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7E diftant Spires! ye antique Tow'rs!


That crown the watry glade

Where grateful Science ftill adores


Her Henry's holy shade;

And ye that from the stately brow

Of Windfor's heights th' expanfe below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead, furvey,

Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flow'rs, among

Wanders the hoary Thames along

His filver-winding way:

Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!

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Ah fields belov'd in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A ftranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow

A momentary blifs bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing
My weary foul they seem to footh,

And, redolent † of joy and youth,
To breathe a fecond spring.

Say, father Thames! for thou haft seen

Full many a sprightly race,

Difporting on thy margent green,

The paths of pleasure trace,

King Henry VI. founder of the College. + And bees their honey redolent of spring.

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Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. Syftem.

Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glaffy wave?

The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny fucceed



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To fweeten liberty;

Some bold adventurers difdain

The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare defery:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Lefs pleasing when poffeft;
The tear forgot as foon as fhed,
The funfhine of the breaft;
Theirs buxom health of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the eafy night,
The spirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!

No fense have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day:

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Yet fee how all around 'em wait

The minifters of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train!

Ah! fhew them where in ambush ftand,
To feize their prey, the murd'rous band!
Ah! tell them they are men.

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Thefe fhall the fury Paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind;

Difdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that fculks behind;



Or pining Love fhall wafte their youth,
Or Jealoufy, with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the fecret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-vifag'd, comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.
Ambition this fhall tempt to rife,



Then whirl the wretch from high,

To bitter Scorn a facrifice,

And grinning Infamy:

The stings of Falsehood those shall try,


And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen Remorfe, with blood defil'd,
And moody Madness laughing wild

Amid fevereft wo.


Lo! in the vale of years beneath

A grily troop are feen,


*And Madness laughing in his ireful mood. Dryden's Fable of Palamon and Arcite

The painful family of Death,

More hideous than their queen:

This racks the joints, this fires the veins,


That ev'ry lab'ring finew strains,

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Yet ah! why fhould they know their fate,
Since forrow never comes too late,


And happiness too fwiftly flies?
Thought would deftroy their paradife.
No more; where ignorance is bliss
'Tis folly to be wife.



DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,

Thou tamer of the human breaft, Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain,

The proud are taught to tafte of pain,

And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone.


When firft thy fire to fend on earth
Virtue, his darling child, defign'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind;
Stern rugged nurfe! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year she bore ;


What forrow was thou bad'ft her know,


And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others' wo.

Scar'd at thy frown terrific fly

Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,

Wild Laughter, Noife, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leifure to be good.

Light they disperse; and with them go


The fummer friend, the flatt'ring foe;

By vain Profperity receiv'd,

To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.

Wisdom, in fable garb array'd,


Immers d in rapt'rous thought profound,

And Melancholy, filent maid,

With leaden eye, that loves the ground,

Still on thy folemn steps attend;

Warm Charity, the genʼral friend,
With Juftice, to herself severe,

And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.

Oh! gently on thy fuppliant's head,
Dread goddess! lay thy chaft'ning hand,
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band:

(As by the impious thou art seen,)

With thund'ring voice and threat'ning mien,



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