Frisking light in frolic measures; Now in circling troops they meet: Glance their many-twinkling feet. Slow-melting strains their Queen's approach declare : 35 In gliding state she wins her easy way: O'er her warm cheek and rising bosom move 40 The bloom of young Desire and purple light of Love. Man's feeble race what ills await, Labour and penury, the racks of pain, Disease, and sorrow's weeping train, And death, sad refuge from the storms of fate! 45 The fond complaint, my song, disprove, And justify the laws of Jove. Say, has he given in vain the heavenly Muse? Her spectres wan, and birds of boding cry, 50 He gives to range the dreary sky; Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of war. In climes beyond the solar road, Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, 55 The Muse has broke the twilight gloom, To cheer the shivering native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the odorous shade Of Chili's boundless forests laid, She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat, 60 In loose numbers wildly sweet, Their feather-cinctured chiefs, and dusky loves. Glory pursue, and generous Shame, The unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. 65 Woods that wave o'er Delphi's steep, How do your tuneful echoes languish, Murmured deep a solemn sound : Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains. Alike they scorn the pomp of tyrant Power, 70 75 And coward Vice, that revels in her chains. 80 When Latium had her lofty spirit lost, They sought, O Albion, next thy sea-encircled coast. 'This pencil take (she said), whose colours clear Richly paint the vernal year: 90 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 tears.' Nor second he, that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, He passed the flaming bounds of place and time : The living Throne, the sapphire-blaze, Where angels tremble while they gaze, 95 100. He saw; but, blasted with excess of light, Closed his eyes in endless night. Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car, Wide o'er the fields of glory bear Two coursers of ethereal race, 105 With necks in thunder clothed, and long resounding pace. Hark, his hands the lyre explore! Bright-eyed Fancy, hovering o'er, Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. O lyre divine, what daring spirit Wakes thee now? Though he inherit With orient hues, unborrowed of the sun : Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate, Beneath the good how far !-but far above the great. 120 CLXIII SONNET. Thomas Gray. When I behold thee, blameless Williamson, My busy fancy calls thy thread misspun; Till Faith instructs me the deceit to shun, 5 While thus she speaks,-"Those wings that from the store Of virtue were not lent, howe'er they bore In this gross air, will melt when near the sun. The truly' ambitious wait for nature's time, CLXIV 10 Benjamin Stilling fleet. TO MARY UNWIN. Mary! I want a lyre with other strings, Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they drew, And undebased by praise of meaner things, CLXV TO THE SAME. The twentieth year is well nigh past, Since first our sky was overcast ; Ah! would that this might be the last, Thy spirits have a fainter flow, 5 IO 5 I see thee daily weaker grow— 'Twas my distress that brought thee low, My Mary! Thy needles, once a shining store, For though thou gladly wouldst fulfil The same kind office for me still, My Mary! But well thou play'dst the housewife's part, ΙΟ 15 Have wound themselves about this heart, 20 Thy indistinct expressions seem Like language uttered in a dream ; Yet me they charm, whate'er the theme, Thy silver locks, once auburn bright, Than golden beams of orient light, For could I view nor them nor thee, Partakers of thy sad decline, 235 30 Thy hands their little force resign ; 35 Such feebleness of limbs thou prov'st, 40 |