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Hampstead-Wells.
PART II.
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NOR all deserve the biting Satyr's Sting,
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The Muse can Virtue's too, in tuneful Numbers sing;
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High as thy Hill, and healthful as thy Air,
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Thou happy Hampstead too can'st boast thy Fair.
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Tho' Julia, cloy'd with Praise, and early Vain,
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Did in her Choice her former Glories stain;
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Tho' Messala appear profusely Gay,
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And as she moves, diffuse a borrow'd Ray;
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Lys in Devotion shew an early Saint,
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And seem an Angel in a Mask of Paint;
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Chloris, and Daphne, and Semel employ
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Unlawful Arts, to cultivate their Joy,
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And hide, beneath the bending Busk, the Boy.
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Thou charming Delia, shalt forever live
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In Lines, immortal as the Muse can give.
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The Muse, transported with the glorious Theme,
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Flows to the Measures of the purling Stream;
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Clear as thy Skin, where purple Rivers stray,
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And where at Ease, the dancing Spirits play,
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And make thee ever pleas'd, and ever gay.
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Far the harsh Murmurs of the dashing Sea;
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Smooth Peace, and Halcyon Calms, forever dwell in thee.
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Oh! Beauty never stain'd, but form'd for Love,
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So wond'rous good, so like the Bless'd above:
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Oh! set me there, where, by some wond'rous Art,
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I may behold the Secrets of thy Heart:
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Thy Goodness, which I yet but know in Part;
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Where I the Mazes of thy Soul may see,
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Through which it forms so sweet a Harmony:
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How bilious Juice from purer Blood divides?
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How from the fine, the grosser Part subsides?
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Sharp Choler, by what Tracks remov'd away;
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Why in thy Face the Blood reveals so bright a Day
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The blushing Rose, the purple Violet,
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The bright Carnation, and the Lilly meet:
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Such Odours from thy Lips forever flow,
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Such Beauties on thy Cheeks forever glow;
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So fine a Clearness on thy Breast below.
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Pleas'd with thy Lot, from Pride or Shame exempt,
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Below the Greatest, and above Contempt.
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Bless'd in thyself, thou seek'st no foreign Joy,
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The Pomps despising, which the Crowd employ,
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Which (sooner than they give Content, they) cloy.
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You all that Nature or your State require,
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Affording, satisfy your own Desire;
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Not to the Vice submitting of your Kind,
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At large you feed the Pleasures of your Mind.
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And thus adorn'd, behold with pitying Eye,
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How others in Excess of Pleasure, lye
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Forever rack'd with Pain, in Torture roul,
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And ne'er can satisfy their thirsty Soul.
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Blind to their Happiness, they forward look,
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Despise the present, for a Joy mistook;
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Earnest as Children for the painted Joy,
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Which, like a Shadow, their Embrace does fly.
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Each Morning Sun that sucks the early Dew,
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Its upward Journey helping to pursue,
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Does the same Office, Heav'nly Saint, for you.
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Each Morn renews thy Praise to Heav'n above,
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Which pleas'd, returns thy Gratitude with Love.
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Above your Sex, so much as you're Divine,
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Above your Sex, so much in Heav'nly Rays you shine.
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Oh! happy Hampstead! in so great a Bliss,
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Be ever all thy Habitants in Peace.
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Forever be thy wholesom Waters clear,
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Healthful thy Meadows, and serene thy Air.
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Let the bright Sun thy rising Roofs adorn;
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Calm be thy Even, gentle be thy Morn.
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Forever flourish, still a rising Seat;
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The wholesom'st Water, and the best Retreat.
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