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With suppliant willing hand to thee
The pencil Picture shall decree ;
With one consent the Muse's choir
To thee shall dedicate the lyre.

Come, Goddess, feast my longing sight,
Let me direct thy pleasing flight:
Whate’er voluptuous slaves could boast
On fair Phaeacia's sunny coast,
Whate'er the poet's fancy taught,
Or imag'd to his wanton thought :
For thee a happier fate remains ;
You still shall view more blissful plains,
Where the soft guardian of thy charms
Expects thee to his longing arms:
He shall with fixt attention gaze,
Shall crown tliee with immortal bays,
With lenient hand thy cares assuage,
Protect thee from Time's lawless rage,
The taunt of Scorn, the dark revile,
The languid, faint-approving smile,
The noise of Mirth, the plaintive sigh,
And simpering Folly's heedless eye.

Wouldst thou with Innocence reside,
Behold the temple's modest pride;
Or in the darksome cavern'd cell
With solitary hermits dwell :
Wouldst thou with faint desponding air

To melancholy vaults repair, With aching, sicken'd, cold review, Bid every sorrow stream anew; Here may’st thou weep thy favourite Rome, Sad-sighing o'er each martyr's tomb: Meek Pity, Attic maid, shall join Her tender social tears with thine, O’er every urn fresh laurels strow, And fondly emulate thy woe. Or wouldst thou newer worlds survey, Where darkness holds her barren sway; Where ne'er the Muse's chaplet blew; Where Learning's laurel never grew ; Where Nature to our wond'ring eyes Each salutary herb supplies; Where Aowers their fragrant sweets diffuse; Where trees distil their kindly dews; And, blest with ev'ry power to heal, Soft slumbers o'er the senses steal. In such enchanting, artless scenes, 'Mid bowery mazes, spreading greens, Sooth’d by the breezy western gale, In scented grove, or rocky dale, Or wand'ring from the russet cot, To seek the deep-embosom'd grot, Beneath the orange shade inclos'd, Or in the myrtle bower repos’d, Or where the faunting flowers have wove With mingled sweets the high alcove,

Each Indian wooes his favourite mate;
What Nature dictates they relate:
No youths by love's cold arts are wong
Nor maids by easy faith undone ;
With eye uprais'd the simple swain
Dreads not the tortures of disdain,
But, kneeling at his fair one's feet,
Breathes vows unconscious of deceit :
Each pleasing sound she sighs to hear
Repeated on her longing ear;
Amaz'd, nor anxious to control
The mutual wishes of her soul,
Attests each unknown power above,
As witness of her spotless love;
Yet, rack'd by fond distrustful fears,
Pours out her aching heart in tears,
And tells to her admiring youth
Sweet tales of innocence and truth.

Fancy such raptures shall suggest,
Lov'd inmate of thy ravish'd breast;
Shall point where wanton zephyrs stray,
And o'er th' unruffled ocean play ;
Or snatch thee to some wave-worn shore,
Where fierce Atlantic surges roar :
Where Plata with resistless force
Thro’ deserts rolls his rapid course,
Or where Maranan proudly laves
Waste regions with his circling waves:

Where boundless Oroonoko fills
His channels from a thousand hills,
And with regardless rage destroys;
While twenty mouths, with hideous noise,
From some immense Peruvian steep
Spout his vex'd billows to the deep.
Thus while you view the tyrant food,
Wild dread shall chill thy loitering blood ;
And frighted Fancy, self-amaz'd,
Start at the phantom she had rais’d.

Should Nature's simple beauties fail,
And Art's gay structures more prevail,
Here too the polish'd dome is plac’d,
With each Vitruvian beauty grac'd:
Or wouldst thou at the early dawn
Transport thee to the dew-clad lawn:
Or from the mid-day fervor rove
Beneath the silent plantane grove :
Or with the fairy elves be seen
In dances on the level green:
Should baleful War, 'mid loud alarms,
'Mid vanquish'd foes, and conquering arms,
'Mid hosts o'erthrown, and myriads slain,
On Britain fix his iron reign:
Should Jove's fair daughter, oliv'd Peace,
Bid the wild battle's tumult cease;
In polish'd ease you still shall share
Thy kind protector's fostering care ;

His faithful love shall still appear,
His friendly aid shall still be near,
His constant, his unweary'd power
Shall lull thee in the balmy bower;
Shall watch thee o'er the dewy glade,
And guard thee from the midnight shade.

Thou too shalt all his toils repay,
Slow-lingering here with fond delay;
Here shalt thou choose thy favourite seat,
Here fix thy last, thy blest retreat:
Each old Athenian bloom regain,
And here in attic splendor reign.

Vol. XIII.

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