Swift-whirling Abra, Trent's o'ershadow'd stream,
Thames, lovelier far than all in my esteem,
Tamar's ore-tinctur'd flood, and, after these,
The wave-worn shores of utmost Orcades.

"Go, go, my lambs, untended homeward fare;
My thoughts are all now due to other care.
All this I kept in leaves of laurel-rind
Enfolded safe, and for thy view designed,
This-and a gift from Manso's hand beside,
(Manso, not least his native city's pride,)
Two cups, that radiant as their giver shone,
Adorn'd by sculpture with a double zone.
The spring was graven there; here slowly wind
The Red-sea shores, with groves of spices lin'd;
Her plumes of various hues amid the boughs
The sacred, solitary Phoenix shows;
And watchful of the dawn, reverts her head,

To see Aurora leave her wat'ry bed.
-In other part, th' expansive vault above,
And there too, even there, the God of Love
With quiver arm'd he mounts, his torch displays
A vivid light, his gem-tipt arrows blaze,
Around his bright and fiery eyes he rolls,
Nor aims at vulgar minds, or little souls,
Nor deigns one look below, but aiming high,
Send's every arrow to the lofty sky;
Hence forms divine, and minds immortal, learn
The pow'r of Cupid, and enamour'd burn.

"Thou also, Damon, (neither nced I fear That hope delusive,) thou art also there; For whither should simplicity like thine Retire, where else such spotless virtue shine? Thou dwell'st not (thought profane) in shades below, Nor tears suit thee-cease then my tears to flow, Away with grief: on Damon ill-bestow'd!

Who, pure himself, has found a pure abode,

Has pass'd the show'ry arch, henceforth resides
With saints and heroes, and from flowing tides
Quaffs copious immortality, and joy,

With hallow'd lips!-Oh! blest without alloy,
And now enrich'd, with all that faith can claim
Look down, entreated by whatever name,
If Damon please thee most, (that rural sound
Shall oft with echoes fill the groves around,)
Or if Diodatus, by which alone

In those ethereal mansions thou art known.
Thy blush was maiden, and thy youth the taste
Of wedded bliss knew never, pure and chaste,
The honours, therefore, by divine decree
The lot of virgin worth are given to thee;
Thy brows encircled with a radiant band,
And the green palm-branch waving in thy hand,
Thou in immortal nuptials shalt rejoice,
And join with seraphs thy according voice,
Where rapture reigns, and the ecstatick lyre
Guides the blest orgies of the blazing choir."

AN ODE

ADDRESSED TO

MR. JOHN ROUSE, LIBRARIAN,

OF THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD,

On a lost Volume of my Poems, which he desired me to replace, that he might add them to my other Works deposited in the Library.

THIS Ode is rendered without rhyme, that it might more adequately represent the original, which, as Milton himself informs us, is of no certain measure It may possibly for this reason disappoint the reader, though it cost the writer more labour than the translation of any other piece in the whole collection.

STROPHF.

My two-fold book! single in show
But double in contents,
Neat, but not curiously adorn'd,
Which, in his early youth,

A poet gave, no lofty one in truth,
Although an earnest wooer of the Muse-
Say while in cool Ausonian shades,

Or British wilds Me roam'd,
Striking by turns his native lyre,
By turns the Daunian lute,
And stepp'd almost in air.-

ANTISTROPHE.

Say, little book, what furtive hand
Thee from thy fellow-books convey'd,
What time, at the repeated suit

Of my most learned friend,

I sent thee forth an honour'd traveller,

From our great city to the source of Thames, Cerulean sire!

Where rise the fountains, and the rapture ring Of the Aonian choir,

Durable as yonder spheres,

And through the endless lapse of years
Secure to be admir'd?

STROPHE II.

Now what God, or Demigod,
For Britain's ancient Genius mov'd,
(If our afflicted land

Have expiated at length the guilty sloth
Of her degen'rate sons)

Shall terminate our impious feuds,

And discipline, with hallow'd voice recall?
Recall the Muses too,

Driv'n from their ancient seats

In Albion, and well nigh from Albion's shore, And with keen Phœbean shafts

Piercing th' unseemly birds,

Whose talons menace us,

Shall drive the Harpy rare from Helicon afar.

ANTISTROPHE.

But thou, my book, though thou hast stray'd
Whether by treach'ry lost,

Or indolent neglect, thy bearer's fault,
From all thy kindred books,

To some dark ce.l, or cave forlorn,

Where thou endur'st, perhaps,
The chafing of some hard untutor'd hand,
Be comforted-

For lo! again the splendid hope appears
That thou may'st yet escape

The gulfs of Lethe, and on oary wings
Mount to the everlasting courts of Jove!

STROPHE III.

Since Rouse desires thee, and complains
That, though by promise his,

Thou yet appear'st not in thy place

Among the literary noble stores

Giv'n to his care,

But, absent, leav'st his numbers incomplete, He, therefore, guardian vigilant

Of that unperishing wealth,

Calls thee to the interiour shrine, his charge,
Where he intends a richer treasure far
Than Ion kept (Ion, Erectheus' son
Illustrious, of the fair Creusa born)
In the resplendent temple of his God,
Tripods of gold and Delphick gifts divine.

ANTISTROPHE.

Haste, then, to the pleasant groves,
The Muses' fav'rite haunt;

Resume thy station in Apollo's dome

VOL. III.

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