But thou, O Hope, with Eyes so fair, And bad the lovely Scenes at distance hail! And longer had She sung,-but with a Frown, Revenge impatient rose, He threw his blood-stain'd Sword in Thunder down, The War-denouncing Trumpet took, The doubling Drum with furious Heat; Her Soul-subduing Voice applied, Yet still He kept his wild unalter'd Mien, While each strain'd Ball of Sight seem'd bursting from his Head. Thy Numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd, Of diff'ring Themes the veering Song was mix'd, With Eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, Pale Melancholy sate retir'd, And from her wild sequester'd Seat, Through Glades and Glooms the mingled Measure stole, Or o'er some haunted Stream with fond Delay, Love of Peace, and lonely Musing, In hollow Murmurs died away. But O how alter'd was its sprightlier Tone! Her Buskins gem'd with Morning Dew, Blew an inspiring Air, that Dale and Thicket rung, The Hunter's Call to Faun and Dryad known! The Oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chast-eye'd Queen, Satyrs and sylvan Boys were seen, Peeping from forth their Alleys green; Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear, And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his Beechen Spear. Last came Joy's Ecstatic Trial, He with viny Crown advancing, First to the lively Pipe his Hand addrest, But soon he saw the brisk awak'ning Viol, Whose sweet entrancing Voice he lov'd the best. While as his flying Fingers kiss'd the Strings, And HE amidst his frolic Play, O Music, Sphere-descended Maid, ODE ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON ΤΟ GEORGE LYTTELTON, ESQ. THIS ODE IS INSCRIBED BY THE AUTHOR ADVERTISEMENT.-The scene of the following stanzas is supposed to lie on the Thames, near Richmond |