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Unheard by all, but those alone

Whom to wisdom's secret throne The Muse, with heav'n-taughtguidance, deigns to bring, To trace the sacred paths with hallowed feet;

Or, Fancy, who the mystic shade,

In thy airy car, pervade,
Where Plato's raptur'd spirit holds its folemn seat.

But, Fancy, downward urge thy flight.

On some mountain's towering height,
With hoary frofts eternal crown'd,

Rapt with dusky vapours round,

Let me fix my stedfaft feet,
I feel, I feel the fanning gales;
The wat’ry mists beneath retreat.
The noontide ray now darts its heat,
And pours its glories o’er the vales.

Glittering to the dancing beams,
Urging their stubborn way the rocks among,

I hear, and see a thousand streams
Foam, and roar, and rush along.

But to the plains descended,

Their sudden rage is ended.
Now loft in deep recess of darksome bowers,


Again now sparkling through the meads

Vested soft with vernal flowers,
Reflecting the majestic towers,
Its peaceful food the roving channel leads.

There the rural cots are seen,
From whose low roof the curling smoak ascends,
And dims with blueish volumes all the green.

There some forest far extends
Its groves embrown'd with lengthen'd shade ;
Embosom'd where some Gothic seat,

Of monarchs once retreat ;
In wild magnificence array'd,
The pride of ancient times presents,
And lifts, in contrast fair display'd,
Its sun reflecting battlements.

Near, some imperial city seems to reign,

Triumphant o'er the subject land;
With domes of art Vitruvian crown'd.
See gleam her gilded spires around,

Her gates in aweful grandeur stand:
Equal to shine in peace, or war sustain ;

Her mighty bulwarks threat the plain
With many a work of death, and armed mound.
Where rolls her wealthy river deep and wide,

X 2


Tall groves of crowded masts arise ;
Their streamers waving to the skies.
The banks are white with swelling fails,

And distant vessels stem the tide,
Circling through pendant cliffs, and watery dales.
The russet hills, the valleys green beneath,

The fallows brown, and dusky heath,
The yellow corn, empurpled vine,
In union soft their tints combine,
And, Fancy, all engage thine eye

With a sweet variety.
While clouds the feeting clouds pursue,
In mutual shade, and mutual light,
The changing landscape meets the fight;

'Till the ken no more can view;
And heaven appears to meet the ground;
The rising lands, and azure distance drown'd
Amid the gay horizon's golden bound.

. VI.
Such are the scenes that oft invite
To feed thee, Fancy, with delight.

All that nature can create,
Beauteous, aweful, new and great,
Sweet enthusiast, is thy treasure,
Source of wonder, and of pleasure ;

· Every

Every senfe to transport winning,
· Still unbounded and beginning.
Then, Fancy, spread thy wings again;
Unlock the caverns of the main.
Above, beneath, and all around:

Let the tumbling billows spread;

'Till the coral Avor we tread, Exploring all the wealth that decks the realms profound;

There, gather gems that long have glow'd

In the vast, unknown abode,
The jasper vein'd, the saphire blue,
The ruby bright with crimson hue,
Whate’er the bed resplendent paves,

Or decks the glittering roofs on high,
Through whose translucentarch are seen the rolling waves.

Fancy, these shall clasp thy vest,
With these thy lovely brows be drest,
In every gay, and various dye.
But hark ! — the seas begin to roar,
The whistling winds assault my ear,
The louring storms around appear —

Fancy, bear me to the shore.
There in thy realms, bright goddess, deign
Secure to fix thy votary's feet :

O give



O give to follow oft thy train:
Still with accustom'd lay thy power to greet ;

To dwell with Peace, and sport with thee, .: Fancy, ever fair and free.

జరిగారmenNNENOT An Address to his Elbow-chair, new cloath’d.

By the late Wm. SOMERVILE, Efq; Author of the Chace*.


M y dear companion, and my faithful friend !
IV If Orpheus taught the listening oaks to bend;
If stones and rubbish, at Amphion's call,
Danc'd into form, and built the Theban wall;
Why should'st not thou attend my humble lays,
And hear my grateful harp resound thy praise ?

True, thou art spruce and fine, a very beau;
But what are trappings, and external show?
To real worth alone I make my court;
Knaves are my scorn, and coxcombs are my sport.

Once I beheld thee far less trim and gay;
Ragged, disjointed, and to worms a prey ;
The fafe retreat of every lurking mouse ;
Derided, sun'd; the lumber of my house!
* Written towards the close of Mr. Somervile's life.


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