THE AUTHOR CONFINED TO COLLEGE . 1745.

Once more the vernal sun's ambrosial beams
The fields as with a purple robe adorn:
Cherwell, thy sedgy banks and glistering streams
All laugh and sing at mild approach of morn;
Through the deep groves I hear the chaunting birds,
And through the clover'd vale the various-lowing herds.

Up mounts the mower from his lowly thatch,
Well pleas'd the progress of the Spring to mark,
The fragrant breath of breezes pure to catch,
And startle from her couch the early lark,
More genuine pleasure soothes his tranquil breast,
Than high-thron'd kings can boast, in eastern glory drest.

The pensive poet through the green-wood steals,
Or treads the willow'd marge of murmuring
Or climbs the steep ascent of airy hills;
There sits him down beneath a branching oak, brook:
Whence various scenes, and prospects wide below,
Still teach his musing mind with fancies high to glow.

But I nor with the day awake to bliss,
(Inelegant to me fair Nature's face,
A blank the beauty of the morning is,
And grief and darkness all for light and grace;)
Nor bright the sun, nor green the meads appear,
Nor colour charms mine eye, nor melody mine ear.

Me, void of elegance and manners mild,
With leaden rod, stern Discipline restrains;
Stiff Pedantry, of learned Pride the child,
My roving genius binds in gothic chams;
Nor can the cloister'd Muse expand her wing,
Nor bid these twilight roofs with her gay carols ring.