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Far from all resort of mirth, Save the cricket on the hearth, Or the bellman's drowsy charm, To bless the doors from nightly harm: Or let my lamp at midnight hour Be seen in some high lonely tow'r, Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere The spirit of Plato to unfold What words, or what vast regions hold Th' immortal mind that hath forsook Her mansion in this fleshly nook; And of those demons that are found In fire, air, flood, or under ground, Whose powers hath a true consent With planet, or with clement. Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy In sceptr’d pall come sweeping by, Presenting Thebes, or Pelop's line, Or the tale of Troy divine, Or what (though rare) of later age Ennobled hath the buskin'd stage. But, 0 sad Virgin, that thy power Might raise Musæus from his bower, Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing Such notes as, warbled to the string, Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek, And made Hell grant what Love did seek.
Or call op him that left half told
Was never heard the nymphs to daunt, Or fright them from their hallow'd haunt. There, in close covert, by some brook, Where no profaner eye may look, Hide me from Day's garisb eye, While the bee with honied thigh, That at her flow'ry work doth sing, And the waters murmuring With such concert as they keep, Entice the dewy-feather'd sleep; And let some strange mysterious dream Wave at his wings in airy stream Of lively portraiture display'd, Softly on my eyelids laid; And as I wake, sweet music breathe Above, about, or underneath, Sent by some spirit to mortals good, Or th' unseen Genius of the wood. But let my due feet never fail To walk the studious cloister's pale, And love the high embowed roof, With antique pillars massy proof, And storied windows richly dight, Casting a dim religious light. There let the pealing organ blow, To the full-voic'd choir below, A service high, and anthenis clear, As may with sweetness, through mine ear,
Dissolve me into ecstacies,
THE FEMALE SEDUCERS.
BY MR. BROOKE.
'Tis said of widow, maid, and wife,
The trav'ller, if he chance to stray,
But woman! no redemption knows,
Though distant ev'ry hand to guide,
Are there no offerings to atone For but a single error!-- None. Though woman is avow'd, of old, No daughter of celestial mould, Her temp’ring not without allay, And form'd but of the finer clay, We challenge from the mortal dame The strength angelic natures claim; Nay more; for sacred stories tell, That e'en immortal angels fell.
Whatever fills the teeming sphere Of humid earth, and ambient air, With varying elements endu'd, Was form'd to fall, and rise renew'd.
The stars no fix'd duration know, Wide oceans ebb, again to flow,