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Amidst the bright pavilion'd plains The beauteous model still remains: There happier than in islands bless'd, Or bow'rs by Spring or Hebe dress'd, The chiefs who fill our Albion's story In warlike weeds retir'd in glory, Hear their consorted Druids sing Their triumphs to th' immortal string. How may the poet now unfold, What never tongue or numbers told, How learn, delighted and amaz'd, What hands unknown that fabric rais'd? Ev'n now before his favour'd eyes In Gothic pride it seems to rise! Yet Grecia's graceful orders join Majestic thro' the mix'd design: The secret builder knew to chuse Each sphere-found gem of richest hues; Whate'er heaven's purer mould contains When nearer suns emblaze its veins : There on the walls the patriot's sight May ever hang with fresh delight, And, grav'd with some prophetic rage, Read Albion's fame thro' ev'ry age. Ye Forms Divine! ye Laureate Band! That near her inmost altar stand,

Now sooth her, to her blissful train
Blithe Concord's social form to gain;
Concord! whose myrtle wand can steep
E'en Anger's blood-shot eyes in sleep;
Before whose breathing bosom's balm
Rage drops his steel, and storms grow calm:
Her let our sires and matron's hoar
Welcome to Britain's ravag'd shore,
Our youths, enamour'd of the fair,
Play with the tangles of her hair,
Till in one loud applauding sound
The nations shout to her around,
O! how supremely art thou blest!
Thou, Lady! thou shalt rule the West!

ODE IX. TO EVENING.

IF aught of oaten stop or past'ral song May hope, chaste Eve! to soothe thy modest ear, Like thy own solemn springs,

Thy springs and dying gales;

O Nymph reserv'd! while now the bright-hair'd Sun Sits in yon western tent, whose cloudy skirts,

With brede ethereal wove,

O'erhang his wavy bed;

Now air is hush'd, save where the weak-ey'd bat With short shrill shriek flits by on leathern wing, Or where the beetle winds

His small but sullen horn,

As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,

Against the pilgrim borne in heedless hum;

Now teach me, maid compos'd!

To breathe some soften'd strain,

Whose numbers stealing thro' thy dark'ning vale

May not unseemly with its stillness suit,

As musing slow I hail

Thy genial lov'd return:

For when thy folding-star arising shows

His paly circlet, at his warning lamp
The fragrant Hours and Elves,

Who slept in buds the day,

And many a Nymph, who wreathes her brows with

sedge,

And sheds the fresh'ning dew, and, lovelier still,

The pensive Pleasures sweet,

Prepare thy shadowy car:

Then let me rove some wild and heathy scene,
Or find some ruin 'midst its dreary dells,

F

Whose walls more awful nod

By thy religious gleams:

Or if chill blust❜ring winds or driving rain
Prevent my willing feet be mine the hut
That from the mountain's sides

Views wilds and swelling floods,

And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires,
And hears their simple bell, and marks o'er all
Thy dewy fingers draw

The gradual dusky veil.

While Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve! While Summer loves to sport

Beneath thy ling'ring light;

While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves,

Or Winter, yelling thro' the troublous air,
Affrights thy shrinking train,

And rudely rends thy robes;

So long, regardful of thy quiet rule,

Shall Fancy, Friendship, Science, smiling Peace,

Thy gentlest influence own,

And love thy favourite name!

ODE X. TO PEACE.

O THOU! who bad'st thy turtles bear Swift from his grasp thy golden hair, And sought'st thy native skies;

When War, by vultures drawn from far, To Britain bent his iron car,

And bid his storms arise:

Tir'd of rude tyrannic sway,

Our youth shall fix some festive day
His sullen shrines to burn:

But thou, who hear'st the turning spheres,
What sounds may charm thy partial ears,
And gain thy bless'd return?

O Peace! thy injur'd robes up-bind;

O rise, and leave not one behind

Of all thy beamy train!

The British Lion, Goddess sweet!
Lies stretch'd on earth to kiss thy feet,
And own thy holier reign.

Let others court thy transient smile,
But come to grace thy Western Isle,
By warlike Honour led;

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