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Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir'd,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
E'en at the found himself had made.
Next, Anger rulh'd ; his eyes on fire,
In lightnings own’d his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woeful measures, wan Despair,
Low fullen sounds his grief beguild: A solemn, ftrange, and mingled air ;
'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.
But thou, O Hope, with eyes fo fair,
What was thy delighted measure?
Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
Still would her touch the strain prolong,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call’d on Echo still thro' all the song ;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,
A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
Revenge impatient rose :
HILDREN of Fancy, whither are ye fled ?
Where have ye borne those hope-enliven'd hours, That once with myrtle garlands bound my head,
That once bestrew'd my vernal path with flow'rs?
fair vale, where blooms the beechen grove, Where winds the flow wave thro' the flow'ry plain, To these fond arms you led the tyrant Love,
With Fear, and Hope, and Folly, in his train.
My lyre, that, left at careless distance, hung
Light on some pale branch of the ofier shade, To lays of am'rous blandishment you strung,
And o'er my feep the lulling music play'd.
• Reft, gentle youth! while on the quiv'ring breeze
• Slides to thine ear this foftly breathing strain ; • Sounds that move smoother than the steps of eafe,
. And pour oblivion in the ear of pain.
• In this fair vale eternal Spring shall smile,
• And Time unenvious crown each roseate hour ; • Eternal joy shall ev'ry care beguile,
• Breathe in each gale, and bloom in ev'ry flow'r.
This filver stream, that down it's crystal way,
Frequent has led thy musing steps along, • Shall, still the same, in sunny mazes play,
• And with it's murmurs melodize thy song.
• Unfading green shall these fair
• And ev'ry evening close in clouds of gold,
• The tender loves that watch thy sumb’ring rest,
• And round thee Aow'rs and balmy myrties strew; • Shall charm, thro' all approaching life, thy breast,
• With joys for ever pure, for ever new.
• The genial power that speeds the golden dart,
• Each charm of tender passion shall inspire; • With fond affection fill the mutual heart, • And feed the fame of ever-young
Come, gentle loves ! your myrtle garlands bring; « The smiling bow'r with cluster'd roses spread; Come, gentle airs ! with incenfe-dropping wing,
The breathing sweets of vernal odour lhed.
• Hark! as the strains of swelling mufick rise,
• How the notes vibrate on the fav'ring gale ! • Auspicious glories beam along the skies,
• And pow'rs unseen, the happy moments hail !
• Extatick hours ! fo ev'ry diftant day,
• Like this serene, on downy wings shall move; « Rise crown'd with joys that triumph o'er decay,
• The faithful joys of Fancy and of Love.'
Children of Fancy! yes, your song was vain;
And Silence liften'd on the fleeping plain.
The strains yet vibrate on my ravish'd ear,
And still to smile the mimick beauties fcem ; Though now the visionary scenes appear
Like the faint traces of a vanilh'd dream,
Mirror of life ! the glories thụs depart
Of all that Youth and Love and Fancy framc; When painful Anguilh speeds the piercing dart,
Or Envy blasts the blooming flow'rs of Fame,
Nurse of wild wishes, and of fond desires,
The prophetess of Fortune, false and vain ; To scenes where Peace in Ruin's arms expires,
Fallacious Hope deludes her hapless train.
Go, Syren, go-thy charms on others try ;
My beaten bark at length has reach'd the shore : Yet on the rock my dropping garments lie ;
And let me perish, if I tryft thee more!
Come, gentle Quiet ! long-neglected maid!
O come, and lead me to thy mosfy cell ! There unregarded in the peaceful shade,
With calm Repose and Silence let me dwell,
Come, happier hours of sweet unanxious rest,
When all the struggling passions shall subside ; When Peace shall clasp me to her plumy breast,
And smooth my filent minutes as they glide.
But chief, thou goddess of the thoughtless eye,
Whom never cares or passions discompose, O, bleft Insensibility, be nigh,
And with thy foothing hand my weary eyelids close!
Then shall the cares of Love and Glory cease,
And all the fond anxieties of Fame; Alike regardless in the arms of Peace,
If these extol, or those debase a name.
In Lyttelton, though all the Muses praise,
His gen'rous praise fhall then delight no more; Nor the sweet magick of his tender lays,
Shall touch the bosom which it charm'd before,
Nor then, tho’ Malice, with infidious guise
Of friendship, ope the unsuspecting breast; Nor then, tho' Envy broach her blackening lyes,
Shall these deprive me of a moment's rest.
O state to be defir'd! when hostile rage
Prevails in human more than favage haunts ; When man with man eternal war will
wage, And never yield that mercy which he wants.