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Ever charming, ever new,
When will the landscape tire the view !
'T'he fountain's fall, the river's flow,
The woody vallies, warm and low;
· The windy summit, wild and high,
Roughly rushing on the sky;
The pleasant seat, the ruin'd tow'r,
The naked rock, the shady bow'r,
The town and village, dome and farm,
Each give each a double charm,
As pearls upon an Æthiop's arm.

See on the mountain's southern fide,
Where the prospect opens wide
Where the evening gilds the tide!
How close and small the hedges lie!
What ftreaks of meadows cross the eye ?
A fep methinks may pass the stream?
So little diftant dangers seem ;
So we mistake the future's face
Ey'd thro' Hope's deluding glass;
As
yon

fummits soft and fair,
Clad in colours of the air,
Which to those who journey near,
Barren, brown, and rough appear ;
Still we tread the same coarse way,
The present's still a cloudy day.

O may I with myself agree,
And never covet what I fee!
Content me with an humble shade,
My passions tam’d, my wishes laid ;
For while our wishes wildly roll,
We banish quiet from the soul :

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'Tis thus the busy beat the air ;
And misers gather wealth and care.

Now, ev'n now my joys run high
As on the mountain-turf I lie;
While the wanton Zephyr fings,
And in the vale perfumes his wings;.
While the waters murmur deep;
While the shepherd charms his sheep;
While the birds unbounded Ay
And with music fill the sky,
Now, ev'n now, my joys run high.

Be full, ye courts, be great who will,
Search for

peace
with all

your
Open wide the lofty door,
Seek her on the marble floor;
In vain you search, she is not there;
In vain ye search the domes of Care !
Grafs and flowers Quiet treads,
On the meads and mountain heads,
Along with Pleasure, close ally'd,
Ever by each other's side :
And often, by the murm'ring rill,
Hears the thrush, while all is ftill,
Within the groves of Grongar Hill.

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CHAP. VIII.

HYMN TO ADVERSITY.
AUGHTER of Jove, resentless power,

,
Thou tamer of the human breast,
Whose iron scourge and tott’ring hour
The bad affright, afflict the best!

Bound in thy adamantine chain,
The proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.

When first thy fire to send on earth
Virtue, his darling child, design'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birti,
And bade thee forın her infant mind,
Stern, rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year me bore :
What forrow was, thou bad'ft her know,
And from her own she learn'd to melt at other's woe.

Scar'd at thy frown terrific, fly
Self-pleasing Folly's idle brood,
Wild Laughter, Noise, and thoughtless Joy,
And leave us leisure to be good.
Light they disperse, and with them go
The summer friend, the fatt'ring foc;
By vain prosperity receiv'd,
To her they vow their truth, and are again believ'd.

Wisdom, in fable garb array'd,
Immers'd in rapt'rous thought profound,
And Melancholy, filent made,
With leaden eye, that loves the ground,
Still on thy folemn steps attend
Warm Charity, the gen’ral friend,
With Justice to herself severe,
And Pity, dropping, soft the sadly pleafing tear.

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Oh! gently on thy suppliant's head,
Dread goddess, lay thy chastning hand ?
Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,
Nor circled with the vengeful band !
(As by the impious thou art seen)
With thund'ring voice, and threat’ning mien,
With screaming Horror's funeral cry,
Despair, and fell Disease, and ghafly Poverty...

Thy form benign, oh! goddess, wear,
Thy milder influence impart,
Thy philofophic train be there
To soften, not to wound my heart.
The gen'rous fpark, extinct, revive,
Teach me to love and to forgive ;
Exact my own defects to scan,
What others are to feel, and koow myself a man.

GRAY

CHAP. IX.

ODE ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.

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E diftant spires ! ye antique towers !
That crown the wat’ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores
Her Henry's holy fade ;
And, ye that from the stately brow
OF WINDSOR's heights th' expanse below
Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flow'rs among
Wanders the hoary THAMES along
His filver-winding way.

Ah!

Ah! happy hills; ah! pleasing shade;
Ah ! fields belov'd in vain;
Where once my careless childhood stray’d,
A stranger yet to pain !
I feel the gales that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
My weary soul they seem to footh,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.

Say, father Thames! (for thou haft feen
Full many a sprightly race,
Disporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace)
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glafly wave?
The captive linnet which enthral?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,
Or urge the flying ball? ?

While some, on earnest business bent,
Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty :
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry : ,
Still, as they run, they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,
And snatch a fearful joy.

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Gay

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