And fhe, from out the veiling cloud, And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn, Far from the fainted growing woof: In braided dance their murmurs join'd, High on fome cliff, to heaven up-pil'd, Of rude accefs, of profpect wild, Where, Where, tangled round the jealous steep, Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock, An Eden, like his own, lies fpread. I view that oak, the fancied glades among, Nigh fpher'd in heaven its native ftrains could hear: On which that ancient trump he reach'd was hung; From Waller's myrtle shades retreating, Of all the fons of foul was known, And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers, Or curtain'd close such scene from every future view. OD E, WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLVI. How fleep the brave, who fink to reft, By all their country's wishes bleft! When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, She there fhall drefs a fweeter fod, By Fairy hands their knell is rung, ODE TO MERC Y. STROPHE. Thou, who fit'ft a fmiling bride By Valour's arm'd and awful fide, Gentleft of sky-born forms, and best ador'd: Who oft with fongs, divine to hear, Win'ft from his fatal grafp the fpear, And hid'st in wreaths of flowers his bloodlefs sword! Thou who, amidst the deathful field, By godlike chiefs alone beheld, Oft with thy bofom bare art found, Pleading for him the youth who finks to ground: And decks thy altar ftill, tho' pierc'd with many a wound! ANTISTROPHE. When he whom even our joys provoke, The Fiend of Nature join'd his yoke, And And rufh'd in wrath to make our isle his prey; O'ertook him on his blafted road, And ftop'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away. fee recoil his fable steeds, That bore him fwift to favage deeds, O Maid, for all thy love to Britain fhown, To thee we build a rofeate bower, Thou, thou fhalt rule our queen, and fhare our monarch's throne! |