When He Was Visiting in the Country

Who sent the Author a poetical epistle, in which he requested that
his verses, if not so good as usual, might be excused on account
of the many feasts to which his friends invited him, and which
would not allow him leisure to finish them as he wished.

With no rich viands overcharg'd, I send
Health, which perchance you want, my pamper'd friend;
But wherefore should thy Muse tempt mine away
From what she loves, from darkness into day?
Art thou desirous to be told how well
I love thee, and in verse? Verse cannot tell.
For verse has bounds, and must in measure move;
But neither bounds nor measure knows my love.
How pleasant in thy lines described appear
December's harmless sports and rural cheer! 10
French spirits kindling with caerulean fires,
And all such gambols as the time inspires!
Think not that Wine against good verse offends;
The Muse and Bacchus have been always friends,
Nor Phoebus blushes sometimes to be found
With Ivy, rather than with Laurel, crown'd.
The Nine themselves oftimes have join'd the song
And revels of the Bacchanalian throng.
Not even Ovid could in Scythian air
Sing sweetly--why? no vine would flourish there. 20
What in brief numbers sang Anacreon's1 muse?
Wine, and the rose, that sparkling wine bedews.
Pindar with Bacchus glows--his every line