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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 lilly-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 the scenes 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 some virgin comes,
With throbbing breaft and faded cheek,
Her promis'd bridegroom's urn to seek.
Or to fome Abby's mould'ring tow'rs,
Where, to avoid cold wintry show'rs,
The naked beggar fhivering lies,
While whistling tempefts round her rife,

And trembles, left the tottering wall
Should on her fleeping infants fall.
Now let us louder strike the lyre,
For my heart glows with martial fire;
I feel, I feel, with fudden heat,
My big tumultuous bofom beat;
The trumpet's clangors pierce my ear,
A thousand widows' fhrieks I hear :
Give me another horse I cry,
Lo! the bafe Gallic fquadrons fly;
Whence is this rage ?----what spirit, say,
To battle hurries me away ?

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"Tis FANCY, in her fiery car,
Tranfports me to the thickeft war;
There whirls me o'er the hills of flain,
Where tumult and deftruction reign;
Where mad with pain, the wounded steed,
Tramples the dying and the dead;
Where giant Terror stalks around,
With fullen joy furveys the ground,
And pointing to th' enfanguin'd field,
Shakes his dreadful Gorgon-fhield.
O guide me from this horrid fcene
To high-archt walks, and alleys green,
Which lovely Laura feeks, to fhun
The fervors of the mid-day fun.
The pangs of abfence, O remove,
For thou can't place me near my love.

Can't fold in vifionary blifs,

And let me think I fteal a kifs;
While her ruby lips difpenfe
Luscious nectar's quinteffence.

When young-eyed fpring profufely throws
From her green lap the pink and rofe;
When the foft turtle of the dale
To Summer tells her tender tale,
When Autumn cooling caverns feeks,
And ftains with wine his jolly cheeks,
When Winter, like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his filver beard with cold;
At every season, let my ear
Thy folemn whispers, FANCY, hear.
O warm enthusiastic maid,
Without thy powerful, vital aid,
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a foul to every line,
Ne'er may I ftrive with lips profane,
To utter an unhallow'd ftrain;
Nor dare to touch the facred string,
Save, when with smiles thou bid'ft me fing.
O hear our prayer, O hither come
From thy lamented Shakespear's tomb,
On which thou lov't to fit at eve,
Mufing o'er thy darling's grave.
O queen of numbers, once again
Animate fome chofen fwain,

Who fill'd with unexhaufted fire,
May boldly fmite the founding lyre,
Who with fome new, unequall'd fong,
May rise above the rhyming throng.
O'er all our list'ning paffions reign,
O'erwhelm our fouls with joy and pain:
With terror shake, and pity move,
Rouze with revenge, or melt with love.
O deign t' attend his evening walk,
With him in groves and grottos talk ;
Teach him to fcorn, with frigid art,
Feebly to touch th' enraptur'd heart;
Like light'ning, let his mighty verse
The bofom's inmoft foldings pierce;
With native beauties win applause,
Beyond cold critic's ftudied laws :
O let each Mufe's fame encrease,
O bid Britannia rival Greece !

O DE

ΤΟ

EVEN IN G.

BY THE SAME.

H

I.

AIL meek-ey'd Maiden,clad in fober grey, Whose soft approach the weary wood-man loves;

As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes,
Jocund he whiftles through the twilight groves.
II.

When Phebus finks behind the gilded hills,
You lightly o'er the mifty meadows walk;
The drooping daifies bathe in dulcet dews,
And nurse the nodding violet's tender stalk.

III.

The panting Dryads, that in day's fierce heat
To inmoft bow'rs, and cooling caverns ran;
Return to trip in wanton ev'ning dance,
Old Sylvan too returns, and laughing Pan.

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