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But, o, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone! When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an aspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known; The oak-crown'd sisters and their chaste-ey'd queen, Satyrs and sylvan boys, were seen

Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leap'd up, and siez'd his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial.
He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd,
But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.

They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids,

Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing,

While, as his fying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round;
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,

And he, amidst his frolic play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odors from his dewy wings.

O Music, sphere-descended maid,
Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid,
Why, Goddess, why, to us deny'd,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As in that lov'd Athenian bower,
You learn'd an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, 0 nymph endear'd,
Can well recal what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!

Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording sister's page-
'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age,
Ev'n all at once together found
Cæcilia's mingled world of sound-
O, bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece,
Return in all thy simple state,
Confirm the tales her sons relate!

T 100, to whom the world unknown,

With all its shadowy shapes, is shewn; Who seest, appall’d, the unreal scene, While Fancy lifts the veil between :

Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear!

I see, I see thee near. I know thy hurried step; thy haggard eye! Like thee I start; like thee disorder'd fly. For lo, what monsters in thy train appear! Danger, whose linibs of giant mould What mortal eye can fix'd behold ? Who stalks his round, an hideous form, Howling amidst the midnight storm; Or throws him on the ridgy steep Of some loose hanging rock to sleep: And with him thousand phantoms join'd, Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind: And those, the fiends, who, near allied, O'er Nature's wounds, and wrecks, preside; Whilst Vengeance, in the lurid air, Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare: On whom that ravening brood of Fate Who lap the blood of sorrow wait :

Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,
And look not madly wild, like thee?

EPODE. In earliest Greece, to thee, with partial choice,

The grief-full Muse addrest her infant tongue; The maids and matrons, on her awful voice,

Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung. Yet he, the bard who first invok'd thy name,

Disdain'd in Marathon its power to feel : For not alone he nurs'd the poet's flame,

But reach'd from Virtue's hand the patriot's steel. But who is he whom later garlands grace;

Who left a while o'er Hybla's dews to rove, With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,

Where thou and furies shar'd the baleful grove! Wrapt in thy cloudy veil, th' incestuous queen

Sigh'd the sad call her son and husband heard, When once alone it broke the silent scene,

And he the wretch of Thebes no more appear'd. O Fear, I know thee by my throbbing heart:

Thy withering power inspir'd each mournful line:
Though gentle Pity claim her mingled part,
Yet all the thunders of the scene are thine!

Thou who such weary lengths hast past,
Where wilt thou rest, mad Nymph, at last ?
Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell,
Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell?

Or, in some hollow'd seat,

'Gainst which the big waves beat, Hear drowning seamen's cries, in tempests brought? Dark power,

with shudd'ring meek submitted thought. Be mine to read the visions old Which thy awakening bards have told:

And, lest thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'eraw'd,
In that thrice-hallow'd eve, abroad,
When ghosts, as cottage-maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave;
And goblins haunt, from fire, or fen,
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men !

O thou whose spirit most possest
The sacred seat of Shakespeare's breast !
By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions spoke;
Hither again thy fury deal,
Teach me but once like him to feel :
His cypress wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee!

ODE TO EVENING. IF aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear, Like thy own brawling springs,

Thy springs, and dying gales ;
O nymph reservd, 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 soften'd 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 holding-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 wreaths her brows with

sedge, And sheds with fresh'ning 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 nod

By thy religious gleams.
Or, if chill blust'ring 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 ling'ring 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 fav'rite name!

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