Richard Gifford

“ Each Morn the Muse her Obsequies renew,
Thy gentle Shade accept the plaintive Verse.
Thou honor'd Youth, amid whose Lawns I stray
And sip the genial Sweets of rural Ease,
Know, if thou deign'st to read this simple Lay,
Who write for Pleasure seldom write to please.
Alone Ambition wings the Muse to Fame,
Whose Eagle-flight unnerv'd I cease to soar,
Despair to please hath damp'd the gen'rous Flame,
And ev'ry Wish of Vanity is o'er. ”

“ The lucid Lake, the Flow'r-embroider'd Vale,
She hears the Murmurs of a thousand Rills,
And breathes Arabian Sweets in ev'ry Gale.
The Sons of Sloth, in Sleep's soft Fetters bound,
Lose the rich Breeze from ev'ry op'ning Flow'r;
Or rouz'd by Folly, measure the dull Round,
Where Triflers waste th' irrevocable Hour:
Ambition wakes, ere from the Mountain's Side
The lusty Shepherd hails the smiling Dawn,
But, borne to Levees on the Wings of Pride,
Nor tastes the Breeze, nor treads the Sun-clad Lawn:
Yet 'tis in vain from Nature's Charms we fly ”

“ For thee and Nature if the Muse resign
Each gay Desire, that wantons in my Breast,
Be thou, and Peace, the white-rob'd Cherub, mine!
"Be thine," she cries from yonder Wood-bind Bow'r
Profuse of Sweets, "Be thine," the Goddess cries,
"The Bliss to trifle Life's unwearied Hour
'Mid vernal Roses, and autumnal Skies." ”