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So Truth proclaims. I hear the sacred sound Burst from the centre of the burning throne. Where aye she fits with star-wreath lustre
crown'd, A bright sun clasps her adamantine zone.
So Truth proclaims : her awful voice I hear, With many a solemn pause it slowly meets my ear.
III. “ Attend, ye sons of men; attend, and say,” Does not enough of my refulgent ray
Break thro' the veil of your mortality!
Say does not reason in this form descry Unnumber'd, nameless glories, that surpass The Angel's floating pomp, the Seraph's glowing
But emulate's the diamond's blaze,
Whose cheek the rose's damask glow,
Shall she be deem'd my rival? * Shall a form Of elemental dross, of mould’ring clay,
Vie with these charms imperial? The poor worm Shall prove her contest vain. Life's little day
ATHELWOLD had been guilty of a lye, that he might possess ELFRIDA.
Shall pass, and she is gone: while I appear, Flush'd with the bloom of youth thro’ heav'n's eternal year.
I shone amid the heav'nly throng.
beheld Creation's day, This voice began the choral lay, And taught Archangels their triumphant song.
Pleas'd I survey'd bright Nature's gradual birth, Saw infant light with kindling lustre spread,
Soft vernal fragrance clothe the flow'ring earth, And Ocean heave on his extended bed ;
Saw the tall oak aspiring pierce the sky,
And, as he rose, the high beheft was giv'n,
“ That I alone of all the host of heav'ni, “Should reign Protectress of the godlike
youth.” Thus the Almighty spake : he spake and call'd
ZAS IS SUPPOSED TO LIE ON THE
THAMES, NEAR RICHMOND.
The year's best sweets shall duteous rise
His airy harp * shall now be laid,
May love thro' life the foothing shade.
The harp of Æolus, of which see a description in the CASTLE OF INDOLENCE.
And while it's sounds at distance swell,
When Thames in summer wreaths is drest,
To breezy lawn, or forest deep,
Ah! what will ev'ry dirge avail ?
Shall scorn thy pale shrine glimm'ring near? With him, sweet bard, may Fancy die,
And Joy desert the blooming year.
* RICHMOND Church.
No fedge-crown'd Sisters now attend,
Whose cold turf hides the buried Friend !
And fee, the fairy valleys fade,
Dun Night has veil'd the solemn view !
Thy life, shall mourn thy early doom, Their hịnds, and shepherd-girls shall dress With simple hands thy rural tomb.
Shall melt the musing Briton's eyes,
In yonder grave Your Druid lies!