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You dwell wherever roving fancy draws,

And love and song is all your pleasing care:

But we, vain slaves of interest and of pride,

Dare not be bless'd, lest envious tongues should blame: And hence, in vain, I languish for my bride!

O mourn with me, sweet bird, my hapless flame.

TO MYR A.

O thou, whose tender serious eyes
Expressive speak the mind I love;
The gentle azure of the skies,

The pensive shadows of the grove:
O mix their beauteous beams with mine,
And let us interchange our hearts;
Let all their sweetness on me shine;

Pour'd through my soul be all their darts.

Ah! 'tis too much! I cannot bear

At once so soft, so keen a ray:

In pity then, my lovely fair,

O turn those killing eyes away!

But what avails it to conceal

One charm, where nought but charms I see?

Their lustre then again reveal,

And let me, Myra, die of thee!

SONGS IN THE MASQUE OF "ALFRED."*

TO PEACE.

O peace! the fairest child of Heaven,
To whom the sylvan reign was given,

*The Masque of Alfred was the joint composition of Thomson and Mallet; hence the authorship of the following songs is some. what doubtful.

The vale, the fountain, and the grove,

With every softer scene of love:

Return, sweet Peace! and cheer the weeping swain! Return, with Ease and Pleasure in thy train.

TO ALFRED.

FIRST SPIRIT.

Hear, Alfred, father of the state,

Thy genius Heaven's high will declare!
What proves the hero truly great,
Is never, never to despair:
Is never to despair.

SECOND SPIRIT.

Thy hope awake, thy heart expand,
With all its vigour, all its fires.
Arise! and save a sinking land!

Thy country calls, and Heaven inspires.

BOTH SPIRITS.

Earth calls, and Heaven inspires.

"SWEET VALLEY, SAY."

Sweet valley, say, where, pensive lying,
For me, our children, England, sighing,
The best of mortals leans his head.
Ye fountains, dimpled by my sorrow,
Ye brooks that my complainings borrow,
O lead me to his lonely bed:

Or if my lover,

Deep woods, you cover,

Ah whisper where your shadows o'er him spread.

"Tis not the loss of pomp and pleasure, Of empire or of tinsel treasure,

That drops this tear, that swells this groan:
No; from a nobler cause proceeding,
A heart with love and fondness bleeding,

I breathe my sadly pleasing moan,
With other anguish,

I scorn to languish,

For love will feel no sorrows but his own.

"FROM THOSE ETERNAL REGIONS."

From those eternal regions bright,
Where suns, that never set in night,
Diffuse the golden day:
Where Spring, unfading, pours around,
O'er all the dew-impearl'd ground,
Her thousand colours gay:

O whether on the fountain's flowery side,
Whence living waters glide,

Or in the fragrant grove,

Whose shade embosoms peace and love,
New pleasures all our hours employ,
And ravish every sense with every joy!
Great heirs of empire! yet unborn,
Who shall this island late adorn;
A monarch's drooping thought to cheer,
Appear! appear! appear!

CONTENTMENT.

If those who live in shepherd's bower,
Press not the rich and stately bed;
The new-mown hay and breathing flower
A softer couch beneath them spread.

If those who sit at shepherd's board, Soothe not their taste by wanton art; They take what Nature's gift afford,

And take it with a cheerful heart.

If those who drain the shepherd's bowl,

No high and sparkling wines can boast; With wholesome cups they cheer the soul, And crown them with the village toast. If those who join in shepherd's sport, Gay dancing on the daisied ground, Have not the splendour of a court; Yet love adorns the merry round.

RULE, BRITANNIA!

WITH VARIATIONS.

When Britain first, at Heaven's command,
Arose from out the azure main,
This was the charter of the land,
And guardian angels sung this strain:
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

The nations not so bless'd as thee

Must, in their turns, to tyrants fall;
While thou shalt flourish great and free,
The dread and envy of them all.
"Rule," &c.

Still more majestic shalt thou rise,

More dreadful from each foreign stroke;
As the loud blast that tears the skies
Serves but to root thy native oak.
"Rule," &c.

Thee haughty tyrants ne'er shall tame:
All their attempts to bend thee down

Will but arouse thy generous flame,
But work their wo, and thy renown.
"Rule," &c.

To thee belongs the rural reign;

Thy cities shall with commerce shine:
All thine shall be the subject main:
And every shore it circles thine.
"Rule," &c.

The Muses, still with freedom found,
Shall to thy happy coast repair:

Bless'd isle! with matchless beauty crown'd,
And manly hearts to guard the fair:
"Rule, Britannia, rule the waves;
Britons never will be slaves."

PROLOGUE TO TANCRED AND SIGISMUNDA.

Bold is the man! who, in this nicer age,
Presumes to tread the chaste corrected stage.
Now, with gay tinsel arts, we can no more
Conceal the want of Nature's sterling ore.
Our spells are vanish'd, broke our magic wand,
That used to waft you over sea and land.
Before your light the fairy people fade,
The demons fly-the ghost itself is laid.
In vain of martial scenes the loud alarms,
The mighty prompter thundering out, to arms,
The playhouse posse clattering from afar,
The close-wedged battle, and the din of war.
Now, e'en the senate seldom we convene:
The yawning fathers nod behind the scene.
Your taste rejects the glittering false sublime,
To sigh in metaphor, and die in rhyme.
High rant is tumbled from his gallery throne:
Description dreams-nay, similes are gone.

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