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Now, now I seize, I clasp thy charms,
And now you burst (ah cruel !) from my arms,
Or softly glide by the canal,
And now on rolling waters snatched away.
PART OF THE NINTH ODE OF THE
LEST you should think that verse shall die,
Which sounds the silver Thames along, Taught on the wings of Truth to fly
Above the reach of vulgar song ;
Though daring Milton sits sublime,
In Spenser native muses play; Nor yet shall Waller yield to time,
Nor pensive Cowley's moral lay.
Sages and chiefs long since had birth,
Ere Cæsar was, or Newton named ; These raised new empires o'er the earth,
And those, new heavens and systems framed.
Vain was the chief's, the sage's pride !