Where, tangled round the jealous fleep,
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 spher'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 fteps purfue;
In vain-Such bifs 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 fcene from every future view.

ODE,

H

O D E,

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR MDCCXLVI.

"Ow fleep the brave, who fink to rest,

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 fhall a-while repair,
To dwell a weeping hermit there!

Thou, who fit'ft a smiling 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 grafp the fpear,

And hid'ft in wreaths of flowers his bloodless 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 stands,
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

And rufh'd in wrath to make our ifle his prey;
Thy form, from out thy fweet abode,

O'ertook him on his blafted road,

And stop'd his wheels, and look'd his rage away.
I fee recoil his fable steeds,

That bore him swift to favage deeds,

Thy tender melting eyes they own;

O Maid, for all thy love to Britain shown,

Where Justice bars her iron tower,

To thee we build a rofeate bower,

Thou, thou shalt rule our queen, and share our monarch's throne !

ODE

ODE TO LIBERTY.

STROPHE.

HO fhall awake the Spartan fife,

WHO

And call in folemn founds to life,

The youths, whofe locks divinely fpreading,
Like vernal hyacinths in fullen hue,

At once the breath of fear and virtue fhedding,
Applauding Freedom lov'd of old to view ?
What new Alcæus, fancy-bleft,

Shall fing the fword, in myrtles dreft,

At Wisdom's fhrine a-while its flame concealing, (What place fo fit to feal a deed renown'd ?)

Till the her brighteft lightnings round revealing, It leap'd in glory forth, and dealt her prompted

O Goddess, in that feeling hour,

[wound! When moft its founds would court thy ears, Let not my fhell's misguided power,

E'er draw thy fad, thy mindful tears.

No,