Why words fo flowing, thoughts fo free, Stop, or turn nonsense, at one glance of thee? Thee, dreft in Fancy's airy beam, Abfent I follow thro' th' extended Dream; Now, now I feize, I clafp thy charms, And now you burst (ah cruel!) from my arms; And swiftly shoot along the Mall, Or foftly glide by the Canal, Now shown by Cynthia's filver ray, And now, on rolling waters fnatch'd away. LIBER O DE IX. IV L N E forte credas interitura, quae Longe fonantem natus ad Aufidum Non ante vulgatas per artes Verba loquor focianda chordis; Stefichorique graves Camenae : Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona Part of the NINTH ODE Of the FOURTH BOOK. L A FRAGMEN T. EST you should think that verse shall die, Which founds the Silver Thames along, Taught on the wings of Truth to fly Above the reach of vulgar fong; Tho' daring Milton fits fublime, Sages and Chiefs long fince had birth Ere Cæfar was, or Newton nam'd; Those rais'd new Empires o'er the Earth, And Thefe, new Heav'ns and Syftems fram'd. Vain was the Chief's, the Sage's pride! In vain they schem'd, in vain they bled! |