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O come with goodness in thy train,
With peace and pleasure void of storm,
Put on Amanda's winning form,
0 D E.
ONIGHTINGALE, best poet of the grove,
That plaintive strain can ne'er belong to thee, Blest in the full possession of thy love:
O lend that strain, sweet Nightingale, to me!
'Tis mine, alas ! to mourn my wretched fate :
I love a maid who all my bosom charms, Yet lose my days without this lovely mate;
Inhuman Fortune keeps her from my
You, happy birds ! by Nature's simple laws
Lead your soft lives, sustain'd by Nature's fare; You dwell wherever roving fancy draws,
And love and song is all your pleasing care :
But we, vain slaves of int'rest and of pride,
Dare not be blest, lest envious tongues should blame : And hence in vain I languish for my bride;
O mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless flame.
THE wanton's charms, however bright,
pours a lovely gentle light
A vicious love depraves the mind,
ÆTHEREAL race, inhabitants of air,
Who hymn your God amid the secret grove; Ye unseen beings to my harp repair,
And raise majestic strains, or melt in love. Those tender notes, how kindly they upbraid,
With what soft woe they thrill the lover's heart! Sure from the hand of some unhappy maid,
Who died of love, these sweet complainings part. But hark! that strain was of a graver tone,
On the deep strings his hand some hermit throws; Or he the sacred bard t, who sat alone,
In the drear waste, and wept his people's woes. Such was the song which Zion's children sung,
When by Euphrates' stream they made their plaint; And to such sadly solemn notes are strung
Angelic harps, to sooth a dying saint. Methinks I hear the full celestial choir,
Through heaven's high dome their awful anthem raise; Now chanting clear, and now they all conspire
To swell the lofty hymn, from praise to praise. Let me, ye wand'ring spirits of the wind,
Who, as wild fancy prompts you, touch the string, Smit with your theme, be in your chorus join'd,
For till you cease, my Muse forgets to sing.
* Æolus's harp is a musical instrument which plays with the wind, invented by Mr. Oswald; its properties are fully described in the Castle of Indolence.
H Y M N
SO L I T U D E.
Hail, mildly pleasing Solitude,
Oh! how I love with thee to walk,
A thousand shapes you wear with ease, And still in every shape you please. Now wrapt in some mysterious dream, A lone philosopher you seem; Now quick from hill to vale you fly, And now you sweep the vaulted sky. A shepherd next, you haunt the plain, And warble forth
your oaten strain :A lover now, with all the
grace Of that sweet passion in your
face: Then, calm’d to friendship, you assume The gentle-looking HARFORD's bloom, As, with her MUSIDORA, she (Her MUSIDORA fond of thee) Amid the long withdrawing vale, Awakes the rival'd nightingale.
Thine is the balmy breath of morn, Just as the dew-bent rose is born;
And while meridian fervors beat,
Descending angels bless thy train,
Oh, let me pierce thy secret cell,