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The naked beggar shiv'ring lies,
While whistling tempests round her rise,
And trembles left the tottering wall
Should on her sleeping infants fall,

Now let us louder strike the lyre,
For my heart glows with martial fire,
I feel, I feel, with sudden heat,
My big tumultuous bósom beat;
The trumpet's clangors pierce mine ear,
A thousand widows' shrieks I hear;
Give me another horse, I cry,
Lo! the base Gallic squadrons fly;
Whence is this rage?What fpirit, say,
To battle hurries me away?
'Tis Fancy, in her fiery car,
Transports me to the thickest war,
There whirls me o'er the hills of slain,
Where Tumult and Destruction reign;
Where mad with pain, the wounded steed
Tramples the dying and the dead :
Where giant Terror ftalks around,
With fullen joy furveys the ground,
And pointing to th' ensanguin'd field,
Shakes his dreadful Gorgon-fhield !

O guide me from this horrid scene
To high-arch'd walks and alleys green,
Which lovely Laura seeks, to fhun
The fervours of the mid-day sun ;
The
pangs

of absence, O remove,
For thou canst place me near my love,
Canft fold in visionary bliss,
And let me think I fteal a kiss,

When

!

When young-ey'd Spring profusely throws
From her green lap the pink and rose ;
When the soft turtle of the dale
To Summer tells her tender tale,
When Autumn cooling caverns feeks,
And ftains with wine his jolly cheeks,
When Winter like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his filver beard with cold,
At ev'ry season let my ear
Thy folemn whispers, Fancy, hear.

O warm, enthusiastic maid,
Without thy pow'rful, vital aid,
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a soul to ev'ry line ;
Ne'er may I strive with lips profane
To utter an unhallow'd strain,
Nor dare to touch the sacred ftring,
Save when with smiles thou bid'it me fing.

O hear our prayer, O hither come
From thy lamented Shakespear's tomb,
On which thou lov'st to fit at eve,
Musing o'er thy darling grave;
O Queen of numbers, once again
Animate some chosen swain,
Who fiil'd with unexhausted fire,
May boldly strike the founding lyre,
May rise above the rhyming throng,
And with fome new unequall'd song
O'er all our lift'ning paffions reign,
O’erwhelm our fouls with joy and pain ;
With terror shake, with pity move,
Rouze with revenge, cr melt with love.

O deign

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HE

ENCE loathed Melancholy,

Of Cerberus, and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and fights unholy,
Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven fings;

There under ebon shades, and low-brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come thou Goddess fair and free,
In heav'n yclep'd Euphrofyne,
And by men, heart-easing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two sister Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ;

.

Or whether (as some sager fing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,
There on beds of violers blue,
And fresh-blown roses wath'd in dew,
Filld her with thee a daughter fair,
So bucksom, blithe, and debonair.

Hafte thee, Nymph, and bring with thee
Jest and youthful Jollity,
Quips and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his fides,
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, sweet Liberty ;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And singing startle the dull night,
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ;
Then to come in spite of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-brier, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine :

While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his dames before :
Oft liftning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the flumb'ring morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing shrill:
Some time walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state,
Rob’d in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight,
While the plough-man near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milk-maid fingeth blithe,
And the mower whets his fithe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures,
Whilft the landskip round it measures,
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often reft,
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide.
Towers and battlements it sees
Bofom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.

/

U 3

Hard

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