Then with a momentary fwift Decay

Thy Pride, thy darling Hope, was fnatch'd away.
So by the Course of the revolving Spheres,
Whene'er a new-discover'd Star appears,
Aftronomers with Pleasure and Amaze
Upon the Infant Luminary gaze.

They find their Heav'n enlarg'd, and wait from thence
Some bleft, fome more than common Influence;
But fuddenly, alas! the fleeting Light

Retiring leaves their Hopes involv'd in endless Night.

THE

ON CHAM's fair Banks, where Learning's hal

Fane

Majestic rifes on th'aftonish'd Sight,

Where oft the Mufe has led the favourite Swain, And warm'd his Soul with Heav'n's infpiring Light,

Beneath the Covert of the Sylvan Shade,

Where deadly Cyprefs, mix'd with mournful Yew,
Far o'er the Vale a gloomy Stillness spread,
Celestial GENIUS burft upon the View.

The Bloom of Youth, the Majefty of Years,
The foften'd Afpect, innocent and kind,
The Sigh of Sorrow, and the streaming Tears,
Refiftlefs all, their various Pow'r combin'd.

In her fair Hand a filver Harp fhe bore,

Who's magic Notes, foft-warbling from the String, Give tranquil Joys the Breaft ne'er knew before, Or raise the Soul on Rapture's airy Wing. By Grief impell'd, I heard her heave a Sigh, While thus the rapid Strain refounded thro' the Sky,

4

Hafte

Hafte ye Sifter Powers of Song,
Haften from the fhady Grove,
Where the River rolls along,
Sweetly to the Voice of Love.

Where, indulging mirthful Pleasures,
Light you press the flow'ry Green,
And from Flora's blooming Treasures,
Cull the Wreath for Fancy's Queen :

Where your gently-flowing Numbers,
Floating on the fragrant Breeze,
Sink the Soul in pleafing Slumbers,
On the downy Bed of Ease.

For graver Strains prepare the plaintive Lyre,
That wakes the fofteft 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,
While every Object form'd to please,
Far from his Couch, ungrateful flies.

The blissful Mufe, whofe favouring Smile,
So lately warm'd his peaceful Breast,
Diffufing heavenly Joys the while,

In Tranfport's radiant Garments drest,

With darkfome Grandeur and enfeebl'd Blaze,
Sinks in the Shades of Night, and fhuns his eager Gaze.

The gaudy Train, who wait on SPRING *,
Ting'd with the Pomp of vernal Pride,
The Youth who mount on Pleasure's Wing †,
And idly sport on THAMES's Side,

* Ode on SPRING, Ode on the Profpect of ETON COLLEGE.

With

With cool Regard their various Arts employ,

Nor roufe the drooping Mind, nor give the Paufe of Joy.

Ha! what Forms with Port fublime 1,
Glide along in fullen Mood,
Scorning all the Threats of Time,
High above Misfortune's Flood.

They feize their Harps, they strike the Lyre,
With rapid Hand, with Freedom's Fire.
Obedient Nature hears the lofty Sound,

And SNOWDON's airy Cliffs the heavenly Strains refound,

In Pomp of State, behold they wait,
With Arms outstretch'd, and Afpects kind,
To fnatch on high to yonder Sky,

The Child of Fancy left behind:

Forgot the Woes of CAMBRIA's fatal Day,
By Rapture's Blaze impell'd, they fwell the artless Lay.

But ah in vain they strive to footh,
With gentle Arts, the tort'ring Hour,
ADVERSITY, with rankling Tooth,
Her baleful Gifts profufely pours.

*

Behold fhe comes, the Fiend forlorn, Array'd in Horror's fettled Gloom, She ftrews the Briar and prickly Thorn, And triumphs in th' infernal Doom: With frantic Fury and infatiate Rage,

She gnaws the throbbing Breast, and blasts the glowing Page.

BARD, an Ode,

* Hymn to ADVERSITY.

No

No more the foft EOLIAN Flute 1,

Breaths 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 ftay, O! ftay celeftial Pow'rs,
And with a Hand of kind Regard,
Difpel the boift'rous Storm that lours
Deftructive on the fav'rite Bard;

O watch with me his last expiring Breath,
And fnatch him from the Arms of dark oblivious Death.

Hark the FATAL SISTERS join §,
And with Horror's mutt'ring Sounds,

Weave the Tiffue of his Line,

While the dreadful Spell refounds.

"Hail ye Midnight Sifters, hail,
"Drive the Shuttle swift along,
"Let our fecret Charms prevail,
"O'er the Valiant and the Strong.

"O'er the Glory of the Land,

"O'er the Innocent and Gay, "O'er the Mufes tuneful Band,

Weave the fun'ral Web of GRAY.”

'Tis done, 'tis done-the iron Hand of Pain,
With ruthless Fury and corrofive Force,
Racks every Joint, and feizes every Vein,
He finks, he groans, he falls a lifeless Corfe.

The PROGRESS of POETRY. an Ode.

The FATAL SISTERS,

2

Thus