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Let others court thy transient smile,
By warlike Honour led;
With him for ever wed!
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 pow'r 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 tissu'd vest, By Reason, Pride, and Fancy, drest,
Comes, like a bride, so trim array'd,
Youth of the quick ancheated 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 mingling sons allied, 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 ! Till meddling Art's officious lore Reverse the lessons taught before; Alluring from a safer rule, To dream in her enchanted school : Thou, Heav'n, whate'er of great we boast, Hast blest this social science most.
Retiring hence to thoughtful cell,
Behold, before her musing eyes,
To Britain's favour'd isle alone:
O Nature boon, from whom proceed .
* Alluding to the Milesian tales, some of the earliest romanees.
1 Monsieur Le Sage, author of the incomparable Adventures of Gil Blas de Satillane, who died in Par ris in the year 1745.
AN ODE FOR MUSIC.
WHEN Music, heavenly maid, was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
First Fear his hand, its skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
Evin at the sound himself had made,
Next Anger rush'd : his eyes on fire,
In lightnings, own'd his secret stings:
And swept with hurried hand the strings:
But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,
What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail ! Still would her touch the strain prolong;
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still, through all the song; And, where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft reponsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope enchanted smil'd,and wav'd her golden hair, And longer had she sung ;-but, with a frown,
Revenge impatient rose :
And, with a with’ring look,
The doubling drum, with furious heat;'
Dejected Pity, at his side,
Her soul-subduing voice applied,
Sad proof of thy distressful state!
With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd,
Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;
In notes by distance made more sweet,
And, dashing soft from rocks around,