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Now like thy sire thou lov'st to seem,
Light and gay with pinions trim,
Dipt in all the dyes that glow
In the bend of Iris's bow:

Now like thy mother drear and sad,
(All in mournful vestments clad,
Cypress weeds and sable stole,)
Thou rushest on th' affrighted soul.
Oft I feel thee coming on,

When the night hath reach'd her noon,
And darkness, partner of her reign,
Round the world hath bound her chain,
Then with measur'd step and slow,
In the church-yard path I go,
And while my outward senses sleep,
Lost in contemplation deep,
Sudden I stop, and turn my ear,

And list'ning hear, or think I hear.
First a dead and sullen sound

Walks along the holy ground;

Then through the gloom alternate break

Groans, and the shrill screech-owl's shriek.

Lo! the moon hath hid her head,

And the graves give up their dead :

By me pass the ghastly crowds,
Wrapt in visionary shrouds ;

Maids, who died with love forlorn,
Youths, who fell by maiden's scorn,
Helpless sires, and matrons old
Slain for sordid thirst of gold,

And babes, who owe their shorten'd date

To cruel step-dames ruthless hate :

Each their sev'ral errands go,

To haunt the wretch that wrought their woe: From their sight the caitiff flies,

And his heart within him dies;

While a horror damp and chill

Through his frozen blood doth thrill,

And his hair for very dread

Bears itself upon his head.

When the early breath of day

Hath made the shadows flee away;

Still possess'd by thee I rove
Bosom'd in the shelt'ring grove,
There, with heart and lyre new strung,

Meditate the lofty song.

And if thou my voice inspire,
And with wonted frenzy fire,
Aided by thee I build the rhyme,

Such, as nor the flight of time,
Nor wasting flame, nor eating show'r,
Nor lightning's blast can e'er devour.
Or if chance some moral page
My attentive thoughts engage,
On I walk, with silent tread,
Under the thick-woven shade,
While the thrush, unheeded by,
Tunes her artless minstrelsy.
List'ning to their sacred lore,
I think on ages long past o'er,

When Truth and Virtue hand in hand
Walk'd upon the smiling land.
Thence my eyes on Britain glance,
And, awaken'd from my trance,

While

my busy thoughts I rear,
Oft I wipe the falling tear.
When the night again descends
And her shadowy cone extends,
O'er the fields I walk alone,
By the silence of the moon.
Hark! upon my left I hear
Wild music wand'ring in the air;

Led by the sound I onward creep,
And through the neighb'ring hedge I peep;
There I spy the Fairy band

Dancing on the level land,

Now with step alternate bound,
Join'd in one continu'd round,
Now their plighted hands unbind,
And such tangled mazes wind

As the quick eye can scarce pursue,
And would have puzzled that fam'd clue,
Which led th' Athenian's unskill'd feet
Through the labyrinth of Crete,
At the near approach of day,
Sudden the music dies away,
Wasting in the sea of air,
And the phantoms disappear.
All (as the glow-worm waxes dim)
Vanish like a morning dream,

And of their revels leave no trace,
Save the ring upon the grass.
When the elfin show is fled,
Home I haste me to my bed;
There, if thou with magic wand
On my temples tak'st thy stand,
I see in mix'd disorder rise
All that struck my waking eyes.
So when I pause and round me gaze,
Where the fam'd Lodona strays;
On the woods and thickets brown,
Which its sedgy margin crown,

And watch the vagrant clouds that fly
Through the vast desart of the sky;
When adown I cast my look

On the smooth unruffled brook,
(While its current clear doth run,
And holds its mirror to the sun,)
There I see th' inverted scene
Fall, and meet the eye again.

ODE XII.

то

FANCY.

BY THE REV. MR. HUDSON.

WHERE art thou, Fancy, visionary maid?
Whose lenient artifice and easy aid
Can quell the fierce disorders of the breast,
And sooth the pensive soul to rest?
Whether along the daisy bank reclin'd,
With foliage veil'd, you court the fanning wind,
Or by the brook's loquacious channel stray,
Where the deep dimpled eddies play;
Haste thee, from the blended glow

Of beauties in yon lucid bow,

With fine spun light and golden beams,
Softly weave thy waking dreams:
Bid the rang'd ideas fly,

Opening to the ravish'd eye

A glimpse of bliss, where gay Desire is found

Sporting with Youth while music wakes around.

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