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Whene'er I fink, whene'er I fall,

Attempt the heav'nly strain,

Again my fpirits to juft heights recall,

Touch ev'ry fprightly string and raise my foul again.
VI.

So may pure joys crown each returning day,
Soft be thy nights, and ev'ry dream be gay;

Roll smooth each hour, thy breaft no trouble prove,
But the kind, gentle cares of mutual love!

So long may thy inspiring page,
And bright example bless the rifing age;
Long in thy charming prison mayft thou stay,
Late, very late, afcend the well-known way,
And add new glories to the realms of day!
At least, Heav'n will not, fure, this pray'r deny;
Short be my life's uncertain date,

And earlier long than thine the deflin'd hour of fate!
Whene'er it comes, may'st thou be by,

Support my finking frame, and teach me how to die; Banish defponding nature's gloom,

Make me to hope a gentle doom,

And fix me all on joys to come;

With fwimming eyes I'll gaze upon thy charms,
And clafp thee, dying, in my fainting arms;
Then gently leaning on thy breast,

"Sink in foft flumbers to eternal reft;
Without a groan refign my breath,
Nor fhrink at the cold arms of death;
The ghaftly form shall have a pleasing air,

And all things fmile, while Heav'n and thou art there.

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Now of immortal crowns poffeft, Humbly adoring with th' inferior bleft,

I'll leave each mortal care below;

Only my love for thee fhall ne'er a period know.

Whenever storms are threat'ning, I'll be near,
Avert the danger, and prevent thy fear;
Oft' mingle with the bright descending throngs,,
And learn from thine to raise my fongs.
Then, when thou must at last risign to Fate,
On thy departing foul I'll wait,

With ftudious pleasure guide my fair
Thro' the first paths of blissful air;
Then, led by thee, pursue a loftier road,
To upper regions daring foar,
Vaft realms of blifs unknown before,
Heav'n's inmoft palaces explore,

And bear th' enjoyment of a smiling God.
New pow'rs, new graces fhall adorn my mind,
Almost like thine exalted and refin'd:

My flame shall with my ftrength improve;
While we a tuneful off 'ring bring,

(For taught by thee I too fhall fing)

And bless thro' endless years the Fountain of our love..

AN ODE ON LIBERTY...

1.

BRIGHTEST offspring of the fkies,

Great fource, from whence to hapless mortals flow

Pleasure fincere and noble joys,

And ev'ry real bleffing left below,

Immortal Liberty! to thee

The tribute of my voice I bring; Goddess, accept the disproportion'd praife, Accept the well-defigning lays,

Mean and humble tho' they be,

And wrong the mighty theme they fing: Others may better plead thy glorious caufe,

All mankind ('tis Fate's decree,

And fix'd as Fate itself can be)
Muft people the dark realms below.
Grandeur, courage, learning, wit,
To thy refiftlefs laws fubmit;

The king and beggar fhare an equal doom;
The mightiest conquerors must come,
To join the crowds they vanquish'd, in the tomb.
Vainly, tuneful bards, ye strive

To gain that immortality you give ;

In vain you seek to shield your deftin'd head,
In vain by meaner worth would fave

Your finking carcafe from the grave;

Dare ye to hope for life, when Pindar's felf is dead? IX.

Inexorable Queen, thy force proclaim,

In fullen majefty maintain

Thy dreaded, universal reign,

Nor own imperial Juno's greater name.
Only my verfe fhall with thy pow'r engage,
Dare all thy might, and brave thy feeble rage;
My verse, which, fpight of Fate, and thee,
Shall please to all eternity.

Let Gods averfe, and hoftile pow'rs

Level with earth Thebes' lofty tow'rs;

Still the more lafting notes I fung,
My country's ruin fhall furvive,

And rev'renc'd even by foes fhall live,
Charm ev'ry ear, and dwell on ev'ry tongue.
X.

But hark! what founds are these I hear?
What other mufic wounds my ear?
Heav'ns! 'tis Corinna fings! too well I know
The rival lyre, and lovely, conqu'ring foe.
Ah! 'tis too much, infulting maid!
To hope a fecond triumph o'er my fhade:

No longer thou in those bright charms canst trust,
Which forc'd ev'n rev'rend age to be unjust;
Thy pow'rful eyes no longer plead thy cause,
Prevent all cenfure, and secure applause.
See, while I fpeak, thy weakness all appear!
Only the vulgar dead, a nameless throng,
About thee croud, and liften to thy fong;
While all th' illuftrious shades my numbers hear.
Orpheus, who first infpir'd the vocal lyre,
Homer, the Grecian muse's fire,

And the gay § Teian bard attend my lays;
And by their filence beft proclaim my praise.

XI.

My charming mufic can affuage
The triple-headed monster's rage;
Gentle at my feet he lies,

No longer threatens with his eyes;
And all his ears are bufy on the notes
That stop the yelling of his idle throats.

Here Sifyphus, with endless toil oppreft,

Leans on the unmoving stone, and shares a paufe of rest;

Fix'd on my voice, there the dire † Sifters lie,

Their empty veffels ftand neglected by.

Ev'n the ftern Minos, for a while,

His rugged vifage soften'd to a smile,
Puts off the judge, and yields to give
The trembling criminals a short reprieve.
The Fates, that never pity knew,
Are foften'd into pity too;

And negligent to cut the tender thread,
Rob hell awhile of its appointed dead.

See! ev'n the Furies lift'ning ftand,
And on my fongs intent,

Forget the care of punishment;

And each avenging whip drops gently from their hand.

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XII.

Thus, Ruffel, in the fhades below,

The godlike Theban tun'd his lyre;

While the fad ghofts th' inchanting founds admire,
And unknown pleasures fill the realms of woe.
Alas! in vain I would thy judgment cheat,
Thou feeft thro' all the thin deceit ;

Thou seeft my trifling rage, and counterfeited fire.
O! were my foul, like thine, poffeft,
Of all the nobleft treasures of the East;
Could there in each well polish'd line
Appear a genius as refin'd as thine;

Were all my verse like thy just language strong,
And foft as when thy moving tongue
Charms ev'ry paffion of th' attentive throng;
My daring mufe fhould never fall

Beneath its vast original;

Like the Dircæan | fwan I'd nobly rise,

Spurn the dull earth, and foar above the fkies:

The diff'rence ev'n by thee fhould fcarce be known, And the great bard himself my equal numbers own.

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ETERNAL God, whofe awful pow'r
The trembling feraphs own;

When proftrate low before thy throne,

With cover'd faces they adore,

And fing thro' all the vaults above,

The wonders of thy grace, and glories of thy lovert How vaft the pleasures! how intenfe!

That from thy throne in living torrents roll;

Pindar.

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