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V.

There leagu'd with hopeless anguish and defpair,
Awhile in filence o'er my fate repine;

Then, with a long farewell to love and care,
To kindred duft my weary limbs confign.

VI.

Wilt thou, MONIMIA, fhed a gracious tear
On the cold grave where all my forrows reft?
Wilt thou ftrew flow'rs, applaud my love fincere,
And bid the turf lie light upon my breast!

CHORUSSES

FROM

ELFRIDA, A TRAGEDY.

BY MR. MASON.

CHORUS I.

ODE ΤΟ THE MORNING.

I.

Hail to thy living light,

Ambrofial morn! all hail thy rofeat ray:
That bids gay nature all her charms display
In varied beauty bright;

That bids each dewy-fpangled flowret rife,
And dart around its vermeil dies;

Bids filver lustre grace yon fparkling tide,

That winding warbles down the mountain's fide.

II.

Away, ye goblins all,

Wont the bewilder'd traveller to daunt ;
Whofe vagrant feet have trac'd your fecret haunt
Befide fome lonely wall,

Or fhatter'd ruin of a mofs-grown tow'r,

Where, at pale midnight's ftilleft hour, Thro' each rough chink the folemn orb of night Pours momentary gleams of trembling light.

III.

Away, ye elves, away:

Shrink at ambrofial morning's living ray;
That living ray, whose pow'r benign
Unfolds the scene of glory to our eye,

Where, thron'd in artless majesty,

The cherub Beauty fits on Nature's ruftic shrine.

O 2

CHORUS II.

ODE ON CONTENT.

ATHELWOLD, THE HUSBAND OF ELFRIDA,
IS SUPPOSED TO. BE ABSENT.

I.

The turtle tells her plaintive tale,
Sequefter'd in fome shadowy vale ;
The lark in radiant æther flotes,
And fwells his wild extatic notes:
Meanwhile on yonder hawthorn fpray
The Linnet wakes her temp'rate lay;
She haunts no folitary fhade,

She flutters o'er no fun-fhine mead,
No love-lorn griefs deprefs her fong,
No raptures lift it loudly high,

But foft fhe trills, amid th' aerial throng,
Smooth fimple ftrains of fob'reft harmony.

II.

Sweet bird! like thine our lay fhall flow,
Nor gaily loud, nor fadly flow;
For to thy note fedate, and clear,
CONTENT ftill lends a lift'ning ear.
Reclin'd this moffy bank along,
Oft has she heard thy eafy fong:

C

Why hears not now? What fairer grove

*

From Harewood lures her devious love?
What fairer grove than Harewood knows,
More woodland walks, more fragrant gales,
More woodbine bowers, inviting foft repofe,
More ftreams flow-wand'ring thro' her winding vales.
III.

Perhaps to fome lone cave the Rover flies,
Where lull'd in pious peace the hermit lies.
For fcorning oft the gorgeous hall,

Where banners wave with blazon'd gold, There will the meek-ey'd nymph delight to call, And with the folemn feer high converfe hold.

IV.

your head

There, goddess, on the fhaggy mound,
Where tumbling torrents roar around,
Where pendant mountains o'er
Stretch their formidable fhade;
You liften, while the holy feer
Slowly chaunts his vefpers clear;
Or of his fparing mess partake,
The fav'ry pulfe, the wheaten cake,
The bev'rage cool of limpid rill.
Then, rifing light, your hoft you bless,

And o'er his faintly temples bland distill
Seraphic day-dreams of heav'ns happiness.

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