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When young-ey'd Spring profusely throws
From her green lap the pink and rose;
When the soft turtle of the dale
To Summer, tells her tender tale ;
When Autumn cooling caverns seeks,
And stains with wine his jolly cheeks;
When Winter, like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his filver beard with cold,
At ev'ry season let my ear
Thy folemn whispers, Fancy, heari

O, warm enthusiastic maid !
Without thy pow'rful, vital aid,
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a soul to ev'ry line ;
Ne'er may I strive with lips profane
To utter an unhallowed strain,
Nor dare to touch the sacred ftring,
Save when with smiles thou bid'at me sing.

O hear our pray'r, 0 hither come
From thy lamented Shakspeare's tomb,
On which thou lov'st to fit at eve,
Mufing o'er thy darling grave;
O Queen 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 our lift'ning passions reign,
O’erwhelm our souls with joy and pain ;
With terror thake, with pity move, :
Rouze with revenge, or-melt with love. -

O deign

O deign t'attend this evening walk,
With him in groves and grottoes talk :
Teach him to scorn with frigid art
Feebly to touch th' enraptur'd heart;
Like light’ning let his mighty verse
The bosom's inmoft foldings pierce:
With native beauties win applause,
Beyond cold critic's studied laws :
O let.each Mure's fame increase,
O bid Britannia rival Greece !

WARTON,

CHAP. XVI.

L' ALLEGRO
Hence! loathed Melancholy,
Of Cerberus, and blackest Midnight bom,
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-easing Mirih,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two fifter Graces more
To ivy crown'd Bacchus bore ;

04

Or whether (as fome sages sing)
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 fresh-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
Jeft 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 fleek;
Sport that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter holding both his fides,
Come, and trip it as you go
On the light fantastic toe,
And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain Nymph, 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 singing startle the dull night
From his watch-tower in the skies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise ;
Then to come in spite of sorrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the sweet-brier, 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 dames 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 Arill :
Some time walking not unseen
By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,
Where the great fun 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 fingeth 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,
Whilst the landscape round it measures,
Ruffet lawns, and fallows gray,
Where the nibbing flocks do stray,
Mountains on whose barren breast
The labouring clouds do often rest,
Meadows trim with daisies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide,
Towers and battlements it fees
Bosom’d high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps some beauty lies,
The Cynosure of neighbouring eyes.
05.

Hard

Hard 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 Phillis dresses ; :
And then in haste her bower the leaves, .
With Theftylis to bind the sheaves ; :
Or if the earlier season lead
To the tann'd 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 come forth to play
On a sunshine holiday,
Till the live-long day light fail';..
Then to the spicy nut-brown ale,
With stories told of many a feat,
How fairy Mab the jankets eat; :
She was pinch’d, and pull’d, she said,
And he by a friar's lanthorn led.
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat
To earn his cream-bowl duly fet,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,..
His shadowy fail hath thresh'd the corn
That ten day-lab'rers could not end;
Then lies him down, the lubbar fiend, .
And stretch'd out all the chimney's length,
Back at the fire his hairy strength,

And

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