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Old Edward's sons, unknown to yield,
And gaze with fix'd delight;
And wish the avenging fight.
Impatient Freedom lies!
She turns her joyless eyes.
Proclaim her reign restored :
Present the sated sword.
If, weak to soothe so soft a heart,
To dry thy constant tear :
Wild War insulting near :
Ver. 31. Old Edward's sons, untaught to yield,
49. If, drawn by all a lover's art,
Where'er from time thou court'st relief,
Her gentlest promise keep;
And bid her shepherds weep.
Harting, a village adjoining the parish of Trotton, and about two miles distant from it.
ODE TO EVENING.
If aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song,
Like thy own brawling springs,
O nymph reserved, while now the bright-hair'd sun
With brede ethereal wove,
Now air is hush’d, save where the weak-eyed bat 9 With short shrill shriek Aits by on leathern wing;
Or where the beetle winds
Ver. 2. May hope, O pensive Eve, to soothe thine ear.
3. Like thy own solemn springs,
TO EV ENING.
As oft he rises 'midst the twilight path,
Now teach me, maid composed,
To breathe some soften'd strain,
Whose numbers, stealing through thy darkening
As, musing slow, I hail
to soothe For when thy folding-star arising shows
His paly circlet, at his warning lamp ling spring
The fragrant Hours, and Elves Who slept in buds the day, i many a Nymph who wreathes her brows with
now the brides whose clout:
here the wealHits bron lack winds
And sheds the freshening dew, and, lovelier still,
The pensive Pleasures sweet,
Prepare thy shadowy car.
Eve, to soothe tour
Ver. 24. Who slept in flowers the day,
Cheers the lone heath, or some time-hallow'd pile,
ve where the means
Whose walls more awful nod
Or, if chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
That from the mountain's side,
And hamlets brown, and dim-discover'd spires;
Thy dewy fingers draw
While Spring shall pour his showers, as oft he
wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!
While Summer loves to sport
While sallow Autumn fills thy lap with leaves; 46
Affrights thy shrinking train,
Ver. 31. Or upland fallows grey,
Reflect its last cool gleam. 33. But when chill blustering winds, or driving rain,
Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,