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Whose numbers ftealing thro' thy darkning vale,
May not unseemly with its stillness suit,

As musing flow, I hail
Thy genial lov'd return !

For when thy folding-star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp

The fragrant Hours, and Elves
Who slept in buds the day,

And many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with

And sheds the freshening dew, and lovelier still,

The pensive Pleasures sweet
Prepare thy shadowy car.

Then let me rove some wild and heathy sceno,
Or find some ruin 'midit its dreary dells,

Whose walls more awful nod
By thy religious gleams.



Or if chill bluftring winds, or driving rain,
Prevent my willing feet, be mine the hut,

That from the mountain's fide,
Views wilds, and swelling flooda,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires.
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all

Thy dewy fingers draw
The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he wont,
And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!

While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy lingering light:

While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,
Or Winter, yelling thro' the troublous air,

Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes :

So long regardful of thy quiet rule,
Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,

Thy gentlest influence own,
And love thy favourite name !




Thou, who bad'st thy turtles bear

Swift from his grasp thy golden hair,
And fought'st thy native skies :
When War, by vultures drawn from far,
To Britain bent his iron car,

And bad his storms arile!

Tir'd of his rude tyrannic sway,
Our youth shall fix some festive day,

His fullen shrines to burn :
But thou, who hear'ft the turning spheres,
What sounds may charm thy partial cars,

And gain thy bleft return !

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Peace, thy injur'd robes up-bind !
O rise, and leave not one behind

Of all thy beamy train ;
The British lion, Goddess fweet,
Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet,

And own thy holier reign,


Let others court thy transient smile,
But come to grace thy western ille,

By warlike Honour led !
And, while around her ports rejoice,
While all her sons adore thy choice,

With him for ever wed!




Arewell, for clearer ken defign'd;

The dim-discover'd tracts of mind :
Truths which, from a&ion's paths retird,
My filent search in vain requir'd!'
No more my fail that deep explores,
No more I search those magic shores,
What regions part the world of soul,
Or whence thy streams, Opinion, roll:
If e'er I round such Fairy field,
Some power impart the spear and shield,
At which the wizzard Pallions fly,
By which the giant Follies die !

Farewell the porch, whose roof is seen,
Arch'd with th' enlivening olive's green:
Where Science, prank'd in tissued veft,
By Reason, Pride, and Fancy drest,
Comes like a bride, so trim array'd,
To wed with Doubt in Plato's shade!


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