VI.

Old EDWARD's fons, unknown to yield,
Shall crowd from CRESSY's laurell'd field,
And gaze with fix'd delight;

Again for Britain's wrongs they feel,

Again they fnatch the gleamy steel,

And wish th' avenging fight.

VII.

If, weak to footh fo foft an heart,

These pictur'd glories nought impart

Where-e'er from time thou court'ft relief,

The Muse shall still with focial grief
Her gentle promise keep:

Ev'n humble HARTING'S Cottag'd vale

Shall learn the fad repeated tale,

And bid her fhepherds weep.

VOL. I.

A a

O D.E,

HOV

By all their country's wishes bleft!
When Spring with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there fhall dress a sweeter föd,
Than FANCY's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is rung,

By forms unfeen their dirge is fung;
There HONOUR comes, a PILGRIM grey,
To blefs the turf that wraps their clay,
And FREEDOM fhall awhile repair,
To dwell a weeping HERMIT there !

ODE

IF aught of oaten ftop, or pastoral song,

May hope, chafte Eve, to footh thy modest ear,
Like thy own folemn springs,

Thy fprings, and dying gales,

O NYMPH referv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun
Sits on yon western tent, whofe cloudy skirts
With brede etherial wove,

Oe'rhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hufh'd, fave where the weak-ey'd bat,

With short shrill fhrieks flits by on leathern wing,
Or where the beetle winds

His fmall but fullen born,

As oft he rifes 'midft the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum.
Now teach me, maid compos'd,

To breathe some soften'd strain,

Whose numbers stealing through thy dark'ning vale, May not unfeemly with its ftillness fuit,

As mufing flow, I hail

Thy genial lov'd return!!

For when thy folding ftar arifing fhews

His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves

Who flept in flow'rs the day,

རྣམ་པ་ག

And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge,
And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and lovelier still,
The PENSIVE PLEASURES fweet

Prepare thy fhadowy car.

Then lead, calm Vot'ress, where some sheety lake
Cheers the lone heath, or fome time-hallow'd pile,
Or up-land fallows grey

Reflect its last cool gleam.

But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's fide,

Views wilds, and fwelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd fpires,

And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his fhow'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to fport

Beneath thy ling'ring light;

While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves;
Or Winter yelling through the troublous air,
Affrights thy fhrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, fure-found beneath the Sylvan shed,
Shall FANCY, FRIENDSHIP, SCIENCE, rofe-lip'dHEALTH,
Thy gentleft influence own,

And hymn thy fav'rite name!

茶茶

VERSES written on a BLANK LEAF,

By Lord LANSDOWN, when he presented his Works to the Queen, 1732.

A

Mufe expiring, who with earliest voice,

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Made kings and queens, and beauty's charms her

Now on her death-bed, the last homage pays,

O Queen, to thee; accept her dying lays.