O DE ΤΟ EVENING. BY MR. WILLIAM COLLINS. IF ought of oaten ftop, or paftoral fong, Thy fprings, and dying gales, O Nymph referv'd, while now the bright-hair'd fun O'erhang his wavy bed: Now air is hufh'd, fave where the weak-ey'd bat, With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds His fmall but fullen horn, As oft he rifes 'midft the twilight path, To breathe some soften'd strain, 40 Whose numbers stealing thro' thy dark'ning vale, May not unfeemly with it's stillness fuit, Thy genial lov'd return! For when thy folding star arising fhews His paly circlet, at his warning lamp The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who flept in flow'rs the day, And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge, And sheds the frefh'ning dew, and lovelier ftill, Prepare thy fhadowy car. Then lead, calm Vot'refs, where some sheety lake Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile, Or up-land fallows grey Reflect it's laft cool gleam. But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain, Views wilds, and fwelling floods, And hamlets brown, and dim-difcover'd fpires, The gradual dusky veil. While spring shall pour his fhow'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing treffes, meekeft Eve! While Summer loves to sport, Beneath thy ling'ring light : While fallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; And rudely rends thy robes; So long, fure-found beneath thy fylvan shed, Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, rofe-lip'd Health, Thy gentleft influence own, And hymn thy fav'rite name! G I SI S. A N E L E GY. WRITTEN BY MR. MASON, OF CAMBRIDGE, 1748. FA AR from her hallow'd grot, where mildly bright The pointed crystals fhot their trembling light, From dripping mofs where sparkling dew-drops fell, Where coral glow'd, where twin'd the wreathed shell, Pale ISIS lay; a willow's lowly shade Spread it's thin foliage o'er the pensive maid; Swell'd the loud trump, and wav'd the olive wand; While folemn domes, arch'd fhades, and vistas green, At well-mark'd diftance close the sacred scene. On this the Goddess cast an anxious look, Then dropt a tender tear, and thus she spoke : Yes, I could once with`pleas'd attention trace The mimic charms of this prophetic vase; Then lift my head, and with enraptur'd eyes View on yon plain the real glories rise. Yes, ISIS! oft haft thou rejoic'd to lead Thy liquid treasures o'er yon fav'rite mead; Oft haft thou ftopt thy pearly car to gaze, While ev'ry Science nurs'd it's growing bays; While ev'ry Youth with fame's strong impulse fir'd, Preft to the goal, and at the goal untir'd, Snatch'd each celeftial wreath, to bind his brow, The Mufes, Graces, Virtues could bestow. E'en now fond Fancy leads th" ideal train, Each foul whom truth could fire, or virtue move, |