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TO MY LYRE.
THOU simple Lyre!—Thy music wild
Has serv'd to charm the weary hour, And many a lonely night has 'guild, When even pain has own'd, and smild, Its fascinating power.
II. Yet, oh my Lyre! the busy crowd 9. Will little heed thy simple tones ; ;
Them, mightier minstrels harping loud
Engross, -and thou, and I, must shroud . 30: Where dark oblivion 'throues. 37) .
Well skilld, I throw with sweep sublime;
Thou know'st to charm the woodland train :
And still the billowy main.
v. These honours, Lyre, we yet may keep,
I, still unknown, may live with thee,
Than the full requiem's swelling peal;
Perhaps from me debarr'd;
Where Cam, or Isis, winds along,
I'd change to happier lays,.
Should swell the note of praise,
A Sketch in Verse.
Lo! in the west, fast fades the lingering light,
Now, when the rustic wears the social smile,
Now, now, my solitary way I bend Where solemn groves in awful state impend, And cliffs, that boldly rise above the plain, Bespeak, blest Clifton ! thy sublime domain. Here, lonely wandering o'er the sylvan bower, I come, to pass the meditative hour; To bid awhile, the strife of passion cease, And woo the calms of solitude, and peace. And oh! thou sacred power, wbo rear'st on high Thy leafy throne where waving poplars sigh! Genius of woodland shades! whose mild controul Steals with resistless witchery to the soul, Come with thy wonted ardour, and inspire My glowing bosom with thy hallowed fire. And thou too, fancy! from thy starry sphere, Where to the hymning orbs thou lend'st thine ear, Do thou descend, and bless my ravish'd sight, Veil'd in soft visions of serene delight. At thy command the gale that passes by Bears in its whispers mystic harmony. Thou wav'st thy wand, and lo! what forms appear ! On the dark cloud what giant shapes career! The ghosts of Ossian skim the misty vale, And hosts of Sylphids on the moon-beam sail.
This gloomy alcove, darkling to the sight,