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And where her sweetest theme she chofe,

A foft refponfive voice was heard at ev'ry close, And HOPE enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair.

And longer had the fung-but, with a frown,
REVENGE impatient rofe,..

He threw his blood-ftain'd sword in thunder down,
And, with a with'ring look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blaft fo loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic founds fo full of woe.
And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with fur'ous heat;

And though fometimes, each dreary paufe between,

Dejected PITY at his fide

Her foul-fubduing voice apply'd, Yet ftill he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each ftrain'd ball of fight feem'd burfting from his head.

Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to nought were fix'd, Sad proof of thy diftrefsful ftate,

Of diff'ring themes the veering song was mix'd, And now it courted LOVE, now raving call'd on

HATE.

With eyes up-rais'd, as one infpir'd,
Pale MELANCHOLY fate retir'd,
And from her wild fequefter'd seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd through the mellow horn her penfive foul:
And dafhing foft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the found;

Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,

Or o'er fome haunted ftreams with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffufing,

Love of PEACE and lonely muling,

In hollow murmurs dy'd away.

But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When CHEERFULNESS, a nymph of healthieft hue!
Her bow acrofs her fhoulder flung,

Her bufkins gemm'd with morning dew,

Blew an afpiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call to fawn and dryad known; The oak-crown'd fifters, and their chafte-ey'd queen, Satyrs and fylvan boys were feen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green; Brown EXERCISE rejoic'd to hear,

And SPORT leapt up, and feiz'd his beechen spear. Laft came Joy's ecftatic trial,

He, with viny crown advancing,

Firft to the lively pipe his hand addreft, But foon he faw the brifk-awak'ning viol,

Whofe fweet entrancing voice he lov'd the beft. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They faw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidft the feftal founding fhades,

To fome unweary'd minstrel dancing:
While, as his flying fingers kifs'd the ftrings,
Love fram'd with MIRTH a gay fantastic round,
Loofe were her treffes feen, her zone unbound,
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thoufand odours from his dewy-wings.
O MUSIC, fphere-defcended maid,

Friend of PLEASURE, WISDOM's aid,
Why, goddefs, why to us deny'd?
Lay'ft thou thy ancient lyre afide ?
As in that lov'd Athenian bow'r
You learn'd in all commanding pow'r;
Thy mimic foul, O nymph endear'd,
Can well recal what then it heard.
Where is thy native fimple heart,
Devote to VIRTUE, FANCY, ART?
Arife, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chafle, fublime?
Thy wonders in that god-like age,
Fill thy recording fifier's page-

'Tis faid, and I believe the tale,

Thy humbleft reed could more prevail,
Had more of ftrength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age,
Ev'n all at once together found
CECILIA'S mingled world of found→→→
O, bid our vain endeavours ceafe,
Revive the juft defigns of GREECE;
Return in all thy fimple state!
Confirm the tales her fons relate!

THE WINTER'S DAY.

WHEN raging ftorms deform the air, And clouds of fnow defcend;

And the wide landfcape bright and fair,
No deepen'd colours blend :

When biting froft rides on the wind,
Bleak from the north and east,
And wealth is at its ease reclin'd,
Prepar'd to laugh and feaft:

When the poor trav'ller treads the plain,
All dubious of his way,

And crawls with night-encreafing pain,
And dreads the parting day:
When POVERTY in vile attire,
Shrinks from the biting blaft,
Or hovers o'er the pigmy fire,
And fears it will not laft:

When the fond mother hugs her child
Still clofer to her breaft,

And the poor infant, froft-beguil'd,
Scarce feels that it is preft:

Then let the bounteous hand extend

Its bleffings to the poor,

Nor fpurn the wretched while they bend All fuppliant at your door,

FEAR.

THOU, to whom the world unknown,
With all its fhadowy fhapes is fhewn;
Who fee'ft appall'd th' unreal scene,
While FANCY lifts the veil between :
Ah, FEAR! ah, frantic FEAR!
I fee-I fee thee near.

I know thy hurried ftep, thy haggard eye!
Like thee I ftart, like thee disorder'd fly,
For, lo, what monfters in thy train appear!
DANGER, whofe limbs of giant mould,
What mortal eye can fix'd behold?
Who ftalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidft the midnight ftorm,
Or throws him on the ridgy fteep
Of fome loose hanging rock to fleep :
And with him thoufand phantoms join'd,
Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind:
And thofe, the fiends, who near allied,
O'er nature's wounds and wrecks prefide;
While VENG'ANCE, in the lucid air,
Lifts her red arm, expos'd and bare :
On whom the rav'ning brood of fate,
Who lap the blood of forrow, wait;
Who, FEAR, this ghafily train can fee,
And look not madly-wild, like thee?

In earliest GREECE, to thee, with partial choice,
The grief-full muse addrest her infant tongue;
The maids and matrons, on her awful voice,
Silent and pale, in wild amazement hung.
Yet he, the bard who firft invok'd thy name,
Difdain'd in Marathon its pow'r to feel :
For not alone he nurs'd the poet's flame,
But reach'd from virtue's hand the patriot's ficel.
But who is he whom later garlands grace,
Who left awhile o'er Hybla's dews to rove,
With trembling eyes thy dreary steps to trace,
Where thou and furies fhar'd the baleful grave?

Wrapt in thy cloudy veil th' inceft'ous queen, Sigh'd the fad call her fon and husband heard, When once alone it broke the filent fcene,

And he the wretch of THEBES no more appear'd. O FEAR, I know thee by my throbbing heart, Thy with'ring pow'r infpir'd each mournful line, Though gentle PITY claim her mingled part, Yet all the thunders of the fcene are thine.

Thou who fuch weary length has past, Where wilt thou reft, mad nymph, at last? Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell, Where gloomy rape and murder dwell? Or, in fome hollow'd feat,

'Gainft which the big waves beat,

Hear drowning feamen's cries in tempefts brought! Dark pow'r, with fhudd'ring meek fubmitted thought,

Be mine, to read th' vifions old,

Which thy awak'ning bards have told.
And, left thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;
Ne'er be I found, by thee o'er-aw'd,
In that thrice-hallow'd 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 most poffeft

The facred feat of SHAKSPEARE'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!

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