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466. ... ** And bid it round heaven's attars shed “The fragrance of its blushing head “Shall raise from earth the latent gem :: * : “To glitter on the diadem, • ‘t

“Lo, Granta waits to lead her bloomingband:
* Not obvious, not obtrusive, she -
“No vulgar praise, no venal incense flings;
-- #. dares with courtly tongue refin'd "... "
“Profane thy inborn royalty of mind:
“She reveres herself and thee.
-- }. pride to grace thy youthful
laureate wreath, that Cecil wore, she
“And to thy just, thy gentlehaud
“Submits §: fásces of her sway,
“While spirits blest above, and men below,
“Join with gladvoice the loud symphonious lay.
“Thro' the wild waves, as they roar,
“With witchful eye and dauntless m
“Thy steady course of honor keep, --
“Nor fear the rocks, nor seek the shore: . . .
“The star of Brunswick sumiles serene, . . .

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At her approach, see Hope, see Fear,
See Expectation fly;
And Disappointment in the rear,
| That blasts the proulis'd joy.
The tear which pity taught to flow
| The eye shall then disown;
he heart that melts for others' woe
Shall then scarce feel its own.

The wounds which now each moment bleed,
Each moment then shall close;
And tranquil days shall still succeed
| To nights of calm repose.

o fairy elf! but grant me this,
| This one kind comfort send;
And so may never-fading bliss
| Thy flowry paths attend:
So may the glow-worm's glimm'ring light
Thy tiny footsteps lead
To some new region of delight,
Unknown to mortal tread:

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Prayer for Indifference.
By the Countess of C–.

Without preamble, to my friend
These hasty lines I'm bid to send,
Or give, if I am able:
I dare not hesitate to say,
Tho' I have trembled all the da
It looks so like a fable.

Last night's adventure is my theme;
And should it strike you as a dream,
Yet soon its high import
Must make you own the matter such,
So delicate, it were too much
| To be compos'd in sport.
The moon did shine serenely bright,
And ev'ry star did deck the night,
While Zephyr fann'd the trees;
No more assail'd my mind's repose,
Save that yon stream, which murmuring flows,

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Fnrapt in solemn thoughts I sate,

Revolving o'er the turns of fate,
Yet void of hope or fear;

When, lo! ... an airy throng,

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With fightest steps, and jocund song,

Surpris'd my eye and car.

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* I've heard strange things from one of you,
“Pray tell me if you think 'tis true;
“Explain it if you can.
“Such incetise has perfum'd my throne!
“Such eloquence my heart has won 1
- “I think I guess the hand:
“I know her wit and beauty too,
“But why she sends a pray'r so new, "
‘I cannot understand. -

“To light some flames, and some revive,
“To keep some others just alive,
“Full oft I am implord; -
“But, with peculiar pow'r to please,
“To supplicate for nought but ease!
“'Tis odd, upon my words
“Tell her, with fruitless care I've sought;
“And tho' my realms, with wonder fraught,
“In remedies abound, * , , , ,
“No grain of cold indifference
“Was ever yet allied to sense
“In all my fairy round.

“The regions of the sky I'd trace,
“I'd ransack ev'ry earthly place,
“Each leaf, each herb, each flow'r,
“To o: the pangs of fear,
“Dispel the clouds ... despair,
“Or lull the restless hour.
“I would be generous as I'm just;
“But I obey, as others must,
“Those laws which fate has made.
“My tiny kingdom how defend,
“And ". might be the horrid end,
“Should man my state invade?
“T would put your mind into a rage,
“And such unequal war to wage
“Suits not my regal duty :
“I dare not change a first decree:
“She's doom'd to please, nor can be free :
“Such is the lot of Beauty 1"
This said, he darted o'er the plain,
And after follow'd all his train :
No glimpse of him I find:
But sure I ain, the little sprite
These words, before be took his flight,
... Inprinted on my mind. -

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The lonely hearths blaze o'er the distant glade;
The bat, low-wheeling, skins the dusky
August and hoary, o'er the sloping dale,
The Gothic abbey rears its sculptur'd tow’rs;
Dull thro' the roofs resounds the whistling gale,
Dark solitude among the pillars low'rs.

Where yon old trees bend o'era place of graves,
And solemu shade a chapel's sad remains,
Where yon scath'd poplar through the win-
dows waves,
And, twining round, the hoary arch sustains.

There oft, at dawn, as one forgot behind,
Who longs to follow, yet unknowing where,

Some hoary shepherd, o'cr his staff reclin'd,
Pores on the graves, and sighs a broken pray’r.

High o'erthenines,that with their dark'ningshade
Surround yon craggy bank, the castle rears

Its crumbling turrets; still its tow'ry head
A warlike mien, a sullcn grandeur wears.

So, 'midst the snow of age, a boastful air
Still on the war-worn vet'ran's brow attends;

Still his big bones his youthful prime declare,
Tho' tremblingo'er the feeblecrutch he bends.

Wild round the gates the dusky wall-flow'rscreep, Where oft the knights the beauteous dames have led: - Gone is the bow'r, the grst a ruin’d heap, Where bays and ivy o'er the frontents spread. 'Twas here our sires, exulting from the fight, '' Greatin their bloodyarms, march'd o'er the lea, Fyeing their rescued fields with proud delight! Now lost to then and, ah : how chang'd to me ! *

This bank, the river, and the fanning breeze,
The dear idea of my Pollio bring;
So shone the moon thro' these soft-modding trees,
When here we wander'd in the eves of spring.
When April's smiles the flow'ry lawn adorn,
...And modest cowslips deck the streamlet's side;
When fragrant orchards to the roseate morn
Unfold their bloom, in heaven's own colors
- 3yed :
So fair a blossom gentle Pollio wore,
These were the emblems of his healthful mind;
To him the letter'd page display'd its lore,
To him bright Fancy all her wealth resign'd;
Him with her purest flames the Muse endow’d,
Flames never to th’ illiberal thought allied:
The sacred sisters led where Virtue glow'd
In all her charms; he saw, he felt, and died.

O partner of my infant griefs and joy: ! - igwith the scenes now past, myhearto'erflows; Bids each endearment, fair as once, to rise, And dwells luxurious on her melting woes.

Oft with the rising sun, when life was new, Along the woodland have I roam'd with thee;

Oft } the moon have brush'd the evening dew, When all was featless innocence aud glee.

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The fainter raptures my cold breast inspire, Yet let me oft frequent this solemn scene;

Oft to the abbey's shatter'd walls retire,(tween. What time the moonshine dimly gleams bc

There, where the cross in hoary ruin nods, Andweeping yews o'ershade the letter'dstones, While midnight silence wraps these drearabodes, And sooths ine wandering o'er my kindred bones.

Let kindled Fancy view the glorious morn,
When from the bursting graves the just shall
All Nature smiling; and, by angelsborne, [i.e.
Messiah's cross far blazing o'er the skies!
$ 85. The Tears of Scotland. SMoller.
Mounx, hapless Caledonia, Inourn
Thy of. thy laurels torn 1
Thy sons, for valor long renown'd,
Lie slaughter'd on their native ground:
Thy hospitable roofs no more
Invite the stranger to the door;
In smoky ruins sunk they lie,
The monuments of cruelty.

The wretched owner sees, asar,
His all become the prey of war:
Bethinks him of his babe and wife;
Then smites his breast, and curses life.
Thyswains are famish'd on the rocks,
Where once they fed their wanton flocks:
Tuy ravish'd virgins shriek in vain;
Thy infants perish on the plain.
What boots it, then, in ev'ry clime,
Thro' the wide-spreading waste of time,
Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise,
Still shoue with undiminish'd blaze?
Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke,
Thy neck is bended to the yoke:
What foreign arms could never quell,
By civil rage and rancor fell.

The rural pipe and merry lay,
No more shall cheer the happy day:
No social scenes of gay delight

{. the dreary winter night:
No strains but those of sorrow flow,
And nought be heard but sounds of woe;
While the pale phantoms of the slain
Glide nightly o'er the silent plain.

Oh baneful cause, oh fatal inorn,
Accurs'd to ages yet unborn:
The sons against their fathers stood;
The parent shed his children's blood.
Yet when the rage of battle ceas'd,
The victor's soul was not appeas'd :
The naked and forlorn must feel *
)evouring flames and murd'ring steel!

The pious mother doom'd to death,
Forsaken, wanders o'er the heath;
The bleak wind whistles round her head,
Her helpless orphans cry for bread;
Berest of shelter, food. and friend,
She views the shades of night descend ;

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Labor with thee forgets his pain; And aged Poverty can smile with thee; If thou be nigh, Grief's hate is vain, And weak th' uplifted arın of tyranny. The Inorning opes on high His universal eye; And on the world doth pour His glories in a golden show'r. Lo! Darknesstrembling fore thenostileray, Shrinks to the cavern deep and wood forlorn i The brood obscene, that own her gloomy SWay, Troopin her *... and fly th'approach ef morn. Pale shiv'ring ghosts, that dread th’ all-cheering light, night. Quick as the lightning's flash glide to sepulchral But whence the gladd'hing beam That pours his purple stream O'er the long prospect wide? "Tis mirth. I see her sit In majesty of light, With Laughter at her side. Bright-eyed Rancy hovering near Wide waves her glancing wing in air; And young Wit flings his pointed dart, That guiltless strikes the willing heart. Fear not now Affliction's pow'r, Fear not now wild Passion's rage; Nor fear ye aught, in evil hour, Save the tardy hand of Age. Now Mirthhath heard the suppliantBoet's pray'r: No cloud that rides the . t shall vex the troubled air.

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$ 87. Ode to Leven Water. Smoller.

ON Leven's banks, while free to rove,
And tune the rural pipe to love,
I envied not the happiest swain
That ever trod th' Arcadian plain.
Pure stream! in whose transparent wave
My youthful iimbs I wont to live;
No torrents stain thy limpid source,
No rocks impede thy dimpling course,
That sweetly warbles o'er its bed,
Wi.h white, round, polish'd pebbles spread;
While, lightly pois'd, the scaly brood,
In myriads cleave thy crystal flood:
The springing trout, in speckled pride;
The salmon, monarch of the tide;
The ruthless pike, intent on war;
The silver eel and ulottled par.
l)evolving from thy parent lake.
A charming maze thy waters make,
By bow'rs of birch, and groves of pine,
And hedges flower'd with eglantine.
Still on thy banks, so gaily green,
May num'rous herds and flocks be seen;
And lasses, chanting o'er the pail;
And shepherds, piping in the dale;
And antient faith, that knows no guile;
And industry, embrown'd with toil;
And hearts resolv'd, and hands prepard,
The blessings they enjoy to guard.

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And to Syr Charles dydd goe.

|But whenne hee came, his children twaine,

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