ODE XXIV.

ΤΟ

INDEPENDENCY.

BY THE REV. W. MASON, M. A.

HERE, on my native shore reclin'd
While Silence rules the midnight hour,

I woo thee, GODDESS. On my musing mind
Descend, propitious Power!

And bid these ruffling gales of grief subside:
Bid my calm'd soul with all thy influence shine;

As yon chaste Orb along this ample tide

Draws the long lustre of her silver line;

While the hush'd breeze its last weak whisper blows, And lulls old HUMBER to his deep repose.

Come to thy Vot'ry's ardent prayer,
In all thy graceful plainness drest;
No knot confines thy waving hair,
No zone thy floating vest.

Unsullied Honor decks thine open brow,
And Candor brightens in thy modest eye :
Thy blush is warm Content's aetherial glow,
Thy smile is Peace; thy step is Liberty :

Thou scatter'st blessings round with lavish hand,
As Spring with careless fragrance fills the land.

As now o'er this lone beach I stray;
Thy fav'rite Swain oft stole along,
And artless wove his Doric lay,

Far from the busy throng.

Thou heard'st him, Goddess, strike the tender string,
And bad'st his soul with bolder passions move:
Strait these responsive shores forgot to ring
With Beauty's praise, or plaint of slighted Love;
To loftier flights his daring Genius rose,

And led the war 'gainst thine and Freedom's foes.

Pointed with Satire's keenest steel,
The shafts of Wit he darts around:
Ev'n mitred Dulness learns to feel,
And shrinks beneath the wound.

In awful poverty his honest Muse,
Walks forth vindictive through a venal land;
In vain Corruption sheds her golden dews,
In vain Oppression lifts her iron hand :

He scorns them both, and, arm'd with truth alone,
Bids Lust and Folly tremble on the throne.

Behold, like him, immortal Maid,

The Muses vestal fires I bring:
Here at thy feet the sparks I spread;

Propitious wave thy wing,

And fan them to that dazzling blaze of Song,

That glares tremendous on the Sons of Pride.
But, hark, methinks I hear her hallow'd tongue!
In distant trills it echoes o'er the tide ;

Now meets mine ear with warbles wildly free,
As swells the lark's meridian ecstacy.

"Fond Youth! to MARVELL's patriot fame, "Thy humble breast must ne'er aspire. "Yet nourish still the lambent flame; "Still strike thy blameless lyre; "Led by the moral Muse securely rove; "And all the vernal sweets thy vacant Youth "Can cull from busy Fancy's fairy grove,

"O hang their foliage round the fane of Truth:
"To arts like these devote thy tuneful toil.
"And meet its fair reward in D'ARCY's smile."

"'Tis he, my Son, alone shall cheer
"Thy sick'ning soul; at that sad hour,
"When o'er a much-lov'd Parent's bier
"Thy duteous Sorrows shower:

"At that sad hour, when all thy hopes decline;
"When pining Care leads on her pallid train,
"And sees thee, like the weak and widow'd Vine,
"Winding thy blasted tendrils o'er the plain.
"At that sad hour shall D'ARCY lend his aid,
"And raise with Friendship's arm thy drooping head.

"This fragment wreath, the Muses meed,
"That bloom'd those vocal shades among,

"Where never Flatt'ry dared to tread,

"Or Interest's servile throng;

"Receive, my favour'd Son, at my command,

"And keep, with sacred care, for D'ARCY's brow "Tell him, 'twas wove by my immortal hand, "I breath'd on every flower a purer glow; "Say, for thy sake, I send the gift divine

"To him who calls thee HIS, yet makes thee MINE."

ODE XXV.

KNOWLEDGE.

BY WILLIAM JULIUS MICKLE.

Ducit in errorem variarum ambage viarum. Ovid.

HIGH

on a hill's green bosom laid, At ease my careless Fancy stray'd,

And o'er the landskip ran;

Review'd what scenes the seasons show,

And weigh'd what share of joy and woe

Is doom'd to toiling Man.

The nibbling flocks around me bleat,
The oxen low beneath my feet
Along the clover'd dale;

The golden sheaves the reapers bind,
The ploughman whistles near behind,
And breaks the new-mown vale.

"Hail, Knowledge, gift of heaven! I cried, E'en all the gifts of heaven beside,

Compar❜d to thee, how low!