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Young Fancy thus, to me divineft name,
To whom, prepar'd and bath'd in heaven,
The ceft of amplest power is given,

To few the god-like gift affigns,

To gird their bleft prophetic loins,

[flame.

And gaze her vifions wild, and feel unmix'd her

The band, as fairy legends fay,

Was wove on that creating day,

When he, who call'd with thought to birth

Yon tented sky, this laughing earth,

And dreft with springs, and forefts tall,

And pour'd the main engirting all,
Long by the lov'd Enthufiaft woo'd,
Himself in fome diviner mood,
Retiring, fate with her alone,

And plac'd her on his faphire throne,
The whiles, the vaulted fhrine around,
Seraphic wires were heard to found,

Now fublimeft triumph fwelling,

Now on love and mercy dwelling;

And

And she, from out the veiling cloud,
Breath'd her magic notes aloud:

And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn,
And all thy fubject life was born!
The dangerous paffions kept aloof,

Far from the fainted growing woof:
But near it fate ecstatic Wonder,
Liftening the deep applauding thunder:
And Truth, in funny veft array'd,
By whose the Tarfol's eyes were made;
All the fhadowy tribes of Mind,

In braided dance their murmurs join'd,
And all the bright uncounted Powers,
Who feed on heaven's ambrofial flowers.
Where is the Bard, whose foul can now
Its high prefuming hopes avow?
Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,
This hallow'd work for him defign'd?

High on fome cliff, to heaven up-pil'd,
Of rude accefs, of prospect wild,

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Where, tangled round the jealous steep,
Strange fhades o'erbrow the vallies deep,
And holy Genii guard the rock,
Its glooms embrown, its fprings unlock,
While on its rich ambitious head,
An Eden, like his own, lies fpread.
I view that oak, the fancied glades among,
By which as Milton lay, his evening ear,
From many a cloud that drop'd etheral dew,
Nigh fpher'd in heaven its native ftrains could hear:
On which that antient trump he reach'd was hung;
Thither oft his glory greeting,

From Waller's myrtle fhades retreating,

With many a vow from Hope's afpiring tongue,
My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue ;
In vain-Such blifs to one alone,
Of all the fons of foul was known,
And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers,
Have now o'erturn'd th' infpiring bowers,

Or curtain'd clofe fuch scene from every future view.

ODE,

O DE,

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLVI.

Ow fleep the brave, who fink to rest,

How

By all their country's wishes bleft!

When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mold,
She there fhall dress a sweeter fod,
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By Fairy hands their knell is rung,
By forms unfeen their dirge is fung;
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall a-while repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

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ODE TO MERCY.

STROPHE.

Thou, who fit'ft a fmiling bride

By Valour's arm'd and awful fide, Gentleft of sky-born forms, and beft ador'd; Who oft with fongs, divine to hear,

Win'ft from his fatal grasp the spear,

And hid'ft in wreaths of flowers his bloodlefs fword! 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:
See, Mercy, fee, with pure and loaded hands,
Before thy fhrine my country's genius ftands,

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

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