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Else vain the studied sounds of mimic art,
Thou bear'st aloof, and look'st with high dis-
Which erst full wantonly have stray'd
For when the oak denies her stay,
No more she twists her branches round,
Since only those the laurel claim,
And boast them of the poet's name, Whose sober rhymes in even tenor flow;
Who prey on words, and all their flowerets cull,Coldly correct, and regularly dull.
* By taste, is here meant the modern affectation of it.
Why sleep the sons of Genius now?
And thou,* bless'd bard! around whose sacred
Arise, and snatch the majesty of song From Dulness servile tribe, and Art's unhallow'd throng.
this ligh meatbild is
TO MEMORY, 1748. O MEMORY! celestial maid!
Who glean'st the flowerets cropp'd by Time, And, suffering not a leaf to fade,
Preserv'st the blossoms of our prime; Bring, bring those moments to my mind When life was new and Lesbia kind.
#ke fond streng
And bring that garland to my sight
With which my favour'd crook she bound;
Which then my festive temples crown'd;
Where Isis rolls her silver tide, ,
That shines on Cherwell's verdant side, If so thou may'st those hours prolong, When polish'. Lycon join'd my song.
* Dr. Akenside.
The song it 'vails not to recite
But, sure, to soothe our youthful dreams, Those banks and streams appear'd more bright
Than other banks, than other streains;
When, all beneath the poplar bough,
I breath'd in verse one cordial vow, That nothing should my soul inspire But friendship warm and love entire. Dull to the sense of new delight,
On thee the drooping Muse attends,
On thy expressive power depends,
Which at Ambition's shrine I made;
Those anxious moments, ill repaid : Oh! from my breast that season rase, And bring my childhood in its place. Bring me the bells, the rattle bring,
And bring the hobby I bestrode, When, pleas'd, in many a sportive ring
Around the room I jovial rode; Ev'n let me bid my lyre adieu, And bring the whistle that I blew.
Then will I muse, and pensive say,
Why did not these enjoyments last ?
While innocence allow'd to waste !
O THOU, who glad'st the pensive soul,
Smit by thy rapture-beaming eye
Lo, startled at the heavenly ray,
II. *1. When first on childhood's eager gazo Life's varied landscape, stretch'd immense around, Starts out of night profound, Thy voice incites to tempt th' untrodden maze. Fond he surveys thy mild maternal face, His bashful eye still kindling as he views, And, while thy lenient arm supports his pace, With beating heart the upland path pursues ;