What strains of vocal transport round

her play,

Hear from the grave, great Taliessin,

hear;

They breathe a soul to animate thy clay.

Bright Rapture calls, and, soaring as

she sings,

Waves in the eye of heav'n her manycolor'd wings.

III. 3.

"The verse adorn again

Fierce war, and faithful love,

And truth severe, by fairy fiction drest.

In buskin'd measures move

Pale grief, and pleasing pain,

With horror, tyrant of the throbbing

breast.

A voice, as of the cherub-choir,

Gales from blooming Eden bear;

And distant warblings lessen on my ear, That lost in long futurity expire.

Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud,

Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day ?

To-morrow he repairs the golden flood, And warms the nations with redoubleu

ray.

Enough for me; with joy I see

The diff'rent doom our fates assign. Be thine despair, and sceptred care, To triumph, and to die, are mine." He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height

Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

ODE FOR MUSIC.

Irregular.

I. AIR.

"HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground),
Comus, and his midnight-crew,
And Ignorance with looks profound,
And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,
Mad Sedition's cry profane,

Servitude that hugs her chain,

Nor in these consecrated bowers

Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent

train in flowers.

CHORUS.

Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain,
Dare the Muse's walk to stain.

While bright-eyed Science watches

round :

Hence, away, 'tis holy ground !”'

II. RECITATIVE.

From yonder realms of empyrean day Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay : There sit the sainted sage, the bard di vine,

The few, whom genius gave to shine Thro' every unborn age, and undiscover'd clime.

Rapt in celestial transport they :
Yet hither oft a glance from high
They send of tender sympathy

To bless the place, where on their opening soul

First the genuine ardor stole.

'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell, And, as the choral warblings round him

swell,

Meck Newton's self bends from his state

sublime,

And nods his hoary head, and listens to

the rhyme.

III. AIR.

"Ye brown o'er-arching groves,
That Contemplation loves,

Where willowy Camus lingers with de

light!

Oft at the blush of dawn

I trod your level lawn,

Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silverbright

In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of

Folly,

With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy."

IV. RECITATIVE.

But hark! the portals sound, and pacing forth

With solemn steps and slow,

High potentates, and dames of royal

birth,

And mitred fathers in long order go:

Great Edward, with the lilies on his

brow

From haughty Gallia torn,

And sad Chatillon, on her bridal morn That wept her bleeding Love, and princely Clare,