ODE TO PITY. Thou, the friend of man affign'd, With balmy hands his wounds to bind, And charm his frantic woe; When first Distress, with dagger keen, Broke forth to wafte his deftin'd scene, His wild unfated foe! By Pella's Bard, a magic name, By all the griefs his thought could frame, Receive my humble rite: Long, Pity, let the nations view Thy fky-worn robes of tendereft blue, And eyes of dewy light! But wherefore need I wander wide To old Iliffus' diftant fide, Deferted Deferted ftream, and mute? Wild Arun † too has heard thy ftrains, And Echo, 'midst my native plains, There first the wren thy myrtles fhed To him thy cell was fhewn; And while he fung the female heart, Come, Pity, come, by fancy's aid, Its fouthern fite, its truth compleat There Picture's toil fhall well relate, How chance, or hard involving fate + A river in Suffex. O'er O'er mortal blifs prevail: The buskin'd Muse shall near her stand,, There let me oft, retir'd by day, There wafte the mournful lamp of night, ODE Deferted ftream, and mute? Wild Arun + too has heard thy ftrains, And Echo, 'midft my native plains, There first the wren thy myrtles fhed To him thy cell was fhewn; And while he fung the female heart, Thy turtles mix'd their own. Come, Pity, come, by fancy's aid, Its fouthern fite, its truth compleat There Picture's toil fhall well relate, How chance, or hard involving fate † A river in Suffex, O'er O'er mortal bliss prevail : The bufkin'd Mufe fhall near her stand,, And fighing prompt her tender hand, With each difaftrous tale. There let me oft, retir'd by day, There waste the mournful lamp of night, ODE |