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CHILDREN of Fancy, whither are ye fled?
Where have ye borne those hope-enliven'd hours,
That once with myrtle garlands bound my head,
That once bestrew'd my vernal path with flowers?
In yon fair vale, where blooms the beechen grove,
Where winds the slow wave through the flowery

To these fond arms you led the tyrant, Love,
With Fear and Hope and Folly in his train.
My lyre, that, left at careless distance, hung
Light on some pale branch of the osier shade,
To lays of amorous blandishment you strung,
And o'er my sleep the lulling music play'd:


'Rest, gentle youth! while on the quivering breeze Slides to thine ear this softly-breathing strain; Sounds that move smoother than the steps of Ease, And pour oblivion in the ear of Pain.

'In this fair vale eternal Spring shall smile,

And Time unenvious crown each roseate hour; Eternal joy shall every care beguile,

Breathe in each gale, and bloom in every flower. This silver stream, that down its crystal way Frequent has led thy musing steps along, Shall, still the same, in sunny mazes play,

And with its murmurs melodize thy song. 'Unfading green shall these fair groves adorn; Those living meads immortal flowers unfold; In rosy smiles shall rise each blushing morn, And every evening close in clouds of gold. The tender loves that watch thy slumbering rest, And round thee flowers and balmy myrtles strew, Shall charm, through all approaching life,thy breast, With joys for ever pure, for ever new.

"The genial power that speeds the golden dart, Each charm of tender passion shall inspire; With fond affection fill the mutual heart,

And feed the flame of ever-young desire.

'Come, gentle Loves! your myrtle garlands bring; The smiling bower with cluster'd roses spread; Come, gentle airs! with incense-dropping wing The breathing sweets of vernal odour shed. 'Hark, as the strains of swelling music rise,

How the notes vibrate on the favouring gale! Auspicious glories beam along the skies,

And powers unseen the happy moments hail!

"Ecstatic hours! so every distant day

Like this serene on downy wings shall move; Rise crown'd with joys that triumph o'er decay, The faithful joys of Fancy and of Love.'


AND were they vain, those soothing lays ye sung?-
Children of Fancy! yes, your song was vain;
On each soft air though rapt Attention hung,
And Silence listen'd on the sleeping plain.
The strains yet vibrate on my ravish'd ear,
And still to smile the mimic beauties seem,
Though now the visionary scenes appear
Like the faint traces of a vanish'd dream.
Mirror of life! the glories thus depart

Of all that Youth and Love and Fancy frame, When painful Anguish speeds the piercing dart, Or Envy blasts the blooming flowers of Fame. Nurse of wild wishes, and of fond desires,

The prophetess of Fortune, false and vain, The scenes where Peace in Ruin's arms expires Fallacious Hope deludes her hapless train.

Go, Siren, go-thy charms on others try;
My beaten bark at length has reach'd the shore:
Yet on the rock my dropping garments lie;
And let me perish, if I trust thee more.
Come, gentle Quiet! long-neglected maid!
O come, and lead me to thy mossy cell;
There unregarded in the peaceful shade,
With calm Repose and Silence let me dwell.

Come happier hours of sweet unanxious rest,
When all the struggling passions shall subside;
When Peace shall clasp me to her plumy breast,
And sooth my silent minutes as they glide.
But chief, thou goddess of the thoughtless eye,
Whom never cares or passions discompose,
O blest Insensibility! be nigh;

And with thy soothing hand my weary eyelids
Then shall the cares of love and glory cease,
And all the fond anxieties of fame;
Alike regardless in the arms of Peace,
If these extol, or those debase a name.
In Lyttelton though all the Muses praise,

His generous praise shall then delight no more, Nor the sweet magic of his tender lays

Shall touch the bosom which it charm'd before. Nor then, thou Malice, with insidious guise Of friendship, ope the unsuspecting breast; Nor then, though Envy broach her blackening lies, Shall these deprive me of a moment's rest. O state to be desir'd! when hostile rage Prevails in human more than savage haunts; When man with man eternal war will wage,

And never yield that mercy which he wants. When dark design invades the cheerful hour, And draws the heart with social freedom warm, Its cares, its wishes, and its thoughts to pour,

Smiling insidious with the hopes of harm.

Vain man, to others' failings still severe,

Yet not one foible in himself can find; Another's faults to Folly's eye are clear,

But to her own e'en Wisdom's self is blind.

O let me still, from these low follies free,
This sordid malice, and inglorious strife,
Myself the subject of my censure be,

And teach my heart to comment on my life.
With thee, Philosophy, still let me dwell,

My tutor❜d mind from vulgar meanness save; Bring Peace, bring Quiet to my humble cell, And bid them lay the green turf on my grave.


BRIGHT o'er the green hills rose the morning ray,
The woodlark's song resounded on the plain;
Fair Nature felt the warm embrace of day,
And smil❜d through all her animated reign.
When young Delight, of Hope and Fancy born,
His head on tufted wild thyme half-reclin'd,
Caught the gay colours of the orient morn,

And thence of life this picture vain design'd: "O born to thoughts, to pleasures more sublime Than beings of inferior nature prove!

To triumph in the golden hours of Time,

And feel the charms of Fancy and of Love! 'High-favour'd man! for him unfolding fair

In orient light this native landscape smiles; For him sweet Hope disarms the hand of Care, Exalts his pleasures, and his grief beguiles. 'Blows not a blossom on the breast of Spring, Breathes not a gale along the bending mead, Trills not a songster of the soaring wing, But fragrance, health, and melody succeed.

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