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Still would her touch the strain prolong,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Echo still thro' all the song;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at ev'ry close; And Hope enchanted smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair.

And longer had she sung-but with a frown
Revenge impatient rose;

He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down,
And, with a withering look,

The war-denouncing trumpet took,

And blew a blast so loud and dread,

Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of woe.

And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat;

And tho' sometimes, each dreary pause between,

Dejected Pity at his side,

Her soul-subduing voice apply'd,

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien,

While each strain'd ball of sight seem'd bursting from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy! to nought were fix'd;
Sad proof of thy distressful state;

Of diff'ring themes the veering song was mix'd,

And now it courted Love, now raving call'd on Hate.

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With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd, Pale Melancholy sat retir❜d,

And from her wild sequester'd seat,

In notes by distance made more sweet,

Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul:

And dashing soft from rocks around

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound;

Thro' glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,

Or o'er some haunted streams with fond delay,

Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace and Ionely musing,

In hollow murmurs dy'd away.

But O! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone!
When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,
Her bow across her shoulders flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,

Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung,
The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known;

The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-ey'd queen,

Satyrs and Sylvan boys were seen

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leapt up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.

Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:

He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest,

But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best.
They would have thought who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids
Amidst the festal sounding shades,

To some unweary'd minstrel dancing,
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round;
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound,
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.
O Music! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid,
Why, Goddess! why to us deny'd?
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside?
As in that lov'd Athenian bow'r
You learn'd an all commanding pow'r,
Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd!
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders in that god-like age,
Fill thy recording sister's page-

'Tis said, and I believe the tale,
Thy humblest reed could more prevail,
Had more of strength, diviner rage,
Than all which charms this laggard age;
Ev'n all at once together found
Cæcilia's mingled world of sound-
O bid our vain endeavours cease,
Revive the just designs of Greece;
Return in all thy simple state;
Confirm the tales her sons relate!

ODE XIII.

ON THE DEATH OF MR. THOMSON.

The Scene of the following Stanzas is supposed to

lie on the Thames, near Richmond.

I.

IN yonder grave a Druid lies,

Where slowly winds the stealing wave;
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise
To deck its Poet's sylvan grave.

II.

In yon deep bed of whisp'ring reeds
His airy harpt shall now be laid,

That he whose heart in sorrow bleeds
May love thro' life the soothing shade.

III.

Then maids and youths shall linger here,
And while its sounds at distance swell,
Shall sadly seem in Pity's ear

To hear the woodland pilgrim's knell.

IV.

Remembrance oft shall haunt the shore

When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,
And oft suspend the dashing oar

To bid his gentle spirit rest!

V.

And oft as Ease and Health retire

To breezy lawn, or forest deep,

The harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the Castle of Indolence.

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