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Fields, that cool Ilissus laves,

Or where Mæander's amber waves
In lingering labyrinths creep,
How do your tuneful Echoes languish
Mute, but to the voice of anguish?
Where each old poetic mountain
Inspiration breathed around:
Every shade and hallow'd fountain

Murmur'd deep a solemn sound:
Till the sad Nine, in Greece's evil hour,
Left their Parnassus, for the Latian

Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrantpower,

And coward Vice, that revels in her chains.

When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, oh Albion! next thy seaencircled coast.


Far from the Sun and summer-gale, In thy green lap was Nature's darling laid,

What time, where lucid Avon stray'd,

To him the mighty mother did unveil Her awful face: the dauntless child Stretch'd forth his little arms, and smiled.

"This pencil take," she said, "whose colours clear

Richly paint the vernal year: Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!

This can unlock the gates of Joy;

Of Horror that, and thrilling fears, Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic


Nor second he, that rode sublime

Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of th' abyss to spy. He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time:

The living throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where angels tremble, while they gaze, He saw; but, blasted with excess of light,

Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold, where Dryden's less presump

tuous car,

Wide o'er the field of Glory bear

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No sense have they of ills to come,
No care beyond to-day:

Yet see how all around them wait
The ministers of human fate,

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,
The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that skulks behind :
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealousy with rankling tooth,
That inly gnaws the secret heart,
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim visaged comfortless Despair,
And Sorrow's piercing dart.

Ambition this shall tempt to rise,
Then whirl the wretch from high,
To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,
And grinning Infamy.

The stings of Falsehood those shall try,
And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,

That mocks the tear it forced to flow; And keen Remorse with blood defiled, And moody Madness laughing wild Amid severest woe.

Lo, in the vale of years beneath

A grisly troop are seen,
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their queen;

This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every lab'ring sinew strains,
Those in the deeper vitals rage:
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
That numbs the soul with icy hand,
And slow consuming Age.

To each his suff'rings: all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan;
The tender for another's pain,
Th'unfeeling for his own.

Yet ah! why should they know then fate

Since Sorrow never comes too late,
And Happiness too swiftly flies;
Thought would destroy their Paradise.
No more; where ignorance is bliss,
'Tis folly to be wise.

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