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N CHAM's fair Banks, where Learning's hal
low'd Fane Majestic rises on th' astonish'd Sight,
1 Where oft the Muse has led the favourite Swain,
And warm'd his Soul with Heav'n's inspiring Light,
Beneath the Covert of the Sylvan Shade,
Where deadly Cypress, mix'd with mournful Yew, Far o'er the Vale a gloomy Stillness spread,
Celestial Genius burst upon the View.
The Bloom of Youth, the Majesty of Years,
The foften'd Aspect, innocent and kind, The Sigh of Sorrow, and the streaming Tears,
Refiltless all, their various Pow'r combin'd.
In her fair Hand a Silver Harp she bore,
Whose magic Notes, soft-warbling from the String, Give tranquil Joys the Breast ne'er knew before,
Or raise the Soul on Rapture's airy Wing. By Grief impelld, I heard her heave'a Sigh, A While thus the rapid Strain resounded thro' the Sky,
Haste ye Sifter Powers of Song,
Haften from the shady Grove,
Sweetly to the Voice of Love.
Where, indulging mirthful Pleasures,
Light you press the flow'ry Green,
Cull the Wreath for Fancy's Queen:
Where your gently-flowing Numbers,
Floating on the fragrant Breeze,
On the downy Bed of Ease.
For graver Strains prepare the plaintive Lyre,
That wakes the softest Feelings of the Soul, Let lonely Grief the melting Verse inspire,
Let deep'ning Sorrow's folemn Accents roll.
Rack'd by the Hand of rude Disease,
Behold our fav’rite Poet lies,
Far from his Couch, ungrateful, flies.
The blissful Muse, whose favouring Smile
So lately warm’d his peaceful Breast,
In Transport's radiant Garments drest,
The gaudy Train, who wait on SPRING*,
Ting'd with the Pomp of vernal Pride, The Youth who mount on Pleasure's Wingt,
And idiy sport on THAMes's Side,
Ode on SPRING. I Ode on the Prospect of Eton COLLEGI.
With cool Regard their various Arts employ,
Ha! what Forms with Port sublime ,
Glide along in fullen Mood,
High above Misfortune's Flood.
They seize their Harps, they strike the Lyre,
In Pomp of State, behold they wait,
With Arms outstretch'd, and Aspects kind,
The Child of Fancy left behind :
But ah, in vain they strive to foothe,
With gentle Arts, the tort'ring Hour,
Her baleful Gifts profusely pours.
Behold she comes, the Fiend forlorn,
Array'd in Horror's settled Gloom,
And triumphs in th’infernal Doom :
| BARD, an Ode.
* Hymn to ADVERSITY.
No more the soft EOLIAN Flute I
Breathes through the Heart the melting Strain, The Powers of Harmony are mute,
And leave the once delightful Plain ; With heavy Wing I see them beat the Air, Damp'd by the Leaden Hand of comfortless Despair.
Yet stay, 'O ftay, celestial Pow'rs,
And with a Hand of kind Regard, ja
Destructive on the fav’rite Bardi,
Hark! the Fatal Sisters join ,
And with Horror's mutt'ring Sounds,
While the dreadful Spell resounds.
“ Hail ye Midnight Sisters, hail,
" Drive the Shuttle swift along, 4 Let our fecret Charms prevail
" O'er the Valiant and the Strong.
6 O'er the Glory of the Land,
« O’er the Innocent and Gay, 66 O'er the Mules tuneful Band,
" Weave the sun'ral Web of Gray."
'Tis done, 'tis done-the Iron Hand of Pain,
With ruthlets Fury and corrotive Force, Racks every Joint, and seizes every Vein,
He finks, he groans, he falls a lifeless Corse.
1 The PROGRESS of PoET!Y. an Ode,
The FATA! SISTERS,
Thus fades the Flow'r, nipp'd by the frozen Gale,
Tho' once so sweet, fo lovely to the Eye: Thus the tall Oaks, when boist'rous Storms affail,
Torn from the Earth, a mighty Ruin lie.
Ye sacred Sisters of the plaintive Verse,
Now let the Stream of fond Affection flow,0
pay your Tribute o'er the flow-drawn Hearse, With all the manly Dignity of Woe.
Oft when the Curfew tolls its parting Knell,
How just the Moral of the Poet's Lay I. O'er his green Grave, in Contemplation's Guise, Oft let
the Pilgrim drop a silent Tear, Oft let the Shepherd's tender Accents rise, r; int
Big with the Sweets of each revolving Year, Till proftrate Time adore his deathless Name: Fix'd on the solid Base of adamantine Fame,
1 1 Elegy in a Country CHURCH-YARD