TO
WILLIAM
SHENSTONE
,
Esq
The
PRODUCTION
of
Half
an
Hour's
Leisure
.
August
30
,
1761.
HEALTH
to
the
bard
,
in
Leasowes'
happy
groves
,
Health
and
sweet
converse
with
the
muse
he
loves
!
The
lowliest
vot'ry
of
the
tuneful
Nine
,
With
trembling
hand
,
attempts
her
artless
line
,
In
numbers
such
as
untaught
nature
brings
,
As
flow
spontaneous
,
like
the
native
springs
.
But
ah
!
what
airy
forms
around
me
rise
,
The
russet
mountain
glows
with
richer
dyes
!
In
circling
dance
a
pigmy
crowd
appear
,
And
hark
!
an
infant
voice
salutes
my
ear
.
"
Mortal
,
thy
aim
we
know
,
thy
task
approve
,
His
merit
honour
,
and
his
genius
love
;
For
us
what
verdant
carpets
has
he
spread
,
Where
nightly
we
our
mystic
mazes
tread
!
For
us
each
shady
grove
and
rural
seat
,
His
falling
streams
,
and
flowing
numbers
sweet
.
Didst
thou
not
mark
amid
the
winding
dell
,
What
tuneful
verse
adorns
the
root-wove
cell
?
That
every
Fairy
of
our
sprightly
train
Resorts
,
to
bless
the
woodland
,
and
the
plain
;
There
,
as
we
move
,
unbidden
splendors
glow
,
The
green
turf
brightens
,
and
the
flowrets
flow
.
There
oft
with
thought
sublime
we
bless
the
swain
,
Nor
we
inspire
,
nor
he
attends
in
vain
.
Go
,
simple
rhymer
,
bear
this
message
true
,
The
truths
that
Fairies
dictate
none
shall
rue
.
Say
to
the
bard
,
in
Leasowes'
happy
grove
,
Whom
Dryads
honour
,
and
whom
Fairies
love
—
Content
thyself
no
longer
that
thy
lays
By
others
foster'd
,
lend
to
others
praise
;
No
longer
to
the
fav'ring
world
refuse
The
welcome
treasures
of
thy
polish'd
muse
;
Collect
the
flowers
that
own
thy
valu'd
name
,
Unite
the
spoil
,
and
give
the
wreath
to
Fame
.
Ne'er
can
thy
morals
,
taste
,
or
verse
engage
More
solid
fame
,
than
in
this
happier
age
;
When
sense
,
when
virtue's
cherish'd
by
the
throne
,
And
each
illustrious
privilege
their
own
.
Tho'
modest
be
thy
gentle
muse
,
I
ween
,
O
,
lead
her
,
blushing
,
from
the
daisy'd
green
,
A
fit
attendant
on
Britannia's
queen
!
"
Ye
sportive
Elves
,
as
faithful
I
relate
,
Th'
entrusted
mandates
of
your
fairy
state
,
Visit
these
wilds
again
with
nightly
care
,
So
shall
my
kine
,
of
all
the
herd
,
repair
,
In
healthy
plight
,
to
fill
the
copious
pail
;
My
sheep
be
penn'd
with
safety
in
the
dale
;
My
poultry
fear
no
robber
in
the
roost
;
My
linen
more
than
common
whiteness
boast
;
Let
order
,
peace
,
and
housewif'ry
be
mine
:
Shenstone
!
be
taste
,
and
fame
,
and
fortune
thine
!
COTSWOULDIA
.