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Retires.in desert-scenes to dwell,
And bids the joyless world farewel.
Alone he treads th' autumnal shade,
Alone beneath the mountain laid,
He sees the nightly damps arise,
And gathering storms involve the skies;
He hears the neighb'ring furges roll,
And raging thunders. Make the pole;
Then, struck by every object round,
And stunn’d by every horrid sound,
He pants to traverse nature's

ways:
His evils haunt him thro' the maze:
He views ten thoufand demons rise,
To wield the empire of the skies,
And Chance and Fate assume the rod,
And Malice blots the throne of God.
- thou, whose pleasing power I fing!
Thy lenient influence hither bring;
Compose the storm, dispel the gloom,
Till Nature wear her wonted bloom,
Till fields and shades their sweets exhale,
And mufic swell each opening gale:
Then o'er his breast thy softness pour,
And let him learn the timely hour.
To trace the world's benignant laws,
And judge of that presiding cause.
Who founds in discord beauty's reign,
Converts to pleasure every pain,
Subdues the hostile forms to reft,
And bids the universe be blest.

O thou, whose pleasing power I ling! If right I touch the votive string,

If equal praise I yield thy name,
Still govern thou thy poet's flame;
Still with the Muse

my

bofom share,
And footh to peace corroding care.
But most exert thy genial power
On friendship’s consecrated hour:
And while my Agis leads the road
To fearless wisdom's high abode ;
Or, warm in freedom's facred cause,
Pursues the light of Grecian laws;
Attend, and grace our gen'rous toils
With all thy garlands, all thy smiles.
But if, by fortune's stubborn sway
From him and friendlhip torn away,
I court the Muse's healing spell
For griefs that fill with absence dwell,
Do thou conduct my fancy's dreams
To fuch indulgent, tender themes
As just the struggling breast may cheer,
And juft fufpend the starting tear ;
Yet leave that charming sense of woe,
Which none but friends and layers know.

Dr. AKENSIDE.

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Q

UEEN of my songs, harmonious maid,

Why, why haft thou withdrawn thy aid?
Why thus förlook my widow'd breast,
With dark unfeeling damps opprest?

Where

Where is the bold prophetic beat,
With which my bosom wont to beat ?
Where all the bright mysterious dreams,

Of haunted shades and tuneful streams,
That woo'd my genius to divineit themes?

Say, can the purple charms of wine,
Or young Dione's form divine,
Or flattering scenes of promis'd fame
Relume thy faint, thy dying flame?
Have soft, melodious airs the power
To give one free, poetic hour?
Or, from amidst th' Elyfian train,

The foul of Milton shall I gain,
To win thee back with fome celestial strain?

O mighty mind! O facred flame!
My spirit kindles at his name ;
Again my lab'ring bosom burns;
The Mufe, th' inspiring Mufe returns!
Such on the banks of Tyne confeft,
I hail the bright, ethereal guest,
When first the feaľ'd me for her own,

Made all her blissful treasures known,
And bade me swear to follow Her alone.

Dr. AKENSIDE.

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NO,

O, foolish boy--To virtuous fàme

If now thy early hopes be vow'd,
If true ambition's nobler flame
Command thy footsteps from the crowd,
Lean not to Love's enchanting fnare ;

His dances, his delights beware,
Nor mingle in the band of young and fair.

By thought, by dangers, and by toils,
The wreath of just renown is worn ;.
Nor will ambition's awful spoils
The flow'ry pomp of ease adorn:
But Love diffolves the nerve of thought;

By Love unmanly fears are taught:
And Love's reward with nothful arts is. bought

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True, where the Muses, where the powere
Of softer wisdom, easier wit,
Affift the Graces and the Hours
To render beauty's praise complete,
The fair may then perhaps impart

Each finer sense, each winning art,
And more than schools adorn the manly hearte.

If then, from Love's deceit secure,
Such bliss be all thy heart intends,,
Go, where the white-wing'd evening-hour
On Delia's vernal walk descends;.

Goz

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Go, while the pleasing, peaceful scene

Becomes her voice, becomes her mien,
Sweet as ber smiles, and as her brow serene..

Attend, while that harmonious tongue
Each bosom, each desire commands;
Apollo's lute by Hermes strung,
And touch'd by chaste Minerva's hands, ,
Attend. I feel a force divine,

Delia, win my thoughts to thine,
That half thy graces feem already mine.

Yet conscious of the dangerous charm;
Soon would I turn my steps away:
Nor oft provoke the lovely harm,
Nor once relax my reason's sway.
But thou, my friend-What sudden fighs?

What means the blush that comes and Aies?
Why stop? 'why filent? why avert thy eyes?

So foon again to meet the fair?:
So pensive all this absent hour?
-Oyet, unlucky youth, beware,
While yet to think is in thy power.
In vain with friendship's flattering name

Thy passion masks its inward shame:
Friendship, the treacherous fuel of thy flame!

Once, I remember, tir'd of Love,
I' spurn'd his hard, tyrannic chain,
Yet won the haughty fair to prove."
What fober joys in friendship reign.

No

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