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Canst thou with Freedoni's sons rejoice
To hear th’ Athenian Patriot's voice,

'Mid tyrants undismay'd ?
But fails his bolder fire-o say,
Can Tully charm each sense away,

And baffle reason's aid?

Canst thou, with pity mov'd, bewail
The simple Emma's hapless tale,

And fond believing heart?
Or say, does Eloisa's line,

Where learning, taste, and love combine, A nobler flame impart?

The Muse in mild melodious lays
Instruction's awful voice conveys,

And each wild wish disarms;
While picture's arts alone can trace
Each soften'd line, each secret grace,

And add to Beauty's charms.

Should Hope her lenient aid refuse,
Tho' each disastrous day renews

One sadden'd scene of woe;
From pleasing symphony of sound,
When melting notes dissolve around,

Unnumber'd raptures flow.

Music her sister arts may aid,
And Poetry o'er light and shade

Reflect her mutual fire;
Meek suppliants all at Beauty's shrine,
In one united there shall join

The Pencil, Muse, and Lyre.

ODE IV.

TO

CONCORD.

BY THE REV. MR. HUDSON.

Soul of the world, first mover, say, From thee what glorious being came, Powerful to raise this universal frame?

Who taught the ponderous wheels to play? Gave beauty to look forth with radiant eyes, And cloath'd with ambient day the chrystal skies? 'Twas Concord, who enthron'd above,

With sevenfold adamantine chains

The path of wandering orbs restrains,
Kindles the genial fire of love,

And walks the courts of genuine light,
(While all heaven hails the wonders of her sight)
Where Bliss has banish'd Chance, and sore Annoy,
And Goodness fills the cup of general joy.

Nor is she to the heavens confin'd;

Forth on the morning's wing she rides,
She skims the glowing evening's purple tides,

And leaves the setting sun behind.
Where doves sit cooing at the noon-tide hour,
And linnets warble in the woodbine bower;
Where the pale moon her lustre spreads,

The love-lorn bird divides her song,

The soft Aute sooths the rural throng,
And dew-drops load the flowrets' heads;

Where the ingenuous chorus sings,
The delicate touch Aies o'er the trembling strings,

From the gilt roof the symphony rebounds;
Thine, goddess, are the charms, and thine the silver

sounds.

The buxom air, the saphire main,
All height and depth confess thy gracious reign:

But chief is thy delight to dwell
Lodg'd in the human breast thy dearest cell.

Favour and friendship meet thee there,
And tender transport with the gushing tear:
There wedlock at thy altar bends,

There halcyon peace securely broods, And meek tranquillity attends To quell unruly rage, and sooth the swelling floods.

Now by the magic of thy tongue,

That call’d up first the rolling spheres,

Thro' the gay circle of revolving years,

With rapturous sounds of mystic song, Attun'd in heavenly harmony to run: And by the virtue of th' enchanting zone, Which when the fair Idalian

queen Accepts, with universal sway

The smiles and winning passions play In her resistless look and mien;

The loves the heavenly gift admire, And tip their little darts with lambent fire; Fresh wreaths the graces bring, and form the round, Where rising daisies mark the measur'd ground.

Now by the rosy mildness sweet,

Of which when youthful Spring awakes, From thy abundance amply she partakes,

What time the silk-plum'd zephyrs meet In Saba's groves, to kiss the bending blooms With balmy lips, and wanton in perfumes; And by the ripened, redolent grace,

When Summer in the Persian fields

To sober-seeming Autumn yields Her treasures on the loaded sprays,

The sky-rob’d plum, the purple vine, The velvet peach, and damask nectarine; While Plenty, waving her Hesperian bough, Gladdens Pomona with the golden show.

Great goddess ! with the words of peace Bid this wild uproar of contention cease ;

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