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Is thy return, than bloomy morn's approach,
Ev'n then, in youthful prime of opening May,

W
When from the portals of the saffron east licos

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She sheds fresh roses, and ambrofial dews. : : 2 เท่า 35,
Yet not ungrateful is the morn's approach,
When dropping wet fhe comes, and clad in clouds,
While thro' the damp air scowls the louring south,
Blackening the landscape's face, that grove and hill
In formlefs vapours undistinguish'd swim:
Th' afflicted songsters of the fadden'd groves
Hail not the fullen gloom; the waving elms
That hoar thro' time, and rang'd in thick array,
Enclose with stately row some rural hall,
Are mute, nor echo with the clamors hoarse
Of rooks rejoicing on their airy boughs;
While to the shed the dripping poultry crowd,
A mournful train : secure the village-hind
Hangs o'er the crackling blaze, nor tempts the storm ;
Fix'd in th' unfinish'd furrow refts the plough:
Rings not the high wood with enliv'ning shouts
Of early hunter: all is filence drear;
And deepest fadness wraps the face of things.

Thro' Pope's foft fong tho' all the Graces breathe,
And happieft art adorn his Attic page;
Yet does my mind with sweeter transport glow,
As at the root of mosfy trunk reclin'd,
In magic Spenser's wildly-warbled song
I fee deserted Una wander wide

Thro'

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Thro' wasteful folitudes, and lurid heaths,
Weary, forlorn; than when the fated fair,
Upon the bosom bright of filver Thames,
Launches in all the lustre of brocade,
Amid the splendors of the laughing Sun.
The gay description palls upon the sense,
And coldly strikes the mind with feeble bliss.

Ye Youths of Albion's beauty blooming ifle,
Whose brows have worn the wreath of luckless love,
Is there a pleasure like the pensive mood,
Whose magic wont to footh your soften'd fouls ?
O tell how rapturous the joy, to melt
To Melody's affuafive voice; to bend
Th' uncertain ftep along the midnight mead,
And pour your sorrows to the pitying moon,
By many a slow trill from the bird of woe
Oft interrupted ; in embowering woods
By darksome brook to muse, and there forget
The folemn dulness of the tedious world,
While Fancy grasps the visionary fair :
And now no more th' abstracted ear attends
The water's murm'ring lapfe, th' entranced eye
Pierces no longer thro' th' extended rows
Of thick-rang'd trees; 'till haply from the depth
The woodman's stroke, or distant-tinkling team,
Or heifer rufling thro' the brake alarms
Th' illuded sense, and mars the golden dream.
e Belinda. See Rape of the Lock.

Thele

These are delights that absence drear has made
Familiar to my soul, e'er fince the form
of young Sapphira, beauteous as the Spring,
When from her vi'let-woven couch awak'd
By frolic Zephyr's hand, her tender cheek
Graceful she lifts, and blushing from her bow'r,
Iffues to cloath in gladsome-glift'ring green
The genial globe, firf met my dazzled fight:
These are delights unknown to minds profane,
And which alone the pensive foul can cafte.

The taper'd choir, at the late hour of pray'r,
Oft let me tread, while to th' according voice
The many founding organ peals on high,
The clear slow-dittyed chaunt, or varied hymn,
'Till all my soul is bath'd in ecstasies,
And lap'd in Paradise. Or let me fic
Far in fequefter'd iles of the deep dome,
There lonefome listen to the sacred sounds,
Which, as they lengthen thro' the Gothic vaults,
In hollow murmurs reach

my

ravish'd
Nor when the lamps expiring yield to night,
And solitude returns, would I forsake
The folemn mansion, but attentive hear
The due clock swinging slow with sweepy sway,
Measuring Time's fight with momentary found.

Nor let me fail to cultivate my mind
With the soft thrillings of the tragic Muse,
Divine Melpomene, sweet Pity's nurse,

ear.

Queen

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Queen of the stately step, and flowing pali,
Now let Monimia mourn with ftreaming eyes
Her joys incestuous, and polluted love:
Now let soft Juliet in the gaping tomb
Print the last kiss on her true Romeo's lips,
His lips yet reeking from the deadly draught.
Or Jaffeir kneel for one forgiving look.
Nor seldom let the Moor of Desdemone
Pour the misguided threats of jealous rage.
By soft degrees the manly torrent fteals
From my fwoln eyes, and at a brother's woe
My big heart melts in fympathizing tears.

What are the fplendors of the gaudy court,
Its tinsel trappings, and its pageant pomps ?
To me far happier seems the banilh'd Lord
Amid Siberia's unrejoycing wilds
Who pines all lonefome, in the chambers hoar
Of some high castle thur, whose windows dim
In distant ken discover trackless plains,
Where Winter ever whirls his icy car;
While still-repeated objects of his view,
The gloomy battlements, and ivied spires"
That crown the folitary dome, arise ;
While from the topmost turret the flow clock,
Far heard along th' in hospitable wastes,
With fad-returning chime awakes new grief ;
Ev'n he far happier seems than is the proud,
The potent Satrap, whom he left behind

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'Mid Moscow's golden palaces, to drown
In ease and luxury the laughing hours:

Illustrious objects Atrike the gazer's mind
With feeble blifs, and but allure the fight,
Nor route with impulfe quick th' unfeeling heart.
Thus seen by thepherd from Hymettus' brow,
What dædal landscapes smile! here balmy groves,
Resounding once with Plato's voice, arise,
Amid whose umbrage green her filver head
Th' unfading olive lifts ; here vine-clad hills
Lay forth their purple store, and funny vales
In prospect vaft their level laps expand,
Amid whose beauties gliftering Athens tow'rs.
Tho' thro' the blissful scenes Iliflus roll
His fage-inspiring flood, whore winding marge
The thick-wove laurel shades; tho' roseate Morn
Pour all her fplendors on th' empurpled scene;
Yet feels the hoary Hermit truer joys,
As from the cliff that o'er his cavern hangs,
He views the piles of fall'n Persepolis
In deep arrangement hide che darksome plain,
Unbounded waste ! the mould'ring obelisc
Here, like a blasted oak, ascends the clouds ;
Here Parian domes their vaulted halls disclose
Horrid with thorn, where lurks th' anpitying thief,
Whence flits the twilight-loving bat at eve,
And the deaf adder wreathes her spotted train,
The dwellings once of elegance and art.

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