Still fway'd by what is fit, and juft, and true,
Who gives to all what'er to all is due ;

When parties mad fedition's garb put on,
Snatches the highest praise,—and is of none:
Whilft round and round the veering patriots roll,
Unfhaken points to Truth, as to his pole;
Contemns alike what factions praise or blame;
O'er rumour's narrow orbit foars to fame :
Unmov'd whilst malice barks, or envy howls,
Walks firm to virtue through the scoffs of fools;
No minion flatters; gains no selfish end;

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240

His own his king's-his country's-mankind's friend ;-
Him Virtue crowns with wreaths that ne'er decay;
And glory circles him with endless day.

Such he who deep in VIRTUE roots his fame;

And fuch thro' ages fhall be LONSDALE's name.

E green-hair'd nymphs! whom PAN allows
To tend this fweetly-folemn + Wood,

To speed the shooting scions into boughs,
And call the roseate blossoms from the bud;

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+ A feat near * finely fituated with a great command of water, but difpofed in a very false tafle, which gave occafion to this Ode.

But

But chief, thou NAID, wont fo long to lead
This fluid crystal sparkling as its flows;

Whither, ah! whither art thou fled?
What fhade is confcious to thy woes ?
Ah! 'tis yon poplar 's aweful gloom;
Poetick eyes can pierce the scene,

Can fee thy drooping head, thy with'ring bloom,
See grief diffus'd o'er all thy languid mein.
Well may'st thou wear misfortune's fainting air,
Well rend those flow'ry honours from thy brow,
Devolve that length of careless hair,
And give yon azure veil to flow

Loose to the wind. For ah! thy pain
The pitying Muse can well relate:

Ah! let her, plaintive, pour the tend'reft ftrain,
To teach the Echoes thy disastrous fate.

'Twas where the alder's close-knit shade entwin'd
(What time the dog-ftar's fires intenfely burn,)

In gentlest indolence reclin'd,

Befide your ever-trickling urn

You flept ferene; all free from fears,
No friendly dream foretold your harm,
When fudden, fee! the tyrant Art appears
To fnatch the liquid treasures from thy arm.
Art, Gothick Art, has feiz'd thy darling vase,
That vafe which filver flipper'd Thetis gave,

For fome foft flory told with grace,
Amid th' afsociates of the wave;

When

When in fequefter'd coral vales,

While worlds of waters roll'd above,
The circling fea-nymphs told alternate, tales
Of fabled changes, and of flighted love.
Ah! lofs too juftly mourn'd! for now the fiend
Has on yon fhell-wrought terras pois'd it high,
And thence he bids its streams descend,
With torturing regularity;

From ftep to ftep with fullen found
The forc'd cascades indignant leap,
Till pent they fill the bafon's meafur'd round,
There in a dull ftagnation doom'd to fleep.
Loft is the vocal pebble's gurgling fong,
The rill foft-dripping from its rocky spring,
No free meander winds along,

Or curls, when Zephyr waves his wing,
These charms, alas! are now no more-
Fortune, oh! give me to redeem

The ravish'd vafe; oh! give me to restore
Its priftine honours to this hapless stream!
Then, Nymph, again, with all their native ease,
Thy wanton waters, volatile and free,

Shall wildly warble, as they please,
Their foft loquacious harmony.
Where-e'er they vagrant chufe to rove,
There will I lead, not force their way,
Whether to gloom beneath the fhady grove,
Or in the mead reflect the sparkling ray.

Not

Not HAGLEY's various ftream fhall thine furpass,
Tho' Nature, and her LYTTELTON ordain

That there the NAID band fhou'd grace
With ev'ry wat❜ry charm the plain;
That there the frequent rills fhou'd roll,
And health to ev'ry flow'r difpenfe,
Free as their mafter pours from all his foul
The gen'rous tide of warm benevolence;
Shou'd now glide sweetly plaintive thro' the vale
In melting murmurs querulously flow;

Soft as that mafter's love lorn tale,
When Lucy calls forth all his woe:
Shou'd now from steepy heights defcend,
Deep thund'ring the rough rocks among,
Loud as the praise applauding fenates lend,
When England's cause inspires his glowing tongue.

MUSEUS: