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And looks commercing with the skies,
The rapt foul fitting in thine eyes:
These held in holy paffion ftill,

Forget thyfelf to marble, till
With a fad leaden downward caft,

Thou fix them on the earth as fast:

And join with thee calm PEACE and QUIET,
Spare FAST, that oft with gods doth diet,
And hears the mufes in a ring

Aye round about JOVE'S altar fing:
And add to thefe retired LEISURE,
That in trim gardens takes his pleasure;
But firft, and chiefeft, with thee bring,
Him that yon foars on golden wing,
Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne,
The cherub CONTEMPLATION,
And thee mute SILENCE hift along
'Lefs Philomel will deign a fong,
In her sweeteft, faddeft plight,
Smoothing the rugged brow of night,
While CYNTHIA checks her dragon yoke,
Gently o'er th' accuftom'd oak;

Sweet bird that fhunn'ft the noise of folly,
Moft mufical, moft melancholy!
The chauntrefs oft the woods among
I woo, to hear thy even-fong;
And miffing thee, I walk unfeen
On the dry fmooth-fhaven green,
To behold th' wand'ring moon,
Riding near her high'ft noon,
Like one that had been led aftray
Through the heav'n's wide pathlefs way,
And oft, as if her head the bow'd,
Stooping through a fleecy cloud,
Oft on a plat of rifing ground,
I hear the far-off curfew found,
Over fome wide-water'd fhore,
Swinging flow with fullen roar,

M

Or if the air will not permit,

Some ftill removed place will fit,
Where glowing embers through the room
Teach light to counterfeit a gloom;
Far from all refort of mirth,

Save the cricket on the hearth,
Or the bell-man's drowfy charm,
To blefs the doors from nightly harm:
Or let my lamp, at midnight hour,
Be feen in fome high lonely tow'r,
Where I may oft outwatch the BEAR
With thrice great HERMES, or unsphere
The fpirit of PLATO, to unfold
What worlds, or what vaft regions hold
Th' immortal mind that hath forfook
Her manfion in this fleshy nook :
And of thofe demons that are found
In fire, air, flood, or under ground,
Whose power hath a true confent
With planet, or with element.
Sometimes let gorg'ous TRAGEDY,
In fcepter'd pall come sweeping by,
Prefenting THEBES', or PELOPS' line,
Or elfe the tale of TROY divine:
Or what (though rare) of later age
Ennobled hath the bufkin'd ftage,
But, O fad virgin, that thy pow'r
Might raife MUSEUS from his bow'r;
Or, bid the foul of ORPHEUS fing
Such notes, as warbled to the string,
Drew iron tears from PLUTO's cheek,
And made HELL grant what LOVE did feek:
Or, call up him that left half told

The ftory of CAMBUSCAN bold,

Of CAMBALL, and of ALGARSIFE;
And who had CANACE to wife,

That own'd the virt'ous ring and glass,
And of the wond'rous horfe of brafs,

On which the Tartar king did ride;
And if aught elfe great bards befide,
In fage and folemn tunes have sung,
Of turneys and of trophies hung,
Of forefts, and enchantments drear,
Where more is meant than meets the ear.
Thus night oft fee me in thy pale career,
Till civil-fuited morn appear,

Not trickt and frounct as fhe was wont
With the attic boy to hunt,

But kercheft in a comely cloud,
While rocking winds are piping loud,
Or ufher'd with a fhow'r ftill,
When th' guft hath blown his fill,
Ending on the ruftling leaves,

With minute drops from off the eaves.
And when the fun begins to fling
His flaring beams, me, goddefs, bring,
To arched walks of twilight groves,
And fhadows brown that Sylvan loves
Of pine, or monumental oak,

Where the rude axe with heaved ftroke
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt,
Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt.
There in clofe covert by fome brook,
Where no profaner eye may look,
Hide me from day's garish eye,
While the bee with honied thigh,
That at her flow'ry work doth fing,
And the waters murm'ring,
With fuch concert as they keep,
Entice the dewy-feather'd fleep:

And let fome frange myfterious dream
Wave at his wings in airy ftream
Of lively portraiture difplay'd,
Softly on my eye-lids laid:

And as I wake, fweet mufic breathe
Above, about, or underneath,

Sent by fome fpirit to mortals good,
Or th' unfeen genius of the wood.
But let my due feet never fail
To walk the ftudious cloyfters' pale,
And love the high embowed roof,
With antic pillars maffy proof,
And ftoried windows richly dight,
Cafting a dim religious light.
There let the pealing organ blow,
To the full-voic'd choir below,
In fervice high, and anthems clear,
As may with fweetnefs, through mine ear,
Diffolve me into extafies,

And bring all heav'n before mine eyes.
And may at laft my weary age
Find out the peaceful hermitage,
The hairy gown and moffy cell,
Where I may fit and rightly fpell
Of ev'ry ftar that heav'n doth thew;
And ev'ry herb that fips the dew;
Till old experience do attain
To fomething like prophetic strain.
Thefe pleasures, MELANCHOLY, give,
And I with thee, will choose to live.

THE VIOLET.

SHELTER'D from the blight ambition,
Fatal to the pride of rank,
See me in my low condition,
Laughing on the tufted bank.

On my robes (for emulation)
No variety's impreft;
Suited to an humble flation,

Mine's an unembroider'd veft.

Modeft though the maids declare me,
MAY in her fantastic train,

When PASTORA deigns to wear me,
Ha'n't a flow'ret half fo vain.

THE PASSIONS.

WHEN MUSIC, heav'nly maid, was young,
While yet in early GREECE fhe fung,

The PASSIONS oft, t'hear her shell
Throng'd around her magic cell,
'Xulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Poffeft beyond the mufe's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.
Till once, 'tis faid, when all were fir'd,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, infpir'd,
From the fupporting myrtles round
They fnatch'd her inftruments of found,
And as they oft had heard apart
Sweet leffons of her forceful art,
Each, for madness rul'd the hour,
Would prove his own expreffive pow'r.
Firft FEAR, his hand, its fkill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid,
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
Ev'n at the found himfelf had made.
Next ANGER rufh'd, his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own'd his fecret ftings,
In one rude clash he ftruck the lyre,
And fwept with hurried hand the ftrings.
With woeful meafures wan DESPAIR-
Low fullen founds his grief beguil'd,
A folemn, ftrange, and mingled air,
'Twas fad by fits, by ftarts 'twas wild.
But thou, O HOPE, with eyes fo fair,
What was thy delighted meafure?
Still it whifper'd promis'd pleafure,
And bade the lovely fcenes at diftance hail!
Still would her touch the tirain prolong,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on ECHO fill through all the fong;

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