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IV.

To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair, Light skims the swallow o'er the watry scene; And from the sheep-cote, and fresh furrow'd-field, Stout ploughmen meet to wrestle on the green. V.

The fwain, that artlefs fings on yonder rock,
His fupping fheep, and lengthening fhadow spies;
Pleas'd with the cool the calm refreshful hour,
And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies.
VI.

Now ev'ry Paffion fleeps: defponding Love,
And pining Envy, ever-reftlefs Pride;
An holy Calm creeps o'er my peaceful foul,
Anger and mad Ambition's storms fubfide.

VII.

O modeft EVENING! oft let me appear
A wandering votary in thy penfive train;
Listening to every wildly-warbling note,
That fills with farewel fweet thy darkening plain.

ODE

то

EVEN IN G.

BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS.

F ought of oaten ftop, or paftoral fong,
May hope, chafte Eve, to footh thy modest ear,
Like thy own folemn fprings,

Thy fprings, and dying gales,

ONymph referv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun Sits in yon western tent, whofe cloudy skirts, With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed:

Now air is hufh'd, fave where the weak-ey'd bat, With fhort fhrill fhriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds

His fmall but fullen horn,

As oft he rifes 'midft the twilight path,
Against the pilgrim borne in heedlefs hum;
Now teach me, Maid compos'd,

To breathe fome foften'd ftrain,

Whofe numbers ftealing thro' thy darkening vale, May not unfeemly with it's 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 flowers the day,

And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge,

And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and lovelier still, The Penfive Pleafure's fweet

Prepare thy fhadowy car.

Then lead, calm Votrefs, where fome fheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or fome time-hallow'd pile, Or up-land fallows grey

Reflect its laft cool gleam.

But when chill bluftering 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 spires, And hears their fimple bell, and marks o'er all Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dufky veil.

While fpring fhall pour his fhow'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport,

Beneath thy ling'ting 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 thy fylvan fhed,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rose-lip'd Health,
Thy gentleft influence own,
And hymn thy fav'rite name!

E

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ISIS.

A N

ELEG Y.

WRITTEN BY MR. MASON OF CAMBRIDGE, 1748.

F

AR from her hallow'd grot, where mildly bright,

The pointed crystals shot their trembling light, From dripping mofs where sparkling dew-drops fell, Where coral glow'd, where twin'd the wreathed fhell, Pale ISIS lay; a willow's lowly shade

Spread its thin foliage o'er the fleeping maid; Clos'd was her eye, and from her heaving breast In careless folds loose flow'd her zoneless veft; While down her neck her vagrant treffes flow, In all the awful negligence of woe;

Her urn fuftain'd her arm, that sculptur'd vase Where Vulcan's art had lavish'd all its grace; Here, full with life, was heav'n-taught Science feen, Known by the laurel wreath, and mufing mien: There cloud-crown'd Fame, here Peace fedate and bland,

Swell'd the loud trump, and wav'd the olive wand;

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