Conspicuous to thy piercing eyes!
O loves of the desert, hail!

Say in what deep and pathless vale,
Or on what hoary mountain's side,
'Midst falls of water you reside,
'Midst broken rocks, a rugged scene,
With green and grassy dales between,
'Midst forest dark of aged oak,

Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke,
Where never human art appear'd,

Nor e'en one straw-roof'd cot was rear'd,
Where Nature seems to sit alone,
Majestic on a craggy throne:

Tell me the path, sweet wand'rer tell,
To thy unknown sequester'd cell,
Where woodbines cluster round the door
Where shells and moss o'erlay the floor,
And on whose top an hawthorn blows,
Amid whose thickly woven boughs
Some nightingale still builds her nest,
Each evening warbling thee to rest :
Then lay me by the haunted stream,›
Rapt in some wild, poetic dream
In converse while methinks I rove
With Spenser thro' a fairy grove;
Till suddenly awak'd, I hear.
Strange whisper'd music in

my ear " And my glad soul in bliss is drown'd, By the swetly soothing sound!

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Me, Goddess, by the right-hand lead, Sometimes thro' the yellow mead, Where joy and white-rob'd Peace resort And Venus keeps her festive court, Where Mirth and Youth each evening meet And lightly trip with nimble feet, Nodding their lily crowned heads; Where laughter rose-lip'd Hebe leads ; Where Echo walks steep hills among List'ning to the shepherd's song.

Yet not these flow'ry fields of joy Can long my pensive mind employ:

Haste, Fancy, from these scenes of folly
To meet the matron Melancholy,..
Goddess of the tearful eye,

That loves to fold her arms and sigh!
Let us with silent footsteps go

To charnels and the house of woe,
To Gothic churches, vaults and tombs,
Where each sad night some virgin comes
With throbbing breast, and faded cheek,
Her promis'd bridegrooms urn to seek :
Or to some Abbey's mould'ring tow'rs,
Where to avoid cold winter's show'rs,
The naked beggar shiv'ring lies,
Whilst whistling tempests round her rise,
And trembles lest 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 bosom beat;
The trumpets' clangors piercê 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 spirit, say,
To battle hurriesTM 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 stalks around,
With sullen joy, surveys the ground,
And pointing to th ensanguin'd field
Shakes his dreadful Gorgon-shield!

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

For thou canst place me near my love,
Canst fold in visionary bliss,

And let me think I steal a kiss.

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 seeks, And stains with wine his jolly cheeks,, When Winter like poor pilgrim old, Shakes his silver beard with cold, At ev'ry season let my ear

Thy solemn 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 string,
Save when with smiles thou bid'st me sing-
O hear our prayer, O hither come
From thy lamented Shakespear's tomb,
On which thou lov❜st to sit at eve,
Musing o'er thy darling grave;
O Queen of numbers once again
Animate some chosen swain,.
Who fill'd with unexhausted fire
May boldly strike the sounding lyre.
May rise above the rhyming throng
And with some new unequall'd song
O'er all our list'ning passions reign,
O'erwhelm our souls with joy and pain;
With terror shake, with pity move,
Rouse with revenge, or melt with love.
O deign t' attend his evening walk,
With him in groves and grottoes talk ::
Teach him to scorn with frigid art
Feebly to touch th' enraptur'd heart;
Like lightning lat his mighty verse
The bosom's inmost foldings pierce :

With native beauties win applause,
Beyond cold critic's studied laws:
O let each Muse's fame increase.
O bid Britannia rival Greece.

HENCE

ENCE loathed Melancholy,

WARTON..

Of Cerberus, and blackest midnight born, In Stygian cave forlorn

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sighs unholy,

Find out some uncouth cell,

Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings,

And the night raven sings;

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 Euphrosyne,
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 sages sing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,
Zephyr with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a Maying,

There on beds of violets blue,

And fresh-blown roses wash'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee a daughter fair,

So buxom blithe, and debonair.

Haste 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 sides.
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 e;
Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, 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 list'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly rouse the slumb'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 ploughman near at hand
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milk-maid singeth blithe
And the mower whets his scythe
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, Whilst the landscape round it, measures Russet lawns, and fallows gray,

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