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III. 3.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore !
Bright-ey'd Fancy, hovering o'er,
Scatters from her pictur'd urn
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
But ah ! 'tis heard no more

O ! lyre divine, what daring spirit
Wakes thee now? Though he inherit
Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,

That the Theban eagle bear,
Sailing with supreme dominion

Through the azure deep of air :
Yet oft before his infant eyes would run

Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray
With orient hues, unborrow'd of the sun :

Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far!-but far above the great.


ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. Ye distant spires, ye antique towers,

That crown the wat’ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores

Her HENRY's holy shade ;*
And ye, that from the stately brow
OF WINDSOR's heights th' expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way:
* King Henry the Sixth, founder of the college,

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Ah, happy hills ! ah, pleasing shade!

Ah, fields belov'd in vain !
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A stranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladsome wing
My weary soul they seem to sooth,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.

Say, father THAMES, for thou hast seen

Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green

The paths of pleasure trace;
Who foremost now delight to cleave,
With pliant arm, thy glassy wave?

The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,

Or urge the flying ball ?
While some on earnest business bent

Their murm’ring labours ply 'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty :
Soine bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,

Less pleasing when possess'd; The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast : Theirs buxoni Health, of rosy hue, Wild Wit, Invention ever-new,

And lively Cheer, of Vigour born; The thoughtless day, the easy night, The spirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom

The little victims play!
No sense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to-day:
Yet see, how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train ! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murd'rous band

Ah, tell them they are men!

These shall the fury Passions tear,

The vultures of the mind, Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that sculks behind ; Or pining Love shall waste their youth Or Jealousy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart; And Envy wan, and faded Care, Grim-visag'd comfortless Despair, And Sorrow's piercing dart.



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Ambition this shall tempt to rise,

Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,

And grinning Infamy:
The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen Remorse, with blood defild,
And moody Madness laughing wild

Amidst severest wo.

Lo, in the Vale of Years beneath

A grisly troop are seen,
The painful family of Death,

More hideous than their queen!
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,

Those in the deeper vitals rage :
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,

And slow-consuming Age.

To each his sufferings : all are inen,

Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,

Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet, ah! why should they know their fate,
Since sorrow never comes ti o iate,

And happiness too swiftly flies ?
Thought would destroy their paradise.
No more ;-where ignorance is bliss,

'Tis folly to be wise.



When now on Britain's sea-girt shore,

Resounds the threat'ning voice of war;
Bursts the loud cannon's frequent roar;

And glares the ensign from afar ;
The Muse, who shuns the harsh alarms
That wake the madding world to arms,
And scorns to share the factious rage
That prompts to deeds of blood the age;
Turns joyful to those happier seats

Where sacred Science loves to rest,
And Genius, 'midst the calm retreats,

Pours all his influence o'er the breast:
Not more rever'd, the hallow'd bow'rs,
Where truth distill’d from Plato's honey'd tongue;
Nor those fair scenes, where Tully's happier hours

In philosophic leisure fled along.

There Education, power divine !

Her favourite temple long has plann'd;
And calls around her sacred shrine,

To guard her laws, a chosen band.
Where yon fair dome its front uprears,
Her venerable form appears;
To the young view one hand displays
The wreath ot' honourable Praise ;
With stronger grasp her left sustains

The harsher emblems of Control,
That check wild Folly's headlong reins,

And bend the rude and stubborn soul:

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