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By her th' unfetter'd Ifter's ftates are free,
And tafte the sweets of English liberty.

But who can tell the joys of those that lie
Beneath the conftant influence of her eye!
Whilft in diffufive fhow'rs her bounties fall,
Like Heav'n's indulgence, and defcend on all;
Secure the happy, fuccour 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 verfe;
That, if fuch 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 defcend in factions from the kies,
And rivers from their oozy beds arife;
Fiction may deck the truth with spurious rays,
And round the hero caft a borrow'd blaze :
Marlbrô's exploits appear divinely bright,

And proudly shine in their own native light;
Rais'd of themselves, their genuine charms they boast,
And thofe who paint 'em trueft-praise 'em moft.

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HEN Mufick, heavenly maid, was young;

W while yet in early Greece the fung

The Paffions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magick cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Poffefs'd beyond the Mufe's painting:
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Difturb'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 fnatch'd her inftruments of found:
And as they oft had heard apart
Sweet leffons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness rul'd the hour)
Would prove his own expreffive power.

Firft, Fear, his hand, it's skill to try,
Amid the chords bewilder'd laid;
And back recoil'd, he knew not why,
E'en at the found himself had made.

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

In lightnings own'd his secret stings:
In one rude clash he ftruck the lyre,
And swept with hurried hand the ftrings.

With woeful measures, wan Defpair,
Low fullen founds his grief beguil'd:
A folemn, ftrange, and mingled air;
'Twas fad by fits, by ftarts 'twas wild.

But thou, O Hope, with eyes fo 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 ftrain prolong,
And from the rocks, the woods, the vale,
She call'd on Echo ftill thro' all the fong;
And where her sweetest theme she chose,

A föft refponfive voice was heard at every close,
And Hope, enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden hair.

And longer had she sung-but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rofe:

He threw his blood-ftain'd fword 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 founds fo full of woe
And ever and anon he beat

The doubling drum with furious heat:
And tho' fometimes, 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, Jealoufy, to nought were fix'd;

Sad proof of thy diftrefsful ftate!"

Of differing themes the veering fong was mix'd:
And now it courted Love-now, raving, call'd on Hate

With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir’ds

Pale Melancholy fat retir'd ;
And from her wild fequefter'd feat,

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 mufings
In hollow murmurs died away?,

But O, how alter'd was it's fprightlier tone!
When Chearfulness, a nymph of healthieft hue,
Her bow across her shoulder flung,

Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew,
Blew an infpiring air, that dale and thicket rung!
The hunter's call to Faun and Dryad known.

The

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

Satyrs and Sylvan boys were feen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green;

Brown Exercife rejoic'd to hear,

And Sport leap'd up, and feiz'd his beechen fpear.

Laft came Joy's extatick trial:

He with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand address'd; But foon he saw the brisk awakening viol, Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best. They would have thought, who heard the strain, They faw in Tempe's vale her native maids, Amidft the feftal founding fhades,

To fome unwearied minstrel dancing.

While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,
Love, fram'd with Mirth, a gay fantastick round,
Loose were her treffes feen, her zone unbound;
And he, amidft his frolick play,

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

O Mufick, fphere-descended maid,
Friend of pleasure, wifdom's aid,
Why, Goddefs, why to us denied?
Lay'ft thou thy ancient lyre afide?
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?
Arife, as in that elder time,
Warm, energick, chafte, fublime!
Thy wonders, in that godlike age,
Fill thy recording fifter's page-

By her th' unfetter'd Ifter's ftates are free,
And tafte the fweets of English liberty.
But who can tell the joys of thofe that lie
Beneath the conftant influence of her eye!
Whilst in diffusive show'rs her bounties fall,
Like Heav'n's indulgence, and defcend on all;
Secure the happy, fuccour the distress'd,
Make ev'ry subject glad, and a whole people blefs'd.
Thus would I fain Britannia's wars rehearse,

In the smooth records of a faithful verfe;
That, if fuch 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 defcend in factions from the kies,
And rivers from their oozy beds arise ;
Fiction may deck the truth with fpurious rays,
And round the hero caft a borrow'd blaze:
Marlbrô's exploits appear divinely bright,
And proudly shine in their own native light;
Rais'd of themselves, their genuine charms they boaft,
And thofe who paint 'em trueft-praise 'em most.

W

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HEN Mufick, heavenly maid, was young;

While yet in early Greece fhe fung;

The Paffions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magick cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Poffefs'd beyond the Mufe's painting:
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Difturb'd, delighted, rais'd, refin’d.

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