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Say, flies he?

-- Soon he fhall pursue:

Shuns he thy gifts?

Slights he thy forrows?

He too fhall give:
He shall grieve,

And bend him to thy haughtieft vow.

But, O MELPOMENE, for whom
Awakes thy golden fhell again?
What mortal breath shall e'er prefume
To echo that unbounded ftrain?
Majestic in the frown of years,
Behold, the Man of Thebes appears:
For fome there are, whofe mighty frame
The hand of JOVE at birth indow'd
With hopes that mock the gazing crowd;
As eagles drink the noontide flame.

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While the dim raven beats his weary wings,
And clamours far below.
- Propitious Mufe,
While I fo late unlock thy hallow'd springs,
And breathe whate'er thy ancient airs infuse,
To polish Albion's warlike ear
This long-loft melody to hear,
Thy sweetest arts imploy;

As when the winds from fhore to shore,
Thro' Greece thy lyre's perfuafive language bore,
Till towns, and ifles, and feas return'd the vocal joy.

*PINDAR.

But oft amid the Græcian throng,
The loofe-rob'd forms of wild defire
With lawless notes intun'd thy song,
To fhameful steps diffolv'd thy quire.
O fair, O chafte, be ftill with me
From fuch profaner difcord free:
While I frequent thy tuneful fhade,
No frantic fhouts of Thracian dames,
No fatyrs fierce with favage flames.
Thy pleafing accents fhall invade.
Queen of the lyre, in thy retreat
The fairest flow'rs of Pindus glow;
The vine afpires to crown thy feat,
And myrtles round thy laurel grow.
Thy ftrings attune their varied ftrain
To every pleasure, every pain,

Which mortal tribes were born to prove,

And ftrait our paffions rife or fall,

As at the wind's imperious call

The ocean fwells, the billows move.

When midnight listens o'er the flumb'ring earth,
Let me, O Mufe, thy folemn whispers hear:
When morning fends her fragrant breezes forth,
With airy murmurs touch my opening ear.
And ever watchful at thy fide,

Let wisdom's awful fuffrage guide

The tenour of thy lay:

To her of old by JOVE was giv❜n

To judge the various deeds of earth and heav'n; 'Twas thine by gentle arts to win us to her fway.

Oft as from stricter hours refign'd
I quit the maze where fcience toils,
Do thou refresh my yielding mind
With all thy gay, delufive spoils.
But, O indulgent, come not nigh
The busy steps, the jealous eye
Of gainful care, and wealthy age,
Whose barren fouls thy joys difdain,
And hold as foes to reafon's reign
Whome'er thy lovely haunts ingage.

With me, when mirth's confenting band
Around fair friendship's genial board
Invite the heart-awakening hand,
With me falute the Teian chord.
Or if invok'd at fofter hours,
O feek with me the happy bow'rs
That hear DIONE's gentle tongue;
To beauty link'd with virtue's train,
To love devoid of jealous pain,
There let the Sapphic lute be ftrung.

But when from envy and from death to claim
A hero bleeding for his native land;
Or when to nourish freedom's vestal flame,
I hear my GENIUS utter his command,
Nor Thebian voice, nor Lesbian lyre
From thee, O Mufe, do I require,
While my prophetic mind,

Conscious of pow'rs she never knew, Aftonish'd grafps at things beyond her view, Nor by another's fate hath felt her own confin'd.

FINIS.

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