Each scene, that Tiber's bank fupply'd; Each grace, that play'd on Arno's fide; The tepid gales, thro' Tuscan glades that fly; The blue Serene, that spreads Hefperia's sky; Were ftill thine own: thy ample mind Each charm receiv'd, retain'd, combin'd, And thence "the nightly Vifitant", that came To touch thy bosom with her facred flame, Recall'd the long-loft beams of grace; That whilom fhot from Nature's face, When GOD, in Eden, o'er her youthful breaft Spread with his own right hand Perfection's gorgeous Vest. ODE 8 ODE II. To INDEPENDENCY. I. HERE, on my native shore reclin'd, While Silence rules this midnight hour, I woo thee, GODDESS. On my mufing mind And bid these ruffling gales of grief fubfide: Bid my calm'd foul with all thy influence fhine; As yon chaft Orb along this ample tide Draws the long luftre of her filver line, While the hufh'd breeze its last weak whisper blows, II. Come II. Come to thy Vot'ry's ardent prayer, Unfullied Honor decks thine open brow, * Andrew Marvell, born at Kingston upon Hull in the year 1620. Thou heard'st him, Goddess, ftrike the tender ftring, With Beauty's praise, or plaint of flighted Love; And led the war, 'gainst thine, and Freedom's foes. IV. Pointed with Satire's keeneft fteel, And fhrinks beneath the wound. In awful poverty his honest Muse Walks forth vindictive thro' a venal land: In vain Corruption fheds her golden dews, In vain Oppreffion lifts her iron hand; He fcorns them both, and, arm'd with truth alone, * Parker, Bishop of Oxford. V. Be V. Behold, like him, immortal Maid, The Muses veftal fires I bring: Here at thy feet the sparks I fpread; Propitious wave thy wing, And fan them to that dazzling blaze of Song, That glares tremendous on the Sons of Pride. But, hark, methinks I hear her hallow'd tongue! Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly free, As fwells the Lark's meridian ecftacy. vi. "Fond Youth! to MARVELL's patriot fame, "Thy humble breast must ne'er aspire. "Yet nourish still the lambent flame; "Still ftrike thy blameless Lyre: "Led by the moral Mufe fecurely rove; "And all the vernal sweets thy vacant Youth "Can cull from bufy Fancy's fairy grove, "O hang their foliage round the fane of Truth: |