DE FOR MUSIC. IRREGULAR. I. ENCE, avaunt, ('tis holy ground) "HENCE, "Comus, and his midnight-crew, "And Ignorance with looks profound, "And dreaming Sloth of palid hue, "Mad Sedition's cry profane, "Servitude that hugs her chain, "Nor in thefe confecrated bowers "Let painted Flatt'ry hide her ferpent-train "in flowers. «Nor " Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain "Dare the Mufe's walk to ftain, "While bright-eyed Science watches round: Hence, away, 'tis holy ground!". II. From yonder realms of empyrean day Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay: There fit the fainted Sage, the Bard divine, The Few, whom Genius gave to shine Thro' every unborn age, and undiscover'd clime. Rapt in celestial transport they, 1 Yet hither oft a glance from high They fend of tender fympathy To bless the place, where on their opening foul First the genuine ardor ftole. 'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-ton'd fhell, And, as the choral warblings round him fwell, Meek ODE FOR MUSIC. 137 MeekNewton's felfbends from his ftate fublime, And nods his hoary head, and liftens to the rhyme. III. "Ye brown o'er-arching Groves, "That Contemplation loves, "Where willowy Camus lingers with delight! "Oft at the blush of dawn "I trod your level lawn, "Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia filver-bright "In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly, "With Freedom by my fide, and foft-ey'd Melancholy." IV. But hark! the portals found, and pacing forth With folemn fteps and flow, High Potentates, and Dames of royal birth, And mitred fathers in long order go: Great Great Edward, with the lilies on his brow From haughty Gallia torn, And fad Chatillon, on her bridal morn That wept her bleeding Love, and princely Clare, And Anjou's Heroine, and the paler Rose, The murder'd Saint, and the majestic Lord, That broke the bonds of Rome. (Their tears, their little triumphs o'er, Their human paffions now no more, Save Charity, that glows beyond the tomb) All that on Granta's fruitful plain Rich ftreams of regal bounty pour'd, And bad thefe awful fanes and turrets rise, To hail their Fitzroy's feftal morning come; And thus they speak in foft accord The liquid language of the skies. |