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Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm: Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tow'r, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato to unfold What words, or what vast regions hold Th’ immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook; And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose powers hath a true consent With planet, or with element. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptr'd pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelop's line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But, O sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musaeus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek. Or call up him that left half told The story of Cambuscan bold, Of Camball and of Algarsife, And who had Canace to wife, That own'd the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass, Ou which the Tartar king did ride; And if aught else great bards beside In sage and solemu tunes have sung, Of turneys and of trophies hung, Of forests and enchantments drear, Where more is meant than meets the ear. Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career, Till civil-suited Morn appear, Not trick'd and flounc'd, as she was wont With the Attic boy to hunt, But kerchieft in a comely cloud, While rocking winds are piping loud; Or usher'd with a shower still, When the gust hath blown his fill, Ending on the rustling leaves, With minute drops from off the eaves. And when the sun begins to fling His flaring beams, me, goddess, bring To arched walks of twilight groves, And shadows brown that Sylvan loves, Of pine or monumental oak,
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
THE FEMALE SEDUCERS.
BY wift. artook E. 'Tis said of widow, maid, and wife, That honour is a woman's life; Unhappy sex' who only claim A being in the breath of Fame, Which tainted, not the quick’ning gales That sweep Sabaea's spicy vales, Nor all the healing sweets restore, That breathe along Arabia's shore.
The trav’ller, if he chance to stray,
May turn uncensur'd to his way;