Bid us figh on from day to day, And wish, and with the foul away; Till youth and genial years are flown, But bufy bufy ftill art thou, 7 For once, O Fortune, hear my prayer, Make but the dear Amanda mine. HOME, gentle God of foft defire, COM Come and poffefs my happy breast, inv.97 20 Not fury-like in flames and fire, Or frantic folly's wildness dreft; But come in friendship's angel-guise: More sweet emotions at the heart. O come with goodness in thy train, VOL. I. ODE NIGHTINGALE, best poet of the grove, That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee, Bleft in the full poffeffion of thy love: O lend that strain, fweet Nightingale, to me! 'Tis mine, alas! to mourn my wretched fate : You, happy birds! by nature's fimple laws But we, vain slaves of intereft and of pride, Dare not be bleft left envious tongues should blame: And hence, in vain, I languifh for my bride; T HE wanton's charms, however bright, Whose flattering unaufpicious blaze To precipices oft betrays: But that fweet ray your beauties dart, Which clears the mind, and cleans the heart, Is like the facred Queen of night, A vicious love depraves the mind, I 'Tis anguish, guilt, and folly join'd; But Seraphina's eyes difpenfe. A mild and gracious influence est qobitat Such as in vifions angels fhed T A ETHEREAL race, inhabitants of air, Ye unfeen beings, to my harp repair, And raise majestic strains, or melt in love. * Aeolus's Harp is a musical instrument, which plays with the wind, invented by Mr Ofwald; its properties are fully described in the Castle of Indolence. 002 II. Thofe IL Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid, Who dy'd of love, these fweet complainings part. But hark! that strain was of a graver tone, On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws; Or he the facred Bard +, who fat alone, In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes. Such was the fong which Zion's children fung, Angelic harps, to foothe a dying faint. [Methinks I hear the full celeftial choir, Thro' heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise; Now chanting clear, and now they all confpire To fwell the lofty hymn, from praife to praise. VI. Let me, ye wand'ring fpirits of the wind, Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the ftring, Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd, For, till you ceafe, my Mufe forgets to fing. ·AIL, mildly-pleafing folitude, H Companion of the wife and good! But, from whose holy, piercing eye, 3 A thousand shapes you wear with ease, u haunt the pain. Elsi ! made (Her MUSIDORA fond of thee) Amid the long withdrawing valer Awakes the rival'd nightingale. Thine is the balmy breath of morn, Juft as the dew-bent rose is born; And |