TO ELIZA.
Come, my Eliza, grace the sylvan scene,
Ah! fly, and leave the careful seats of woe;
No sorrows here intrude, all calm, serene,
Our happy hours in sweet contentment flow;
Bring guileless pleasures each succeeding day,
Then clap their joyous wings, and quickly haste away.
O’er neighbouring fields, unlike our smiling plain,
Fell tyranny his iron rod extends: