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Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,

Or where Mæander's amber waves


In lingering Lab'rinths creep,
How do your tuneful Echos languish,
Mute, but to the voice of Anguith?
Where each old poetic Mountain

Inspiration breath'd around :
Ev'ry shade and hallow'd Fountain

Murmurid deep a solemn found : 'Till the sad Nine in Greece's evil hour

Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Pow'r,

1 And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. When Latium had her lofty spirit loft, They fought, oh Albion ! next thy sea-encircled coast.

III. 1.

Far from the sun and summer gale,
In thy green lap was Nature's * Darling laid,
What time, where lucid Avon ftray'd,

To Hin the mighty Mother did unveil



Her awful face : The dauntless Child

Stretch'd forth his little arıns,

and smil'd.

This pencil take (the faid) whose colours clear

Richly paint the vernal year :
Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy!
This can unlock the gates of Joy ;
Of Horrour that, and thrilling Fears,
Or ope the facred source of sympathetic Tears.



Nor second He *, that rode sublime

Upon the seraph wings of Extasy,

The secreis of th 'Abyss to spy. + He pass'd the Alaining bounds of Place and Time : § The living Throne, the fapphire-blaze, Where Angels tremble, while they gaze,


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* Milton.

-flammantia mægia mnandi. Lucretius. For the spirit of the living creature was in the wheels — And above the fi matrient, that was over




He saw : but blasted with excess of light,
* Closed his eyes in endless night.
Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car,
Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear

+ Two Coursers of ethereal race, With necks in thunder cloath'd, and long resound

ing pace.


their heads, was the likeness of a throne, as the appearance of a fapphire-stone.--This was the appearance of the glory of the Lord. ·

Ezekiel i. 20, 26, 28. * οφθαλμών μεν άμερσεν δίδου δ' ηδείαν αοιδών.

Homer. Od,


+ Meant to express the stately march and founding energy of Dryden's rhimes. Hast thou cloathed his neck with thunder ?


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Hark his hands the lyre explore !
Bright-cy'd Fancy, hovering o'er,

Scatters from her pictur'd urn
* Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.

+ But ah! tis heard no more

Oh! Lyre divine, what daring Spirit

Wakes thee now? tho'he inherit


* Words that weep, and tears that speak.


+ We have had in our language no other odes of the sublime kind, than that of Dryden on St. Cecilia's day: for Cowley (who had his merit) yet wanted judgment, ftyle, and harmony, for such a tafk. That of Pope is not worthy of so great a man. Mafon indeed of late days has touched the true chords, and with a mafterly hand, in fome of his Chorufes - above all, in the last of Caractacus,

Hark! heard ye not yon footstep dread s 83c.

Nor the Pride, nor ample pinion,
That the Theban Eagle bear

Sailing with supreme dominion
Thro' the azure deep of air :

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run Such forms, as glitter in the Muse's ray

With orient bues, unborrow'd of the Sun: Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,

but far above the

Beneath the Good how far



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* Διός προς όρνιθα θείον» Olymp. 2.

Pindar compares himself to that bird, and his enemies to ravens that croak and clamour in vain below, while it pursues its flight, regardless of theer noise.

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