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A form unknown explor'd the trackless way,

Who harp’d, and sung of feats in bloody fight; He, like a son of heav'n in clouds conceal’d,

At length emerging, greets their ravish'd eyes, The Muses' vot’ry, patron, friend, reveald,

The Royal Saxon in a minstrel's guise.

« Dear to our train," from ev'ry tongue was heard, “ Who fedst our sleeping fires, whose hand our altar



Transported, Clio seiz'd her golden lyre :

Say, nymphs, to whom belongs the hymn of " Thou first, who dost the soul divine inspire, (praise?

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" And god-like Alfred, shall adorn our lays :

“ From thee, great shade, shall streams of radiance flow,

« And light new stars to gild the northern sky;

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“ Here, at our new-built shrines, shall Britain bow,

« And Cam and Isis with Ilissus vie :

« Scar'd from Pieria's spring, by turban’d foes, “ Beside their willow'd banks we fix our last repose.”



T A L E.

Sanabimur, fi volemus.


N superstitious days of yore,

When skill did less, and credit more,

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For well they knew, what Æsop spake,

The bow, that's always bent, will break.

Allur’d by op’ning prospects round,
Beyond the reach of classic ground,
They listless stray’d, on this and that
Beguild the way with various chat,

Mark'd the sweet hawthorn's blooming spray,

And heard with joy the throstle's lay ;
Nor longer thought of College drear,

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Distance and night forbad return ;

They seek then, where to lodge till morn.

As on they rov’d, at length from far

Shone a faint glimmer, like a star.

Bolder they steer’d; the glimm’ring led
To fome poor rustic's lonely shed.
They knock’d: a crippled dame appears,
With agues craz’d, and bow'd with years,
Surpriz'd to see such strangers there,

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Yet bids them welcome to her cheer;

Though coarse, to hunger's eye were spread

The best of dainties in its stead.

Meanwhile their courteous hoftess strews

A rushy couch for their repose,

Whereon, forgetful of return,
'They fink in wholesome sleep till morn.

But soon as morning bade them rise,
One ugly want their thoughts employs.

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They both were generously inclin’d,

But each had left the means behind.

Bethought they then, what course to take,

And in high phrase the dame bespake ;

What thanks are due for this our fare !

Our scrips no worldly treasures bear.

Train’d in sublimer arts, we know

To ease the plaints of corp'ral woe ;

We see thee wither’d, craz’d, and weak,

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