"To arts like these devote thy tuneful toil, "And meet its fair reward in D'ARCY's fmile." VII. « 'Tis he, my Son, alone fhall chear Thy duteous Sorrows shower: "At that fad hour, when all thy hopes decline; 1 "And raise with Friendship's arm thy drooping head. VIII. "This fragrant wreath, the Muses meed, "Where never Flatt'ry dar'd to tread, "Receive, "Receive, my favor'd Son, at my command, "And keep, with facred care, for D'ARCY's brow: "Tell him, 'twas wove by my immortal hand, "I breath'd on every flower a purer glow; "Say, for thy fake, I send the gift divine "To him, who calls thee HIS, yet makes thee MINE." ODE 14 ODE III. On MELANCHOLY. TO A FRIEND. A I. H! cease this kind perfuafive ftrain, Which, when it flows from Friendship's tongue, However weak, however vain, O'erpowers beyond the Siren's fong: Leave me, my friend, indulgent go, And let me mufe upon my woe. Why Why lure me from these pale retreats ? Can Painting's glowing hand, fupply As blows this hollow guft of wind, As drops this little weeping rill Soft-tinkling down the moss-grown hill, While thro' the weft, where finks the crimson Day, Meek Twilight flowly fails, and waves her banners grey? II. Say, from Afflictions various fource Do none but turbid waters flow? And cannot Fancy clear their course? For Fancy is the friend of Woe. Say, mid that grove, in love-lorn state, When yon poor Ringdove mourns her mate, Infpir'd by anguish, and despair? Ah Ah no, fair Fancy rules the Song: She fwells her throat; fhe guides her tongue; She bids the waving Afpin-spray Quiver in Cadence to her lay; She bids the fringed Ofiers bow, And ruftle round the lake below, To fuit the tenor of her gurgling fighs, And footh her throbbing breaft with folemn fympathies. III. To thee, whofe young and polish'd brow The wrinkling hand of Sorrow spares; Whose cheeks, beftrew'd with rofes, know No channel for the tide of tears; To thee yon Abbey dank, and lone, Yet Some there are, who, free from fear, Could |