And, cruel gods,' and cruel stars,' she cried: Nor did the shepherds, through the woodlands

wide,

On that sad day, or to the pensive brook,

Or silent river, drive their thirsty flocks:

Nor did the wild goat browse the shrubby rocks:

And Philomel her custom'd oak forsook:
And roses wan were waved by zephyrs weak,
As Nature's self was sick:

And every lily droop'd its silver head.

Sad sympathy! yet sure his rightful meed,
Who charm'd all nature: well might Nature mourn
Through all her choicest sweets Musæus dead.
Here end we, Goddess! this your shepherd

sang,

All as his hands an ivy chaplet wove.

Oh! make it worthy of the sacred Bard;
And make it equal to the shepherd's love.
Thou too accept the strain with meet regard:
For sure, bless'd Shade, thou hear'st my doleful

song;

Whether with angel troops, the stars among,
From golden harp thou call'st seraphic lays;
Or, for fair Virtue's cause, now doubly dear,
Thou still art hovering o'er our tuneless sphere;
And movest some hidden spring her weal to
raise.

IMITATION.

Here end we, Goddess! &c.]

Hæc sat erit, Divæ, vestrum cecinisse poetam,
Dum sedet, et gracili fiscellam texit hibisco,
Pierides: vos hæc facietis maxima Gallo :

Gallo, cujus amor, &c.

VIRG. Ecl. 10.

Thus the fond swain his Doric oate essay'd, Manhood's prime honours rising on his cheek: Trembling he strove to court the tuneful maid With strippling arts, and dalliance all too weak, Unseen, unheard, beneath a hawthorn shade. But now dun clouds the welkin 'gan to streak; And now down dropp'd the larks, and ceased their strain:

They ceased, and with them ceased the shepherd swain.

ODES.

ODE I.

TO MEMORY.

MOTHER of wisdom'! thou, whose sway The throng'd ideal hosts obey; Who bidd'st their ranks now vanish, now appear, Flame in the van, or darken in the rear;

Accept this votive verse. Thy reign. Nor place can fix nor power restrain. All, all is thine. For thee, the ear and eye Rove through the realms of grace and harmony: The senses thee spontaneous serve,

That wake, and thrill through every nerve. Else vainly soft, loved Philomel! would flow The soothing sadness of thy warbled woe:

Else vainly sweet yon woodbine shade
With clouds of fragrance fill the glade;
Vainly the cygnet spread her downy plume,
The vine gush nectar, and the virgin bloom.
But swift to thee, alive, and warm,
Devolves each tributary charm:

See modest Nature bring her simple stores,
Luxuriant Art exhaust her plastic powers;

According to a fragment of Afranius, who makes Experience and Memory the parents of Wisdom.

Usus me genuit, Mater peperit Memoria
ZODIAN vocant me Graii, vos Sapientiam.

This passage is preserved by Aulus Gellius, lib. xiii. cap. 8.

While every

flower in Fancy's clime,

Each gem of old heroic Time,

Cull'd by the hand of the industrious Muse, Around thy shrine their blended beams diffuse.

Hail, Memory! hail. Behold, I lead

To that high shrine the sacred maid:
Thy daughter she, the empress of the lyre,
The first, the fairest of Aonia's quire.

She comes, and lo, thy realms expand:
She takes her delegated stand

Full in the midst, and o'er thy numerous train
Displays the awful wonders of her reign.
There throned supreme in native state
If Sirius flame with fainting heat,
She calls; ideal groves their shade extend,
The cool gale breathes, the silent showers descend,
Or, if bleak winter, frowning round,
Disrobe the trees, and chill the ground,
She, mild magician, waves her potent wand,
And ready summers wake at her command.
See visionary suns arise

Through silver clouds and azure skies;
See sportive zephyrs fan the crisped streams;
Through shadowy brakes light glance the spark-
ling beams:

While, near the secret mossgrown cave,
That stands beside the crystal wave,

Sweet Echo, rising from her rocky bed,
Mimics the feather'd chorus o'er her head.

Rise, hallow'd Milton! rise, and say,
How, at thy gloomy close of day;

How, when'depress'd by age, beset with wrongs :'
When fallen on evil days and evil tongues ;'

When darkness, brooding on thy sight,
Exiled the sovereign lamp of light;

Say, what could then one cheering hope diffuse?
What friends were thine, save Memory and the
Muse?

Hence the rich spoils, thy studious youth Caught from the stores of ancient truth: Hence all thy classic wanderings could explore, When rapture led thee to the Latian shore;

Each scene, that Tiber's bank supplied; Each grace, that play'd on Arno's side; The tepid gales, through Tuscan glades that fly; The blue serene, that spreads Hesperia's sky; Were still thy own: thy ample mind

Each charm received, retain'd, combined. And thence the nightly visitant,' that came To touch thy bosom with her sacred flame, Recall'd the long-lost beams of grace, That whilom shot from Nature's face, When God, in Eden, o'er her youthful breast Spread with his own right hand perfection's gorgeous vest.

ODE II.

TO A WATER-NYMPH.

YE green hair'd Nymphs, whom Pan's de

crees

Have given to guard this solemn wood', To speed the shooting scions into trees, And call the roseate blossom from the bud,

1 A seat near ** finely situated, with a great command of water; but disposed in a very false taste.