauntring morn.
Nor
