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The Gaul, 'tis held of antique ftory,
Saw Britain link'd to his now adverse strand *,

No fea between, nor cliff fublime and hoary,
He pass'd with unwet feet thro' all our land.

To the blown Baltic then, they say,

The wild waves found another way,

Where Orcas howls, his wolfish mountains rounding; Till all the banded weft at once 'gan rise,

A wide wild storm even Nature's self confounding, Withering her giant fons with strange uncouth

furprise.

This pillar'd earth fo firm and wide,

By winds and inward labours torn,

In thunders dread was pufh'd afide,

And down the shouldering billows born.

This tradition is mentioned by feveral of our old hiftorians. Some naturalifts too have endeavoured to support the probability of the fact, by arguments drawn from the correfpondent difpofition of the two oppofite coafts. I don't re member that any poetical use has been hitherto made of it.

And

And fee, like gems, her laughing train,

The little ifles on every fide,

Mona *, once hid from those who fearch the main,

Where thoufand Elfin fhapes abide,

And Wight who checks the weftering tide,

For thee confenting heaven has each bestow'd, A fair attendant on her fovereign pride :

To thee this bleft divorce she ow'd,

[abode!

For thou haft made her vales thy lov'd, thy laft

SECOND EPODE:

Then too, 'tis faid, an hoary pile,

'Midft the green navel of our isle,

*There is a tradition in the isle of Man, that a mermaid becoming enamoured of a young man of extraordinary beauty, took an opportunity of meeting him one day as he walked on the fhore, and opened her paffion to him, but was received with a coldness, occafioned by his horror and furprize at her appearance. This however was fo mifconftrued by the sea-lady, that in revenge for his treatment of her, she punish'd the whole island, by covering it with a mist, so that all who attempted to carry on any commerce with it, either never arrived at it, but wandered up and down the fea, or were on futiden wrecked upon its cliffs.

Thy

Thy fhrine in fome religious wood,
O foul-enforcing Goddess, stood!
There oft the painted native's feet
Were wont thy form celestial meet:

Tho' now with hopeless toil we trace
Time's backward rolls, to find its place;
Whether the fiery-treffed Dane,

Or Roman's felf o'erturn'd the fane,
Or in what heaven-left age it fell,
"Twere hard for modern fong to tell.
Yet ftill, if truth those beams infuse,
Which guide at once, and charm the Muse,
Beyond yon braided clouds that lie,
Paving the light-embroider'd sky:
Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains,
The beauteous Model ftill remains.
There happier than in islands blest,
Or bowers by Spring or Hebe drest,
The chiefs who fill our Albion's story,
In warlike weeds, retir'd in glory,

Hear

Hear their conforted Druids fing

Their triumphs to th' immortal string.

How may the poet now unfold, What never tongue or numbers told?

How learn delighted, and amaz'd,

What hands unknown that fabric rais'd?
Even now, before his favour'd eyes,

In Gothic pride it seems to rife!
Yet Grecia's graceful orders join,
Majestic thro' the mix'd defign;
The fecret builder knew to chuse,
Each sphere-found gem of richeft hues :
Whate'er heaven's purer mold contains,
When nearer funs emblaze its veins
There on the walls the Patriot's fight
May ever hang with fresh delight,
And, grav'd with fome prophetic rage,
Read Albion's fame thro' every age.

Ye forms divine, ye laureate band,
That near her inmoft altar ftand!

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Now footh her, to her blissful train
Blithe Concord's focial form to gain
Concord, whofe myrtle wand can steep

Even Anger's blood-fhot eyes in fleep:
Before whose breathing bofom's balm,
Rage drops his fteel, and ftorms grow calm;.
Her let our fires and matrons hoar
Welcome to Britain's ravag'd fhore,
Our youths, enamour'd of the fair,
Play with the tangles of her hair,
Till, in one loud applauding found,
The nations fhout to her around,
O how fupremely art thou bleft,
Thou, Lady, thou fhalt rule the weft!!

O DE,

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