My guide, instructor, lover, friend,
(Dear names!) in one idea blend;
O! still conjoin'd, your incense rise,
And waft sweet odours to the skies.
an ODE to WISDOM.
O Pallas! I invoke thy aid!
Vouchsafe to hear a wretched maid,
By tender love deprest;
'Tis just that thou should'st heal the smart,
Inflicted by thy subtle art,
And calm my troubled breast.
No random shot from Cupid's bow,
But by thy guidance, soft and slow,
It sunk within my heart;
Thus, Love being arm'd with Wisdom's force,
In vain I try to stop its course,
In vain repel the dart.
O Goddess, break the fatal league,
Let Love, wiih Folly and Intrigue,
More fit associates find!
And thou alone, within my breast,
O! deign to sooth my griefs to rest,
And heal my tortur'd mind.
Immediately after the death of miss Vanhomrigh, as I have already mentioned, Swift made a tour of two months in the southern parts of Ireland: during which, Mrs. Johnson remained at Wood Park; nor did she quit it for some months after his return, probably occasioned by her resentment at the pre-
