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Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er-aw'd,
In that thrice hallowed eve abroad,
When ghofts, as cottage-maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave,
And goblins haunt from fire, or fen!
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men!

O thou whofe fpirit moft poffeft
The facred feat of Shakespear's breaft!
By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions fpoke!
Hither again thy fury deal,

Teach me but once like him to feel:
His cyprefs wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear! will dwell with thee.

COLLINS.

CHA P. XIV.

O DE то TRU Tн.

SAY,

AY, will no white-rob'd Son of Light,
Swift-darting from his heav'nly height,
Here deign to take his hallow'd ftand;
Here wave his amber locks; unfold
His pinions cloath'd with downy gold;
Here smiling ftretch his tutelary wand?
And
you, ye hoft of Saints, for ye have known
Each dreary path in Life's perplexing maze,
Tho' now ye circle yon eternal throne
With harpings high of inexpreffive praise,

Will not your train defcend in radiant ftate,

To break with Mercy's beam this gathering cloud of Fate?

'Tis filence all. No Son of Light
Darts fwiftly from his heav'nly height:
No train of radiant Saints defcend.
"Mortals, in vain ye hope to find,

If guilt, if fraud has flain'd your mind,
"Or Saint to hear, or Angel to defend."
So TRUTH proclaims. I hear the facred found
Burft from the center of her burning throne:
Where aye fhe fits with ftar-wreath'd luftre crown'd;
A bright Sun clafps her adamantine zone.

So TRUTH proclaims: her awful voice I hear: With many a folemn paufe it flowly meets my ear.

"Attend, ye Sons of Men; attend, and say, Does not enough of my refulgent ray

Break thro' the veil of your mortality?
Say, does not reafon in this form defcry
Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass
The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing grace ?

Shall then your earth-born daughters vie
With me? Shall fhe, whofe brightest eye

But emulates the diamond's blaze,

Whofe cheek but mocks the peach's bloom,
Whose breath the hyacinth's perfume,
Whofe melting voice the warbling woodlark's lays,
Shall he be deem'd my rival? Shall a form
Of elemental drofs, of mould'ring clay,

Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm
Shall prove her conteft vain. Life's little day

Shall pass, and she is gone: while I appear Flufh'd with the bloom of youth thro' Heav'n's eternal year.

Know,

7

Know, Mortals know, ere firft ye sprung,
Ere first these orbs in æther hung,

I fhone amid the heavenly throng;
These eyes beheld Creation's day,
This voice began the choral lay,
And taught Archangels their triumphant fong.
Pleas'd I furvey'd bright Nature's gradual birth,
Saw infant Light with kindling luftre spread,
Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flow'ring earth,
And Ocean heave on its extended bed;

Saw the tall pine aspiring pierce the sky, The tawny lion stalk, the rapid eagle fly.

Laft, Man arose, erect in youthful grace, Heav'n's hallow'd image ftamp'd upon his face, And, as he rofe, the high beheft was giv'n, "That I alone of all the hoft of heav'n, "Should reign Protectress of the godlike Youth :" Thus the Almighty fpake: he spake and call'd me TRUTH.

MASON.

CHA P.

XV.

FANCY.

O DE то

PARENT of each lovely Mufe,
Thy fpirit o'er my foul diffuse,
O'er all my heartless fongs prefide,
My footsteps to thy temple guide,
To offer at thy turf-built shrine,
In golden cups no coftly wine,

No murder'd fatling of the flock,
But flowers and honey from the rock.

O Nymph

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O Nymph with loosely-flowing hair,
With buskin'd leg, and bofom bare,
Thy waift with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd,
Waving in thy fnowy hand
An all-commanding magic wand,
Of pow'r to bid fresh gardens grow
'Mid cheerlefs Lapland's barren fnow,
Whose rapid wings thy flight convey
Thro' air, and over earth and fea,
While the various landskip lies
Confpicuous to thy piercing eyes';
O lover of the defert, hail!

Say in what deep and pathless vale,
Or on what hoary mountain's fide,
'Midft falls of water you refide,
'Midft broken rocks, a rugged fcene,
With green and graffy dales between,
'Midft foreft dark of aged oak,

Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke,
Where never human art appear'd,

Nor e'en one straw-roof'd cot was rear'd,
Where Nature feems to fit alone,
Majestic on a craggy throne;

Tell me the path, sweet wand'rer, tell,
To thy unknown fequefter'd cell,
Where woodbines cluster round the door,
Where shells and mofs o'erlay the floor,
And on whose top an hawthorn blows,
Amid whofe thickly woven boughs
Some nightingale ftill builds her neft,
Each evening warbling thee to reft:

Then

Then lay me by the haunted ftream,
Rapt in fome wild, poetic dream,
In converfe while methinks I rove
With Spenfer thro' a fairy grove;
Till fuddenly awak'd, I hear
Strange whisper'd mufic in my ear,
And my glad foul in blifs is drown'd,
By the fweetly-foothing found!

Me, Goddefs, by the right-hand lead,
Sometimes thro' the yellow mead,
Where Joy and white-rob'd Peace refort,
And Venus keeps her feftive court,
Where Mirth and Youth each evening meet,
And lightly trip with nimble feet,
Nodding their lily-crowned heads;
Where Laughter rofe-lip'd Hebe leads;
Where Echo walks fteep hills among,
Lift'ning to the fhepherd's fong.

Yet not these flow'ry fields of joy
Can long my penfive mind employ :
Hafte, Fancy, from thefe fcenes of folly
To meet the matron Melancholy,
Goddess of the tearful eye,

That loves to fold her arms and figh!
Let us with filent footsteps go

To charnels and the house of woe,
To Gothic churches, vaults and tombs,
Where each fad night fome Virgin comes,
With throbbing breaft, and faded cheek,
Her promis'd bridegroom's urn to feek;
Or to fome Abbey's mould'ring tow'rs,
Where to avoid cold winter's show'rs,

The

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