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Thy numbers, JEALOUSY, to nought were fix'd;
Of different themes the veering song was mix'd;
With eyes uprais'd, as one inspir'd,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul:
Through glades and glooms the mingled measure stole,
Love of peace, and lonely musing,)
In hollow murmurs died away.
But, O, how alter'd was its sprightlier tone,
When CHEERFULNESS, a nymph of healthiest hue, Her bow across her shoulder flung,
Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung, The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known; The oak-crown'dSisters and their chaste-ey'dQueen. Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen
Peeping from forth their alleys green:
Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;
And Sport leap'd up, and seiz'd his beechen spear.
Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:
He, with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand addrest, But soon he saw the brisk-awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amid the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing;
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
As if he would the charming air repay,
O MUSIC! sphere-descended maid!
Warm, energetic, chaste, sublime!
Thy wonders in that god-like age,
Distant Prospect of Eton College.
YE distant spires, ye antique towers,
Her Henry's holy shade;
And ye, that, from the stately brow
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among Wanders the hoary Thames along
His silver-winding way!
Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shades!
Ah fields belov'd in vain!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales that from you blow
As, waving fresh their gladsome wing,
Say, father Thames (for thou hast seen
What idle progeny succeed,
While some on earnest business bent,
Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty;
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
Gay Hope is theirs, by Fancy fed,
And lively Cheer, of Vigour born;
Alas! regardless of their doom,
No sense have they of ills to come,
Yet see how all around them wait,
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,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that sculks behind;