1728.

AN ODE

TO GRACE, COUNTESS OF ABOYNE,

ON HER MARRIAGE-DAY.

IN martial fields the hero toils,

And wades throw blood to purchase fame; O'er dreadful waves, from diftant foils, The merchant brings his treasures hame.

But fame and wealth no joys bestow,
If plac'd alane the cyphers ftand;

'Tis to the figure Love they owe

The real joys that they command.

Bleft he who love and beauty gains,

Gains what contefting kings might claim,

Might bring brave armies to the plains,
And loudly fwell the blast of fame.

How happy then is young Aboyne!
Of how much heav'n is he poffeft!
How much the care of pow'rs divine,
Who lies in lovely Lockhart's breast!

Gazing in raptures on thy charms,
Thy fparkling beauty, shape, and youth,
He grafps all softness in his arms,
And fips the nectar from thy mouth.

If fympathetic likeness crave

Indulgent parents to be kind,

Each pow'r fhall guard the charm they gave, Venus thy face, Pallas thy mind.

O mufe! we could-but stay thy flight;
The field is facred as 'tis fweet:

Who dares to paint the ardent night,
When ravish'd youth and beauty meet?

Here we must draw a veil between,

And shade those joys too dazzling clear, By ev'ry eye not to be feen,

Not to be heard by ev'ry ear.

Still in her fmiles, ye Cupids, play;
Still in her eyes your revels keep;
Her pleasure be your care by day,
And whisper fweetness in her fleep.

Be banish'd each ill-natur'd care,
Base offspring of fantastic spleen;
Of accefs here you must despair,
Her breast for you is too ferene.

May

May guardian angels hover round
Thy head, and ward aff all annoy,
Be all thy days with raptures crown'd,
And all thy nights be bleft with joy.

AN ODE

ON THE MARRIAGE OF ALEX. BRODIE OF BRODIE,

TO MISS MARY SLEIGH.

WHEN time was young, and innocence
With tender love govern'd this round,
No mean defign to give offence

To conftancy and truth was found:
All free from fraud, upon the flow'ry fward,
Lovers careft with fond and chafte regard.

From eafy labours of the day,

Each pair to leafy bowers retir'd; Contentment kept them ever gay,

While kind connubial fweets confpir'd, With fmiling quiet and balmy health, thro' life To make the happy husband and the wife.

Our modern wits, in wisdom less,

With spirits weak, and wavering minds,

Void of refolve, poorly confefs

They cannot relish aught that binds. Let libertines of taste fae wond'rous nice, Defpife to be confin'd in paradise.

While

While Brodie with his beauteous Sleigh,
On pureft love can fafely feast,
Quaff raptures from her sparkling eye,

And judge of heav'n within her breast:
No dubious cloud to gloom upon his joy,
Poffeffing of what's good can never cloy.

Her beauty might for ever warm,

Altho' her foul were lefs divine;
The brightness of her mind could charm,
Did lefs her graceful beauties fhine :
But both united, with full force inspire
The warmest wifh, and the moft lafting fire.

In your accomplish'd mate, young thane,
Without reserve ye may rejoice;
The Heav'ns your happiness sustain,

And all that think admire your choice.
Around your treasure circling arms entwine,
Be all thy pleasure her's, and her's be thine.

Rejoice, dear Mary, in thy youth,

The firft of his brave ancient clan, Whose foul delights in love and truth, And view'd in every light a man

To whom the fates with liberal hand have given Good fenfe, true honour, and a temper even.

When