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By her th' unfetter'd Ifter's states are free,
And taste the sweets of English liberty.
But who can tell the joys of those that lie
Beneath the constant influence of her eye !
Whilft in diffufive show'rs her bounties fall,
Like Heav'n's indulgence, and descend on all;
Secure the happy, succour the distress'd,
Make ev'ry subject glad, and a whole people bless'd.

Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse,
In the smooth records of a faithful verse ;
That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,
May tell pofterity the wondrous tale.
When actions, unadorn'd, are faint and weak,
Cities and countries must be taught to speak;
Gods
may

descend in factions from the skies,
And rivers from their oozy beds arise ;
Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays,
And round the hero cast a borrow'd blaze :
Marlbro's exploits appear divinely bright,
And proudly shine in their own native light;
Rais'd of themselves, their genuine charms they boaft,
And thole who paint 'em trueft-praise 'em moft.

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HEN Musick, heavenly maid, was young;

;
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thsong'd around her magick cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Posless'd beyond the Muse's painting :
By turns they felt the glowing mind
DMurb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.

Till once, 'tis faid, when all were fir’d,
Fill'd with fury, rapt, inspir'd,
From the supporting myrtles round,
They snatch'd her instruments of sound:
And as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness rul'd the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power. .
Firft, Fear, his hand, it's skill to try,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoild, he knew not why,

E'en at the found himself had made.

Next, Anger rush'd; his eyes on fire,

In lightnings own'd his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woeful measures, wan Despair,

Low sullen sounds his grief beguild: A folemn, ftrange, and mingled air ;

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,

What was thy delighted measure?

Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,
And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail !

Still would her touch the strain prolong,

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still thro' all the song;

And where her sweetest theme the chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope, enchanted, smild, and wavid her golden hais.
And longer had the fung-but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rose :
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down ;

And,

And, with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetick sounds so full of woe.

And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat:
And tho' sometimes, each dreary pause between;

Dejected Pity, at his fide,

Her foul-fubduing voice applied ;

Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of-fight seem'd bursting from his head,

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;

Sad proof of thy distressful state!
Of differing themes the veering song was míx'd:
And now it courted Love--now, raving, callid on Hater

With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'ds
Pale Melancholy, sat retir'd;
And from her wild sequefter'd seat,

In notes, by, distance made more sweet,
Pour'd thro' the mellow horn her pensive soul &

And dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd-the found;
Thro'glades and glooms the mingled measure' stole,
Or o'er fome haunted-streams with fond delay,

Round an holy calm diffufing,

Love of peace and lonely mufing,
In hollow murmurs died away.

But O, how alter'd was it's fprightlier tone!
When Chearfülness, a' nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her busins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung!

The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known.

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The oak-crown'd Sisters, and their chaste-ey'd Queen,

Satyrs and Sylvan boys were seen,
Peeping from forth their alleys green ;

Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear,
And Sport leap'd up, and seiz’d his beechen [pear.

Last came Joy's extatick trial:

He with viny crown advancing,
First to the lively pipe his hand address'd;
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,
Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best..

They would have thought, who heard the strain,
They saw in Tempe's vale her native maids,

Amidst the feftal founding fades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing.

While, as his Aying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love, fram'd with Mirth, a gay fantastick round,
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound;

And he, amidst his frolick play,
As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Mufick, sphere-descended maid,
Friend of pleasure, wisdom's aid,
Why, Goddess, why to us denied ?
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ?
As in that lov'd Athenian bower,
You learn'd an all-commanding power,
Thy mimick foul, O nymph endear'd,
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native, fimple heart,
Devote to virtue, fancy, art ?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energick, chafte, sublime !
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording fifter's page

E

*Tis

By her th' unfetter'd Ifter's states are free,
And taste the sweets of English liberty.
But who can tell the joys of those that lie
Beneath the constant influence of her eye!
Whilst in diffusive show'rs her bounties fall,
Like Heav'n's indulgence, and descend on all ;
Secure the happy, succour the distress's,
Make ev'ry subject glad, and a whole people bless'd.

Thus would I fain Britannia’s wars rehearse,
In the smooth records of a faithful verse ;
That, if such numbers can o'er time prevail,
May tell pofterity the wondrous tale.
When actions, unadorn'd, are faint and weak,
Cities and countries must be taught to speak;
Gods
may

descend in factions from the kies,
And rivers from their oozy beds arise ;
Fiction may deck the truth with fpurious rays,
And round the hero cast a borrow'd blaze :
Marlbro's exploits appear divinely bright,
And proudly shine in their own native light;
Rais'd of themselves, their genuine charms they boat,
And thole who paint 'em trueft-praise 'em moft.

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W

'HEN Musick, heavenly maid, was young;

While yet in early Greece she sung ;
The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thsong'd around her magick cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Posless'd beyond the Muse's painting :
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Diturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin'd.

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