O Nymph with loosely-flowing hair,
With bufkin'd leg, and bofom bare,
Thy waift with myrtle-girdle bound,
Thy brows with Indian feathers crown'd,
Waving in thy fnowy hand
And all-commanding magic wand,
Of pow'r to bid fresh gardens grow
"Mid cheerlefs Lapland's barren fnow,
Whofe rapid wings thy flight convey
Thro' air, and over earth and fea,
While the various landskip lies
Confpicuous to thy piercing eyes;
O lover of the defart, hail;
Say in what deep and pathless vale,
Or on what hoary mountain's fide,
'Midft falls of water you refide,
*Midst broken rocks, a ragged scene,
With green and graffy dales between,
'Midst foreft dark of aged oak,
Ne'er echoing with the woodman's stroke
Where never human heart appear'd,
Nor e'en one straw-roof'd cot was rear'd,
Where Nature seems to fit alone,
Majestic on a craggy throne ;
Tell me the path, fweet wand'rer, tell,
To thy unknown fequefter'd cell,
Where woodbines cluster round the door,
Where shells and mofs o'erlay the floor,
And on whofe top a hawthorn blows,
Amid whofe thickly woven boughs
Some nightingale ftill builds her nest,
Each evening warbling thee to reft:
Then lay me by the haunted ftream,
Rapt in fome wild, poetic dream,
In converfe while methinks I rove
With Spenfer thro' a fairy grove ;
Till fuddenly awak'd, I hear ›
Strange whisper'd mufic in my ear,
And my glad foul in blifs is drown'd,
By the fweetly-foothing found!
Me, Goddess, by the right hand lead,
Sometimes thro' the yellow mead,
Where Joy and white-rob'd Peace refort,
And Venus keeps her feftive court,
Where Mirth and Youth each evening meet,
Andli ghtly trip with nimble feet,
Nodding their lily-crowned heads;
Where Laughter rofe-lip'd Hebe leads ;
Where Echo walks steep hills among,
Lift'ning to the fhepherd's fong.
Yet not these flow'ry fields of joy
Can long my penfive mind employ :
Hafte, Fancy, from these scenes of folly
To meet the matron Melancholy,
Goddess of the tearful eye,
That loves to fold her arms and figh!
Let us with filent footsteps go
To charnels and the house of woe,
To Gothic churches, vaults and tombs,
Where each fad night fome Virgin comes,
With throbbing breast, and faded cheek,
Her promis'd bridegroom's urn to feek;
Or to fome Abbey's mould'ring tow'rs,
Where to avoid cold winter's fhow'rs,
The naked beggar fhiv'ring lies,
While whistling tempefts round her rife,
And trembles left the tottering wall
Should on her fleeping infants fall.
Now let us louder ftrike the lyre,
For my heart glows with martial fire,
I feel, I feel, with sudden heat,
My big tumultuous bosom beat;
The trumpet's clangors pierce mine ear,
A thousand widows' fhrieks I hear;
Give me another horfe, I cry,
Lo! the bafe Gallic fquadrons fly:
Whence is this rage?What fpirit, fay,
To battles hurries me away ?
'Tis Fancy, in her fiery car,
Transports me to the thickeft war,
There whirls me o'er the hills of flain,
Where Tumult and Destruction reign;
Where, mad with pain, the wounded steed
Tramples the dying and the dead:
Where giant Terror ftalks around,
With fullen joy furveys the ground,
And, pointing to the' enfanguin'd field,
Shakes his dreadful Gorgon-fhield !
O guide me from this horrid fcene
To high-arch'd walks and alleys green,
Which lovely Laura feeks, to fhun
The fervours of the mid-day fun;
The pangs of abfence, O remove,
For thou canst place me near my love,
Canst fold in vifionary bliss,
And let me think I fteal a kifs.
When young ey'd Spring profufely throws
From her green lap the pink and rofe;
When the foft turtle of the dale
To Summer tells her tender tale,
When Autumn cooling caverns feeks,
And ftains with wine his jolly-cheeks,
When Winter like poor pilgrim old,
Shakes his filver beard with cold,
At ev'ry season let my ear
Thy folemn whifpers, Fancy, hear.
O warm, enthusiastic maid,
Without thy pow'rful, vital aid,
That breathes an energy divine,
That gives a foul to ev'ry line;
Ne'er may I ftrive with lips profane
To utter an unhallowed strain,
Nor dare to touch the sacred string,
Save when with smiles thou bid'ft me fing
O hear our prayer, O hither come
From thy lamented Shakespear's tomb,
On which thou lov'ft to fit at eve,
Mufing o'er thy darling grave;
O Queen of numbers, once again.
Animate fome chofen fwain,
Who, fill'd with unexhaufted fire,
May boldly ftrike the founding lyre,
May rife above the rhyming throng,
And with fome new unequall'd fong
O'er all our lift'ning paffions reign,
O'erwhelm our fouls with joy and pain;
With terror shake, with pity move,
Rouze with revenge, or melt with love,
O deign t' attend his evening walk,
With him in groves and grottos talk :
Teach him to scorn with frigid art
Feebly to touch th' unraptur'd heart;
Like lightning let his mighty verse
The bofom's inmoft foldings pierce:
With native beauties win applaufe,
Beyond cold critic's studied laws:
O let each Mufe's fame increase,
O bid Britannia rival Greece !
Of Cerberus, and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn,
'Mongft horrid shapes, and shrieks, and fights unholy, Find out fome uncouth cell,
Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night raven fings;
There under ebon fhades, and low-brow'd rocks,
As ragged as thy locks,
In dark Cimmerian defart ever dwell.
But come thou Goddess fair and free,
In heav'n yclep'd Euphrofyne,
And by men, heart-eafing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth
With two fifter Graces more
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore;
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