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When he, who call'd with thought to birth
Yon tented sky, this laughing earth,
And drest with springs, and forests tall,
And pour'd the main, engirting all,
Long by the lov'd enthusiast woo'd,
Himself in sone diviner mood,
Retiring, sate with her alone,
And plac'd her on his sapphire throne,
The whiles, the vaulted shrine around,
Seraphic wires were heard to sound,
Now sublimest triumph swelling;
Now on love and mercy dwelling;
And she, from out the veiling cloud,
Breath'd her magic notes aloud :
And thou, the rich-hair'd youth of morn,
And all thy subject life was born ;
The dangerous passions kept aloof,
Far from the sainted growing woof;
But near it sate ecstatic wonder,
Listening the deep applauding thunder :
And Truth in sunny vest array'd,
By whose the Tarsol's eyes were made;
All the shadowy tribes of mind,
In braided dance their murmurs join'd,
And all the bright uncounted powers,
Who feed on heaven's ambrosial flowers.
Where is the bard, whose soul can now
Its high presuming hopes avow ?
Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,.
This hallow'd work for him design d ?
High on some cliff, to heav'n up-pil'd,
Of rude access, of prospect wild,
Where, tangled round the jealous steep,
Strange shades o'erbrow the vallies deep,
And holy Genii guard the rock,
Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock,
While on its rich ambitious head,
An Eden, like his own, lies spread,
I view that oak, the fancied glades anjong,
By which as Milton lay, his evening ear,
From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew,
Nigh spher'd in heaven its native strains could hear :

On which that ancient trump he reach'd was hung;

Thither oft his glory greeting,

From Waller's myrtle shades retreating,
With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue,
My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue ;

In vain-Such bliss to one alone,
Of all the sons of soul was known,
And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers,

Have now o'erturn’d th’ inspiring bowers,
Or curtain'd close such scene from every future view.

AN OD E.

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1746.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod,
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unseen their dirge is sung ;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

ODE TO EVENING.

Ir aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear,

Like thy own solemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales;

.

O nymph resery'd, while now the bright-hair'd Sun
Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,

With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed:
Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat,
With short shrill shriek, flits by on leathern wing;

Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,
As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum:

Now teach me, maid compos’d,

To breathe some softend strain, Whose numbers stealing through thy darkening vale, May not unseemly with its stillness suit,

As, musing slow, I hail

Thy genial lov'd return !
For when thy folding star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp

The fragrant hours, and elves
Who slept in buds the day,

And many a nymph who wreathes her brows with sedge,
And sheds the freshening dew; and, lovelier still,

The pensive pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car ;

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,
Or find some ruin ’midst its dreary dells,

Whose walls more awful nad

By thy religious gleams.
Or if chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut

That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont; And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve !

While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy lingering light:
While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Or Winter yelling through the troublous air,

Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes :
So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,

Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name!

ODE TO PEACE.

O Thou, who bad'st thy turtles bear
Swift from his grasp thy golden hair,

And sought'st thy native skies:
When war, by vultures drawn from far,
To Britain bent his iron car,

And bade his storms arise !
Tir'd of his rude tyrannic sway,
Our youth shall fix some festive day,
· His sullen shrines to burn :
But thou, who hear'st the turning spheres,
What sounds may charm thy partial ears,

And gain thy blest return!
O Peace, thy injur'd robes up-bind!
O rise, and leave not one behind

Of all thy beamy train :
The British lion, goddess sweet,
Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet,

And own thy holier reign.
Let others court thy transient smile,
But come to grace thy western isle,

By warlike honour led!
And, while around her ports rejoice,
While all her sons adore thy choice,

With him for ever wed!

THE MANNERS. AN ODE.

Farewell, for clearer ken design'd;
The dim-discover'd tracts of mind :
Truths which, from action's paths retir'd,
My silent search in vain requir’d!
No more my sail that deep explores,
No more I search those magic shores,
What regions part the world of soul,
Or whence thy streams, opinion, roll:
If e'er I round such fairy field,
Some power impart the spear and shield,
At which the wizard passions fly,
By which the giant follies die !

Farewell the porch, whose roof is seen,
Arch'd with th' enlivening olive's green:
Where science prank'd in tissued vest,.
By reason, pride, and fancy drest,
Comes like a bride, so trim array'd,
To wed with doubt in Plato's shade!

Youth of the quick uncheated sight,
Thy walks, observance more invite !
O thou who lov'st that ampler range,
Where life's wide prospects round thee change,
And with her mingled sons ally'd,
Throw'st the prattling page aside:
To me in converse sweet impart,
To read in man the native heart,
To learn, where science sure is found,
From nature as she lives around:
And gazing oft her mirror true,
By turns each shifting image view!

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