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That glares tremendous on the Sons of Pride.
But, hark, methinks I hear her hallow'd tongue !
In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide ;
Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly free,
As swells the lark's meridian ecstacy.

“ Fond Youth! to Marvell's patriot fame,
“ Thy humble breast must ne'er aspire.
" Yet nourish still the lambent flame;

“ Still strike thy blameless lyre;
“ Led by the moral Muse securely rove;
“ And all the vernal sweets thy vacant Youth
“ Can cull from busy Fancy's fairy grove,
“ O hang their foliage round the fane of Truth:
“ To arts like these devote thy tuneful toil.
" And meet its fair reward in D'ARCY's smile."


'Tis he, my Son, alone shall cheer
“ Thy sick’ning soul ; at that sad hour,
6. When o'er a much-lov'd Parent's bier

“ Thy duteous Sorrows shower : " At that sad hour, when all thy hopes decline; When pining Care leads on her pallid train, “ And sees thee, like the weak and widow'd Vine, “ Winding thy blasted tendrils o'er the plain. " At that sad hour shall D'Arcy lend his aid, " And raise with Friendship’s arm thy drooping head.

“ This fragment wreath, the Muses meed,
“ That bloom'd those vocal shades among,

“ Where never Flatt’ry dared to tread,

« Or Interest's serviłe throng; " Receive, my favour'd Son, at my command, “ And keep, with sacred 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 sake, I send the gift divine " To him who calls thee his, yet makes thee mine." ODE XXV.



Ducit in errorem variarum ambage viarum.


High on a hill's green bosom laid,
At ease my careless Fancy stray'd,

And o'er the landskip ran;
Review'd what scenes the seasons show,
And weigh'd what share of joy and woe

Is doom'd to toiling Man.

The nibbling flocks around me bleat,
The oxen low beneath my feet

Along the clover'd dale ;
The golden sheaves the reapers bind,
The ploughman whistles near behind,

And breaks the new-mown vale.

“ Hail, Knowledge, gift of heaven! I cried, E'en all the gifts of heaven beside,

Compar'd to thee, how low!

The blessings of the earth and air
The beasts of fold and forest share,

But godlike Beings know.

“ How mean the short-livd joys of Sense ! But how sublime the excellence

Of Wisdom's sacred lore !
In Death's deep shades what nations lie !
Yet still can Wisdom's piercing eye

Their mighty deeds explore.

" She sees the little Spartan band, With great Leonidas, withstand

The Asian world in arms; She hears the heavenly sounds that hung On Homer's and on Plato's tongue,

And glows at Tully's charms.

" The wonders of the spacious sky She penetrates with Newton's eye,

And marks the planets roll; The human mind with Locke she scans ; With Cambray Virtue's flame she fans

And lifts to heaven the soul.

“How matter takes ten thousand forms Of metals, plants, of men and worms,

She joys to trace with Boyle:

This life she deems an infant state,
A gleam that bodes a light complete,

When done the mortal toil.

“What numerous ills in life befal!
Yet Wisdom learns to scorn them all,

And arms the breast with steel :
E'en Death's pale face no horror wears ;
But ah, what horrid pangs and fears

Unknowing wretches feel!

“ That breast excells proud Orphir's mines, And fairer than the morning shines,

Where Wisdom's treasures glow ;
But, ah, how void yon peasant's mind !
His thoughts how darken’d and confin'd!

Nor cares he more to know.

“ The last two tenants of the ground,
Of antient times his history bound:

Alas, it scarce goes higher.
In vain to him is Maro's strain,
And Shakspere's magic powers in vain,

In vain is Milton's fire.

“ Nor sun by day, nor stars by night, Can give his soul the grand delight

To trace almighty power :

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