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TO EVENING. Hail, meek-ey'd maiden, clad in sober grey, Whose soft approach the weary wood-man loves; As homeward bent to kiss his prattling babes, Jocund he whistles through the twilight groves. When Phæbus sinks behind the gilded hills, You lightly o'er the misty meadows walk; The drooping daisies bathe in honey dews, And nurse the nodding violet's slender stalk. The panting dryads, that in day's fierce heat To inmost bowers, and cooling caverns ran; Return to trip in wanton evening-dance; Old Silvan too returns, and laughing Pan. To the deep wood the clamorous rooks repair, Light skims the swallow o'er the watery scene; And from the sheep-cote, and fresh-furrow'd field, Stout ploughmen meet, to wrestle on the Green. The swain, that artless sin yonder rock, His supping sheep, and lengthening shadow spies; Pleas’d with the cool, the calm, refreshful hour, And with hoarse humming of unnumber'd flies. Now every passion sleeps: desponding Love, And pining Envy, ever-restless Pride ; A holy calm creeps o'er my peaceful soul, Anger, and mad Ambition's storms subside. O modest Evening ! oft let me appear A wandering votary in thy pensive train ; Listening to every wildly-warbling throat Tbat fills with farewell sweet thy darkening plain. TO LIBERTY. O GODDESS, on whose steps attend Pleasure and laughter-loving Health, White-inantled Peace, with olive-wand, Young Joy, and diamond-sceptred Wealth ; Blithe Plenty, with her loaded horn, With Science, bright-ey'd as the morn, In Britain, which for ages past Has been thy choicest darling care; Who mad'st her wise, and strong, and fair, May thy best blessings ever last! For thee the pining prisoner mourns, Depriv'd of food, of mirth, of light; For thee, pale slaves to galleys chain'd, That ply tough oars from morn to night; Thee, the proud sultan's beauteous train, By eunuchs guarded, weep in vain, Tearing the roses from their locks; And Guinea's captive kings lament, By christian lords to labour sent, Whip'd like the dull, unfeeling ox. Inspird by thee, deaf to fond nature's cries, Stern Brutus, when Rome's genius loudly callid, Gave her the matchless filial sacrifice, Unable to behold her power enthralld! And he of later age, but equal fame, Dar'd stab the tyrant though he lov'd the friend; How burnt the Spartan' with warm patriot flame, In thy great cause his valorous life to end ! How burst Gustavus from the Swedish mine! Like light from chaos dark, eternally to shine.
When Heaven to all thy joys bestows,
Where tranıpling Tyranny with Fate;
Britannia watch!-remember peerless Rome,
down, (Fame, virtue, courage, property, forgot) Thy peaceful villages, and busy towns, Be doom'd some death-dispensing tyrant's lot; On deep foundations may thy freedom stand, Long as the surge shall lash thy sea-encircled land. TO HEALTH.
WRITTEN ON A RECOVERY FROM THE SMALL-POX.
O WHETHER with laborious clowns,
Or in the temperate Brachman's cell;
In Bath or in Montpellier's plains,
Ne'er saw the purple Autumm smile,
O lovely queen of mirth and ease,
And kings on ivory couches pine;
To aid a languid wretch repair,
And meagre Melancholy die;
O come, restore my aching sight,
O'erpower'd by Beauty's piercing rays;
How nearly had my spirit passid,
And the black river's mournful strand;
Where Maro and Musæus sit
While, monarch of the tuneful throng,