The pangs of absence, O remove,
For thou canst place me near my love,
Canft fold in visionary bliss,
And let me think I lteal a kiss.

When young-eye'd spring profusely throws
From her green lap the pink and rose ;
When the soft turtle of the dale
To summer tells her tender tałe,
When autumn cooling caverns seeks,
And stains with wine his jolly cheeks,
When winter, like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his silver-beard with cold,
At ev'ry season let my ear
Thy folemn whispers, fancy, hear.

O warm, enthusiastic maid,
Without thy powerful, vital aid,
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a soul to ev'ry line ;
Ne'er may I Arive with lips profane
To utter an unhallow'd strain,
Nor dare to touch the sacred ftring,
Save when with smiles thou bidft me ling.

O hear our prayer, O hither come
From thy lamented Shakspeare's tomb,
On which thou lov'st to sit at eve,
Musing o'er thy darling's grave;

of numbers, once again
Animate some chosen swain,
Who, fill'd with unexhausted fire,
May boldly strike the founding lyre,
May rise above the rhyming throng,
And with some new unequall'd song
O'er all my lift'ning paflions reign,
O'er-whelm our souls with joy and pain;

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With terror shake, with pity move,
Rouse with revenge, or melt with love.
O deign t'attend his evening walk,
With him in groves and grottoes talk :.
Teach him to scorn with frigid art,
Feebly to touch th' unraptur'd heart;
Like lightning let his mighty verse
The bosom's inmost foldings pierce :
With native beauties win.applause,
Beyond cold critics' ftudied laws :
Olet each muse's fame increase,
O bid Britannia rival Greece !.




HENCE loathed melancholy,
Of Cerberus and blackest midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn,
'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and fights unholy,,
Find out some uncouth.cell,

Where brooding darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven fings;

There under ebon-shades, and low-brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell.
But come, thou goddess fair and free,
In heav'n yclep'd Euphrosyne,
And by men, heart-eafing mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth,
With two sister graces more,
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore ;
Or whether (as some sages fing)
The frolic wind that breathes the spring,,

Zephyr, with Aurora playing,'
As he met her once a-maying,
There on beds of violets blue,
And freth-blown roses wash'd in dew,
Fill’d her with thee a daughter fair
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.

Haste thee, nymph, and bring with thee,
Jest and youthful jollity,
Quips and cranks, and wanton wiles,
Nods, and becks, and wreathed smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple sleek ;
Sport that wrinkled care derides,
And laughter holding both his sides,
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nyınph, sweet liberty ;
And, if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,
To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And îngin; startle the dull night,
Fron his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ;
Then to come, in spite of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted eglantine :
While the cock with lively din
Scatters the rear of darkness thin,
And to the stack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly struts his danes before :

Oft lift’ning how the hounds and horn,
Cheerly rouse the flumb'ring morn,
From the side of some hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing fhrill:
Some time walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, or hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great sun begins his state,
Rob’d in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thousand liveries dight,
While the ploughman near at hand,
Whistles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milk-maid singeth blithe,
And the mower whets his scythe,
And every shepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilit the landscape round it measures,
Russet lawns, and fallows gray,,
Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast,
The labouring clouds do often reft, ,
Meadows trim with daisies pied;
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide,
Towers and battlements it sees,
Bosom’d high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes,
Haid by, a cottage chimney smokes, ,
From betwixt two aged oaks,
Where Corydon and Thyrfis met,
Are at their favoury dinner set
Of herbs, and other country messes,
Which the neat-handed Phyllis dresses;

And then in haste her bower the leaves, ,
With Theltylis to bind the theaves ; .
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann't hay-cock in the mead.,

Sometimes with secure delight.
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecks found
To many a youth, and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;
And young and old.comę forth to play:
On a supihine holiday,
Till the live long day light fail ;
The: to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat, ,
How fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinch’d, and pull’d, the said,
And he by friar's lanthorn-led,
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat ,
To earn his cream-bowl duly rete
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,.
His shadowy flail. had thrash'd the corn
That ten day-labourers could not end ; :
Then lies him down the Jubber fiend,
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Balks at the fire his hairy strength,
And cropful out of doors he flings,
Ere the first cock bis matin rings.
Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whispering winds foon luil'd alleer.

Tow'red cities please us then, And the busy hum of men, Where throngs of knights and barons bold In weeds of peace high triumphs hold, With stores of ladies, whose bright eyes Rain influence, and judge the prize

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