“Not Love, but Pity, mov’d high Heav’n
“To make thee what thou art;
“And place amidst the blooming flow’rs
“A Nymph with broken heart.
XIV.
“Cease then to vaunt thy heav’nly love,
“Nor me so much despise;
“Full plain th’ advantages appear,
“Which from my pow’r arise.
XV.
“Me CERES hates not; but my seed
“Great Nature near her sows;
“Where, far unlike a noxious weed,
“The beauteous flow’ret blows.
XVI.
“Sleep, gentle God, the ease of grief,
“To weary man I bring;
“From care and pain the sweetest balm,
“Of vig’rous health the spring.
XVII.
“I, to the wretched friendly still,
“The mourning captives aid;
“My succour to the poor extend,
“And ease the love-sick maid.
XVIII.
“Then what Heav’n order’d for the best,
“Do thou no longer blame:
“Let me old MORPHEUS’ honours share,
“Joy thou in PHŒBUS’ flame.
XIX.
“More need I add?—Search Earth around,
“And thou shalt truly say,
“More Virtues in Life’s shade will bloom,
“Than in her blaze of day.”