Sidor som bilder

Thy numbers Jealoufy, to nought were fix'd,
Sad proof of thy diftressful state,

Of differing themes the veering fong was mix'd
And now it courted Love, now, raving, call'd on Hate.

With eyes up rais'd, as one infpir'd,
Pale Melancholy fat retir'd.

And from her wild fequefter'd feat,

In notes by distance made more fweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her penfive foul
And dashing foft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the found':

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Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure ftole, Or o'er fome haunted ftreams with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffufing,

Love of peace and lonely mufing,

In hollow murmers, die away.

But O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulnefs, a nymph of healthieft hue,
Her bow across her fhoulder flung,
Her bufkin's gemm'd with morning dew

Blew an afpiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known;

The oak-crown'd fifters, and their chaste.ey'd queen Satyrs and fylvan boys were feen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green ;

Brown Exercife rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leap d up, and feiz'd his beechen fpear.

Laft came Joy's extatic trial,

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addreft, But foon he faw the brisk awakening viol,

Whofe fweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They faw in Tempe's vale her native maids,

To fome unwearied minstrel dancing,

While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings.

Love fram'd with mirth a gay fantastic round,
Loose were her treffes feen, her zone unbound,
And he amid his frolic play,

As if he would the the charming air repay,
Shook thoufand odours from his dewy wings.

Mufic! fphere-defcended maid,
Friend of pleasure. wisdom's aid,
Why, Goddefs, why to us denied?
Lay't thou thy ancient lyre afide ?
As in that lov'd Athenian bower,
You learn'd in all commanding power,
Thy mimic foul, O nymph endear'd,
Can well recal what then is heard.--
Where is thy native fimple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art?
Arife, as in that elder time,
Warm, energic, chafte, fublime!
Thy wonders in that god-like age,
Fill thy recording fifter's page-

'Tis faid, and I believe the tale,

Thy humbleft reed could more prevail,
Had more of ftrength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age,
Even all at once together found,
Cecilia's mingled world of found→
O bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the juft defigns of Greece,
Return in all thy fimple ftate;
Confirm the tales her fons relate!




OR is that Cot, of which fond fancy draws

N This cafual picture, alien from our theme.

Revifit it at morn; its opening latch,
Tho' Penury and Toil within refide,
Shall pour thee forth a youthful progeny

Glowing with health and beauty: (such the dower
Of equal Heav'n) fee how the ruddy tribe

Throng round the threshold, and, with vacant gaze Salute thee; call the loiterers in to use,

And form of these thy fence, the living fence
That graces what it guards. Thou think'ft perchance
That, fkill'd in nature's heraldry, thy art,

Has, in the limits of yon fragrant tuft,

Marshall'd each rofe, that to the eye of June

Spreads its peculiar crimson; do not erf,
The lovelieft still is wanting, the fresh rofe
Of innocence, it bloffoms on their cheek,
And lo, to thee they bear it! ftriving each
In panting race, who firft fhall reach the lawn,
Proud to be call'd thy fhepherds. Want, alas!
Has o'er their little limbs her livery hung,
In many a tatter'd fold, yet ftill those limbs

Are fhapely; their rude locks ftart from their brow
Yet on that open brow, its dearest throne,

Sits fweet Simplicity.

Ah, clothe the troop

In fuch a ruffet garb as best befits

Their paftoral office: let the leathern fcrip

Swing at their fide, tip thou their crook with fteel

And braid their hats with rushes, then to each
Affign his ftation; at the clofe of eve,

Be it their care to pen in hurdled cote

The flock, and when the matin prime returns,
Their care to fet them free; yet watching ftill
The liberty they lend, oft fhalt thou hear
Their whistle fhrill, and oft their faithful dog
Shall with obedient barkings fright the flock
From wrong or robbery. The livelong day
Meantime rolls lightly o'er their happy heads;
They bark on funny hillocks, or difport
In ruftic paftime, while that loveliest grace,
Which only lives in actions unreftrain'd,
To ev'ry fimple gefture lends a charra,




AY, will no white-rob'd Son of Light,
Swift-darting from his heav'nly height,
Here deign to take his hallow'd stand;
Here wave his amber locks; unfold
His pinions cloath'd with downy gold;
Here, fmiling, ftretch his tutelary wand?
And you, ye host of faints, for ye have known
Each dreary path in Life's perplexing Maze
Tho' now ye circle yon eternal throne

With harpings high of inexpreffive praise;
Will not your train defcend in radiant ftate,
To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of

'Tis filence all. No Son of Light
Darts fwiftly from his heav'nly height:
No train of radiant faints descend.

"Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,
"If guilt, if fraud has ftain'd your mind,
"Or Saint to hear, or Angel to defend."
So Truth proclaims. I hear the facred found
Burft from the center of her burning throne:
Where aye she fits with ftar wreath'd luftre crown'd
A bright Sun clafps her adamantine zone,

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