For ever through the fpacious courts refound:
There long pofterity's united groan

And the fad charge of horrors not their own, Affail the giant chiefs, and press them to the ground. XIII.

In fight old Time, imperious judge, awaits :
Above revenge, or fear, or pity, just,

He urgeth onward to thofe guilty gates
The Great, the Sage, the Happy, and Auguft.
And still he asks them of the hidden plan
Whence every treaty, every war began,
Evolves their secrets and their guilt proclaims :
And still his hands defpoil them on the road

Of each vain wreath by lying Bards bestow'd, And crush their trophies huge, and rase their sculptur'd names.

XIV.

Ye mighty fhades, arise, give place, attend:
Here his eternal mansion Curio feeks:

-Low doth proud Wentworth to the stranger bend,
And his dire welcome hardy Clifford speaks :
"He comes, whom Fate with furer arts prepar'd
"To accomplish all which we but vainly dar'd:
"Whom o'er the ftubborn herd fhe taught to reign:
"Who footh'd with gaudy dreams their raging power
"Even to its laft irrevocable hour;

"Then baffled their rude ftrength, and broke them "to the chain."

XV. But

XV.

But ye, whom yet wife Liberty infpires,
Whom for her champions o'er the world the claims,
(That household godhead whom of old your fires
Sought in the woods of. Elbe, and bore to Thames)
Drive this hoftile omen far away;

ye

Their own fell efforts on her foes repay ;

Your wealth, your arts, your fame, be her's alone:
Still gird your fwords to combat on her fide;
Still frame your laws her generous test to abide;
And win to her defence the altar and the throne.
XVI.

Protect her from yourselves, ere yet the flood
Of golden luxury, which commerce pours,
Hath spread that felfish fiercenefs through your blood,
Which not her lightest discipline indures :
Snatch from fantastic demagogues her cause :
Dream not of Numa's manners, Plato's laws :
A wifer founder, and a nobler plan,

O fons of Alfred, were for you affign'd :
Bring to that birthright but an equal mind,

And no fublimer lot will fate referve for man.

O DE X.

TO THE

MUS E.

I.

UEEN of my fongs, harmonicus maid,

Q

Ah why haft thou withdrawn thy aid?

Ah why forfaken thus my breast

With inauspicious damps opprefs'd?

Where

Where is the dread prophetic heat,

With which my bofom wont to beat? Where all the bright mysterious dreams Of haunted groves and tuneful streams, That woo'd my genius to divinest themes?

II.

Say, goddess, can the feftal board,
Or young Olympia's form ador'd;
Say, can the pomp of promis'd fame
Relume thy faint, thy dying flame ?
Or have melodious airs the power
To give one free, poetic hour?
Or, from amid the Elysian train,

'The foul of Milton fhall I gain,

To win thee back with fome celeftial ftrain?

III.

O powerful strain ! O facred foul !

His numbers every fenfe control:
And now again my bofom burns;
The Mufe, the Mufe herfelf, returns.
Such on the banks of Tyne, confefs'd,
I hail'd the fair immortal guest,

When firft fhe feal'd me for her own,
Made all her blissful treafures known,
And bade me fwear to follow Her alone.

O DE XI.

ON LOV E. To a FRIEND.

I.

No, foolish youth-To virtuous fame

If now thy early hopes be vow'd,

If true ambition's nobler flame Command thy footsteps from the croud, Lean not to Love's inchanting fnare ; His fongs, his words, his looks beware, Nor join his votaries, the young and fair.

II.

By thought, by dangers, and by toils, The wreath of just renown is worn ; Nor will ambition's awful spoils The flowery pomp of ease adorn : But love unbends the force of thought; By love unmanly fears are taught; And love's reward with gaudy floth is bought.

III.

Yet thou haft read in tuneful lays,

And heard from many a zealous breast,
The pleafing tale of Beauty's praise
In Wisdom's lofty language drefs'd;
Of Beauty powerful to impart

Each finer fenfe, each comelier art,

And footh and polish man's ungentle heart.

IV.

If then, from love's deceit fecure, Thus far alone thy wishes tend, Go; fee the white-wing'd evening hour On Delia's vernal walk descend: Go, while the golden light ferene, The grove, the lawn, the foften'd scene, Becomes the presence of the rural queen.

V.

Attend, while that harmonious tongue
Each bofom, each defire commands:
Apollo's lute by Hermes ftrung

And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands,
Attend. I feel a force divine,

O Delia, win my thoughts to thine That half the color of thy life is mine.

VI.

Yet, confcious of the dangerous charm,
Soon would I turn my steps away;

Nor oft provoke the lovely harm,
Nor lull my reason's watchful sway.
But thou, my friend-I hear thy fighs :

Alas, I read thy downcaft eyes;

And thy tongue falters; and thy color flies.