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And, left thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er-aw'd,
In that thrice-hallow'd eve abroad,
When ghosts, as cottage-maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave,
And goblins haunt from fire, or fen,
Or mine, or food, the walks of men !

O thou whose spirit most poffeft
The sacred seat of Shakespear's breast !
By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions spoke !
Hither again thy fury deal,
Teach me but once like him to feel :
His cypress wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee!



Thou by Nature taught,

To breathe her genuine thought,
In numbers warmly pure, and sweetly strong:

Who first on mountains wild,

In Fancy, loveliest child, Thy babe, and Pleasure's, nurs'd the powers of song !

Thou, who with hermit heart

Disdain'st the wealth of art, And gauds, and pageant weeds, and trailing pall :

But com'ft a decent maid,

In Attic robe array'd,
O charte, unboastful nymph, to thee I call !

By all the honey'd store

On Hybla's thymy fore,
By all her blooms, and mingled murmurs dear,

By her, whose love-lorn woe,

In evening musings flow,
Sooth'd sweetly sad Electra's poet's ear:

Ву By old Cephisus deep, No more, in hall or bower,

Who spread his wavy sweep
In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat,

On whose enamel'd fide,

When holy Freedom died,
No equal haunt allur'd thy future feet.

O fifter meek of Truth,

To my admiring youth,
Thy sober aid and native charms infuse !

The flowers that sweetest breache,

Tho' beauty culld the wreath,
Still ask thy hand to range their order'd hues.

While Rome could none esteem,

But virtue's patriot theme,
You lov'd her hills, and led her laureate band :

But staid to sing alone

To one distinguish'd throne,
And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land.

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The passions own thy power,
Love, only love her forceless numbers mean :

For thou hast left her shrine,

Nor olive more, nor vine,
Shall gain thy feet to bless the servile scene.

Tho' tafte, tho' genius bless

To fome divine excess,
Faint's the cold work till thou inspire the whole ;

What each, what all supply,

May court, may charm our eye,
Thou, only thou can'ít raise the meeting foul !

Of these let others ak,

To aid some mighty talk,
I only seek to find thy temperate vale':

Where oft my reed might sound

To maids and shepherds round,
And all thy fons, O Nasure, learn my tale.



Sonce, if not with light regard,

I read aright that gifted Bard, (Him whose school above the rest His loveliest Elfin queen has bleft) One, only one, unrival'd fair *, Might hope the magic girdle wear, At solemn tạrney hung on high, The wish of each love-darting eye;

Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied,

As if, in air unseen, some hovering hand, Some chaste and angel-friend to virgin-fame,

With whisper'd spell had burst the starting band, : It left unbleft her loath'd dishonour'd fide ;

Happier hopeless fair, if never
Her baffled hand with vain endeavour

Had touch'd that fatal zone to her denied !

* Florimel, See Spenser Leg. 4th.

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