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Th’ enchanted shores of Circe's isle,
Transform'd so fuully by her smile.

Lady, from all their painted pride, Come, let the Shepherd be thy guide: He'll lead thee to the fountain's brink, Where all the Sylvan Muses drink; Whose spotless and translucent lace Heaven reflects with Heaven's own grace, And pure at once, and yet refin'd, Presents a mirror to the mind. He'll lead thee (go with him along) Where Greene's sweet Muse attunes her song, And plays her not unusual part, Mixing simplicity with art. Thy Genius shall according move, And, self-approving, her approve.



Hail, queen of thought sublime! propitious

pow'r, Who o'er th’unbounded waste art joy'd to roam, Led by the moon, when, at the midnight hour, Her pale rays tremble through the dusky gloom.

O bear me, Goddess, to thy peaceful seat! Whether to Hecla's cloud-wrapt brow convey’d, Orlodg’d where mountains screen thy deep retreat, Or wand’ring wild through Chili's boundless


Say, rove thy steps o'er Libya's naked waste ?
Or seek some distant solitary shore?
Or, on the Andes' topmost mountain plac'd,
Dost sit, and hear the solemn thunder roar?

Fix'd on some hanging rock’s projected brow, Hear’st thou low murmurs from the distant dome? Or stray thy feet where pale, dejected Woe Pours her long wail from some lamented tomb?

Hark! yon deep echo strikes the trembling ear! See night's dun curtain wraps the darksome pole! O'er heaven’s blue arch yon rolling worlds appear, And rouse to solemn thought th’aspiring soul.

O lead my, steps beneath the moon's dim ray, Where Tadmor stands all desert and alone! While from her time-shook tow?rs the bird of prey Sounds through the night her long-resounding


Or bear me far to yon dark, dismal plain, Where fell-eyed tigers, all athirst for blood, Howl to the desert; while the horrid train Roams o'er the wild where once great Babel


That queen of nations! whose superior call Rous'd the broad East, and bid her arms destroy! When warm’d to mirth, let judgment mark her fall, And deep reflection dash the lip of joy.

Short is Ambition's gay, deceitful dream,
Though wreaths of blooming laurel bind her brow;
Calm thought dispels the visionary scheme,
And Time's cold breath dissolves the withering


Slow as some miner saps th' aspiring tow'r, When working secret with destructive aim, Unseen, unheard, thus moves the stealing hour, But works the fall of empire, pomp, and name.

Then let thy pencil mark the traits of man;
Full in the draught be keen-eyed Hope portray’d:
Let flutt’ring Cupids crowd the growing plan:
Then give one touch, and dash it deep with shade.

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Beneath the plume that flames with glancing rays - Be Care's deep engines on the soul impress'd;

Beneath the helmet's keen refulgent blaze
Let Grief sit pining in the canker'd breast.

Let Love's gay sons, a smiling train, appear, With beauty pierc'd—yet heedless of the dart; While, closely couch’d, pale, sick’ning Envy near Whets her fell sting, and points it at the heart.

Perch’d, like a raven, on some blasted yew,
Let Guilt revolve the thought-distracting sin;
Scar'd—while her eyes survey th’ ethereal blue,
Lest heaven's strong lightning burst the daik


Then paint, impending o'er the maddening deep, That rock, where heart-struck Sappho, vainly

brave, Stood firm of soul--then from the dizzy steep Impetuous sprung, and dash'd the boiling wave.

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