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ODE ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL ROSS 49
Shall leave their sainted Rest :
And gaze with fix'd Delight;
Impatient Freedom lies !
Proclaim her Reign restord:
Present the sated Sword.
To dry thy constant Tear:
50 ODE ON THE DEATH OF COLONEL ROSS
If yet, in Sorrow's distant Eye,
Her gentlest Promise keep:
And bid her Shepherds weep. [In Dodsley's Collection and in Langhorne's edition the fourth stanza is printed thus :
O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve,
And bend the pensive head!
Shall point his lonely bed! C. S.]
ODE to EVENING.
IF ought of Oaten Stop, or Pastoral Song,
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,
Now teach me, Maid compos'd,
To breathe some soften'd Strain, Whose Numbers stealing thro' thy darkning Vale, May not unseemly with its Stillness suit,
As musing slow, I hail
Thy genial lov'd Return!
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who slept in Buds the Day,
The Pensive Pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy Car.
Whose Walls more awful nod
By thy religious Gleams.
That from the Mountain's Side,
Views Wilds, and swelling Floods,
Thy Dewy Fingers draw
The gradual dusky Veil. While Spring shall pour his Show'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing Tresses, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport,
Beneath thy ling’ring Light;
Affrights thy shrinking Train,
And rudely rends thy Robes.
Thy gentlest Influence own,
And love thy fav’rite Name ! [This Ode was reprinted in Dodsley's Collection of 1748 with the following alterations :
1. 2. “May hope, chaste Eve, to soothe thy modest ear.”
• Who slept in flowers the day.” 1. 29. “Then lead, calm vot’ress, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallowed pile,
Or upland fallows grey
Reflect its last cool gleam."
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut.”
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lip'd Health,
Thy gentlest influence own,
1. 24. "
ODE to PEACE.
O Thou, who bad'st thy Turtles bear
And sought'st thy native Skies:
And bad his Storms arise !
2. 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!
3. 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.
By warlike Honour led!
With Him for ever wed !