By old Cephifus deep, Who fpread his wayy sweep In warbled wanderings round thy green retreat, On whofe 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 fober aid and native charms infufe! The flowers that sweetest breathe, Tho' beauty cull'd the wreath, Still afk 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 ftaid to fing alone To one distinguish'd throne, And turn'd thy face, and fled her alter'd land. No more, in hall or bower, The paffions own thy power, Love, only love her forceless numbers mean: For thou haft left her fhrine, Nor olive more, nor vine, Shall gain thy feet to bless the fervile scene. Tho' tafte, tho' genius blefs To fome divine excess, Faint's the cold work till thou infpire the whole; What each, what all supply, May court, may charm our eye, Thou, only thou can'st raise the meeting foul! Of these let others ask, To aid fome mighty task, I only feek to find thy temperate vale : To maids and fhepherds round, And all thy fons, O Nature, learn my tale. ODE ODE ON THE POETICAL CHARACTER. S once, if not with light regard, I read aright that gifted Bard, Lo! to each other nymph in turn applied, Happier hopeless fair, if never Her baffled hand with vain endeavour Had touch'd that fatal zone to her denied! *Florimel. See Spenfer Leg. 4th. D2 Young Young Fancy thus, to me divineft name, 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 fky, this laughing earth, And dreft with fprings, and forests tall, And pour'd the main engirting all, Retiring, fate with her alone, And plac'd her on his faphire throne, And And fhe, from out the veiling cloud, And thou, thou rich-hair'd youth of morn, The dangerous paffions kept aloof, Far from the fainted growing woof: In braided dance their murmurs join'd, High on fome cliff, to heaven up-pil'd, Where, |