And from her wild sequester'd Seat,
In Notes by Distance made more sweet,
Pour'd thro' the mellow Horn her pensive Soul:

And dashing soft from Rocks around,

Bubbling Runnels joind the Sound; Through Glades and Glooms the mingled Measure

stole, Or o'er some haunted Stream with fond Delay,

Round an holy Calm diffusing,

Love of Peace, and lonely Musing,
In hollow Murmurs died away.
But O how alter'd was its sprightlier Tone!
When Chearfulness, a Nymph of healthiest Hue,

Her Bow a-cross her Shoulder flung,

Her Buskins gem'd with Morning Dew, Blew an inspiring Air, that Dale and Thicket rung,

The Hunter's Call to Faun and Dryad known!
The Oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chast-eye'd

Queen,
Satyrs and sylvan Boys were seen,

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

And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his Beechen Spear. Last came Joy's Ecstatic Trial, He with viny Crown advancing,

First to the lively Pipe his Hand addrest,
But soon he saw the brisk awak’ning 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 flying 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 Odours 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 antient Lyre aside ?
As in that lov'd Athenian Bow'r,
You learn’d an all-commanding Pow'r,
Thy mimic Soul, O Nymph endeard,
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple Heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise as in that elder Time,
Warm, Energic, Chaste, Sublime !
Thy Wonders in that God-like 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 Endeavors cease,
Revive the just Designs of Greece,
Return in all thy simple State!
Confirm the Tales Her Sons relate!

O D E

ON

THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON

TO

GEORGE LYTTELTON, ESQ.

THIS ODE

IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR

ADVERTISEMENT.-The scene of the following stanzas is supposed

ODE ON THE DEATH OF THOMSON.

I.

In yonder grave a Druid lies,

Where slowly winds the stealing wave! The year's best sweets shall duteous rise

To deck its Poet's sylvan grave!

II.

In yon deep bed of whisp’ring reeds

His airy harp* shall now be laid, That he, whose heart in sorrow bleeds,

May love thro’ life the soothing shade.

III.

Then maids and youths shall linger here,

And while its sounds at distance swell,
Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear
To hear the Woodland Pilgrim's knell.

IV.
Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore

When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,
And oft suspend the dashing oar
To bid his gentle spirit rest!

V.
And oft as Ease and Health retire

To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
The friend'shall view yon whitening † spire,

And 'mid the varied landscape weep. * The harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the Castle OF INDOLENCE.

+ Richmond Church.