Elizabeth Singer Rowe - To Mrs. Arabella Marrow, In The Country

Whate'er delights the verdant field, <br />The grove, and mossy fountain yield; <br />Whate'er the gentle, blooming spring, <br />Or summer in their glory bring; <br />Let them all conspire to bless <br />Belinda, in her soft recess. <br />All ye tuneful feather'd throng, <br />Salute her in your artless song. <br />Ye Zephyrs flying thro' the vales, <br />Meet her with your fragrant gales, <br />Ye purling brooks, indulge her sleep, <br />And gently by your borders creep. <br />Whene'er she wanders o'er the green, <br />Let all Arcadia there be seen. <br />May the charming visions rise, <br />That dance before the poet's eyes, <br />When the solitary muse <br />Does rural shades its subject chuse; <br />While nymphs, like Stairs, adorn the scene, <br />Graceful, like her's, their looks and mien. <br /> <br />Hence ye gilded toys of state, <br />Ye formal follies of the great, <br />Nor e'er disturb this peaceful seat. <br />No sound of faction hither fly, <br />Ambition, hate, or jealousy. <br />No envious tattle enter here, <br />That wrongs the innocent and fair: <br />But let the graces and the loves <br />Wander round these gentle groves, <br />And banish from Belinda's breast, <br />Whatever may her joys molest; <br />While here she finds that soft repose, <br />Which from virtue only flows.<br /><br />Elizabeth Singer Rowe<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem..../to-mrs-arabella-mar