« ПредишнаНапред »
Old EDWARD's fons, unknown to yield,
with fix'd delight; Again for Britain's wrongs they feel, Again they snatch the gleamy steel,
And wish th' avenging fight.
To dry thy constant tear;
yet in sorrow's distant eye, Expos'd and pale thou feeft him lie,
Wild war insulting near,
Her gentle promise keep :
And bid her shepherds weep.
OW sleep the brave, who sink to reft,
By all their country's wishes bleft!
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
Faught of oaten stop, or paftoral song,
Like thy own folemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales, O Nymph reserv'd, while now the bright-hair'd sun Sits on yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts
With brede etherial wove,
Oe'rhang his wavy bed :
Or where the beetle winds
His small but fullen horn,
Now teach me, maid compos’d,
Whose numbers stealing through thy dark’ning vale, v May not unseemly with its stillness suit,
As musing now, I hail
Thy genial lov'd return!;
w His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who slept in flow'rs the day, And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge, And sheds the fresh’ning dew, and lovelier still,
The PENSIVE PLEASURES sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car.
That from the mountain's side,
Views wilds, and swelling foods,
Thy dewy fingers draw
While Spring shall pour his show’rs, as oft he wont,
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy ling'ring light;
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;
Thy gentleft influence own,
VERSES written on a BLANK LEAF,
By Lord LANSDOWN, when he presented his
Works to the Queen, 1732.
Mufe expiring, who with earliest voice,