Sweet Eccho, tifing from her rocky bed,
Mimics the feather'd Chorus o'er her head.

III.

Rife, hallow'd MILTON! rife, and say,

How, at thy gloomy close of day;

How, when" depreft by Age, befet with wrongs;
When "fall'n on evil days and evil tongues;
When Darkness, brooding on thy fight,

Exil'd the fov'raign lamp of light:

Say, what could then one chearing hope diffuse? What friends were thine, fave Mem'ry and the Mufe?

Hence the rich spoils, thy ftudious youth

Caught from the ftores of antient Truth: Hence all thy bufy eye cou'd pleas'd explore, When Rapture led thee to the Latian shore

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 fky; Were still thine own: thy ample mind Each charm receiv'd, retain'd, combin'd. And thence "the nightly Vifitant", that came To touch thy bofom 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 veft

ODE

To INDEPENDENCY.

H'

I.

ERE, on my native shore reclin'd

While Silence rules this midnight hour,
I woo thee, GODDESS. On my mufing mind
Defcend, propitious Power!

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 hush'd breeze its laft weak whisper blows,
And lulls old HUMBER to his deep repose.

II.

Come to thy Vot'ry's ardent prayer,
In all thy graceful plainness dreft;
No knot confines thy waving hair,
No zone thy floating veft..

Unfullied Honor decks thine open brow,

And Candor brightens in thy modeft eye:

Thy blush is warm Content's etherial glow,

Thy fmile is Peace; thy ftep is Liberty:

Thou

Thou scatter'st bleffings round with lavish hand,
As Spring with carelefs fragrance fills the land.

IIL

As now o'er this lone beach I ftray;
*Thy fav'rite Swain oft ftole along,
And artless wove his Doric lay,

Far from the bufy throng.

Thou heard'ft him, Goddess, strike the tender firing,
And bad'ft his foul with bolder paflions move:
Strait these responsive fhores forgot to ring,
With Beauty's praife, or plaint of flighted Love;
To loftier flights his daring Genius sofe,

And led the war, 'gainft thine, and Freedom's foes.

IV.

Pointed with Satire's keeneft fteel,
The fhafts of Wit he darts around;
Ev'n + mitred Dulness learns to feel,
And shrinks beneath the wound.

In awful poverty his honeft Mufe

Walks forth vindictive thro' a venal land:

In vain Corruption fheds her golden dews,

In vain Oppreffion lifts her iron hand;}

He scorns them both, and, arm'd with truth alone, Bids Luft and Folly tremble on the throne.

* Andrew Marvell, born at Kingston upon Hull in the year 1620. † Parker, Bishop of Oxford. A 4

V.

V.

Behold, like him, immortal Maid,
The Mufes veftal fires I bring:

Here, at thy feet, the fparks 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!
In diftant trills it ecchoes o'er the tide ;
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 breaft muft ne'er afpire.

"Yet nourish ftill the lambent flame;

"Still ftrike thy blameless Lyre:

"Led by the moral Muse, securely 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: "To arts like thefe devote thy tuneful toil,

"And meet its fair reward in D'ARCY's fmile.”

VII.

""Tis he, my Son, alone shall chear

"Thy fickning foul; at that fad hour,
"When o'er a much-lov'd Parent's bier,

"Thy duteous Sorrows fhower:

"At

"At that fad hour, when all thy hopes decline; "When pining Care leads on her pallid train, "And fees thee, like the weak, and widow'd Vine, "Winding thy blasted tendrills o'er the plain. "At that fad hour shall D'ARCY lend his aid, "And raise with Friendship's arm thy drooping head.

VIII.

This fragrant wreath, the Mufes meed, "That bloom'd those vocal shades among, "Where never Flatt'ry dar'd to tread,

"Or Intereft's fervile throng;

"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 fend the gift divine

"To him, who calls thee HIS, yet makes thee MINE."

ODE