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130

Daily devours apace; and nothing fed,
But that two-handed engine at the door,
Stands ready to fmite once, and fmite no more.
Return, Alpheus, the dread voice is past
That fhrunk thy ftreams; return, Sicilian mufe,
And call the vales, and bid them hither caft
Their bells, and flourets of a thousand hues. 135
Ye valleys low, where the milde whispers use
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks,
On whose fresh lap the fwart ftar fparely looks,
Throw hither all your quaint enamel'd eyes,
That on the green turf fuck the honied showres,
And purple all the ground with vernal flowres; 141
Bring the rathe primrofe that forfaken dies,
The tufted crow-toe, and pale geflamine,
The white pink, and the panfie fret with jeat,
The glowing violet,

The mufk-rofe, and the well attir'd woodbine,
With cowflips wan that hang the penfive hed,
And
every flower that fad embroidery wears;

-Bid Amaranthus all his beauty shed,

And daffadillies fill their cups with tears,
To ftrow the laureat herfe where Lycid lies:
For fo to interpofe a little ease, .

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Let our frail thoughts dally with false furmife. Ay me! whilft thee the shores and founding feas Wash far away, whereere thy bones are hurl'd, Whether beyond the ftormy Hebrides,

156

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Where thou perhaps, under the whelming tide,
Vifit'ft the bottom of the monstrous world;
Or whether thou, to our moist vows deny'd,
Sleep'ft by the fable of Bellerus old,
Where the great vifion of the guarded mount
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold;
Look homeward, angel, now, and melt with ruth:
And, O ye dolphins, waft the haples youth.

Weep no more, woful fhepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas your forrow is not dead,

Sunk though he be beneath the watry floar;
So finks the day-ftar in the ocean bed,
And yet anon repairs his drooping head,

166

And tricks his beams, and with new spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning fky: 171 So Lycidas funk low, but mounted high,

Through the dear might of him that walk'd the

waves,

Where other groves, and other streams along,
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves,
And hears the unexpreffive nuptial fong,
In the bleft kingdoms meek of joy and love;
There entertain him all the faints above,
In folemn troops and sweet societies,

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That fing, and finging in their glory move, 180
And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes.
Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more;
Henceforth thou art the genius of the shore,

In thy large recompenfe, and fhalt be good
To all that wander in that perilous flood.

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Thus fang the uncouth fwain to th' oakes and rills, While the ftill morn went on with fandals gray, He touch'd the tender ftops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Dorick lay: And now the fun had ftretch'd out all the hills, And now was dropt into the western bay; At laft he rofe, and twitch'd his mantle blew : Tomorrow to fresh woods, and pastures new.

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SONNE T.

BY THE SAME.

O

Nightingale, that on yon bloomy spray Warbl'ft at eeve, when all the woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the lovers heart doft fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May, Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day,

First heard before the shallow cuccoo's bill Portend fuccefs in love; O, if Jove's will Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay,

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Now timely fing, ere the rude bird of hate Foretell my hopeles doom in fom grove ny: 10 As thou from yeer to yeer haft fung too late For my relief; yet hadft no reason why:

Whether the Mufe, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I ferve, and of their train am I.

MISCELLANEOUS THOUGHTS.

BY SAMUEL BUTLER.*

SHOULD Once the world refolve t'abolish

All that's ridiculous and foolish,

It would have nothing left to do,
T' apply in jeft or earnest to,

No bufinefs of importance, play,

5

Or ftate, to pass its time away.

Who doth not know with what fierce rage

Opinions, true or falfe, engage;

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