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Hile; loft to all his former mirth,
Britannia's genius bends to earth,
The wreaths of cheerful May:
The thoughts which mufing pity pays,
Your faithful hours attend :
And points the bleeding friend.
By rapid Scheld's descending wave
Where'er the youth is laid :
And Peace protect the shade.
O'er him, whose doom thy virtues grieve,
And bend the penfive head !
Shall point his lonely bed!
The warlike dead of every age,
Shall leave their fainted reft :
To hail the blooming guest.
Old Edward's fons, unknown to yield,
And gaze with fix'd delight:
And with th' avenging fight.
But lo where, funk in deep despair,
Impatient Freedom lies !
She turns her joyless eyes.
Ne'er shall fhe leave that lowly ground,
Proclaim her reign restor'd :
Present the fated sword.
If, weak to soothe so soft an heart,
To dry thy constant tear :
Wild war insulting near :
Where'er from time thou court'st relief,
Her gentlest promise keep :
And bid her shepherds weep.
ODE TO EVENING.
I aught of oaten stop
, or pastoral song,
May hope, chafte Eve, to soothe thy modeft ear,
O Nymph resery'd, while now the bright haird fun
With brede ethereal wove,
Now air is hath'd, fave where the weak-eyed bat,
Or where the beetle winds
As oft he rises 'midft the twilight path,
Now teach me, Maid composid,