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That finging up to heaven-gate afcend,

Bear on your wings, and in your notes His praife.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk
The earth, and ftately tread, or lowly creep;
Witness if I be filent, morn or even,

To hill or valley, fountain or fresh fhade,
Made vocal by my fong, and taught His praise.
Hail, univerfal Lord! be bounteous ftill
To give us only good; and if the night
Have gather'd aught of evil, or conceal'd,
Difperfe it, as now light difpels the dark.


HENCE, loathed Melancholy!

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born,
In Stygian cave forlorn,

'Mongft horrid shapes, and fhrieks, and fights unholy. Find out fome uncouth cell,

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, And the night-raven fings;

There under ebon fhades, and low-brow'd rocks,

As ragged as thy locks,

In dark Cimmerian defert ever dwell.

But come, thou Goddess, fair and free,

In Heav'n yclep'd Euphrofyne,

And by men, heart-eafing Mirth,
Whom lovely Venus at a birth,

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To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore.

Or whether (as some fages fing)

The frolic wind that breathes the fpring,

Zephyr, with Aurora playing,
As he met her once a maying,
There on beds of violets blue,

And fresh-blown rofes wath'd in dew,
Fill'd her with thee, a daughter fair,
So buxom, blithe, and debonair.
Hafte thee, nymph, and bring with thee
Jeft and youthful Jolity,

Quips, and Cranks, and wanton Wiles,
Nods, and Becks, and wreathed Smiles,
Such as hang on Hebe's cheek,
And love to live in dimple fleek;
Sport, that wrinkled Care derides,
And Laughter, holding both his fides.
Come, and trip it, as you go,
On the light fantastic toe;

And in thy right hand lead with thee
The mountain nymph, fweet Liberty;
And if I give thee honour due,
Mirth, admit me of thy crew,

To live with her, and live with thee,
In unreproved pleasures free ;
To hear the lark begin his flight,
And finging startle the dull night,
From his watch-tow'r in the fkies,
Till the dappled dawn doth rise;
Then to come in spite of forrow,
And at my window bid good-morrow,
Through the fweet-briar, or the vine,
Or the twisted cglantine:

While the cock, with lively din

Scatters the rear of darkness thin,

And to the ftack, or the barn-door,
Stoutly ftruts his dames before :

Oft lift'ning how the hounds and horn
Cheerly roufe the slumb'ring morn,
From the fide of fome hoar hill,
Through the high wood echoing thrill:
Sometime walking not unfeen,

By hedge-row elms, on hillocks green,
Right against the eastern gate,

Where the great fun begins his ftate,
Rob'd in flames, and amber light,
The clouds in thoufand liveries dight;
While the ploughman near at hand
Whiftles o'er the furrow'd land,
And the milk-maid fingeth blithe,
And the mower whets his fithe,
And ev'ry fhepherd tells his tale
Under the hawthorn in the dale.

Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures
Whilft the landscape round it meafures;
Ruffet lawns, and fallows gray,

Where the nibbling flocks do stray,
Mountains, on whose barren breaft
The lab'ring clouds do often reft,
Meadows trim with daifies pied,
Shallow brooks, and rivers wide :
Tow'rs and battlements it fees,
Bofom'd high in tufted trees,
Where perhaps fome beauty lies,
The Cynofure of. neighb'ring eyes.
Hard by a cottage chimney fmokes,
From betwixt two aged oaks,

Where Corydon and Thyrfis met,
Are at their favoury dinner fet
Of herbs and other country meffes,
Which the neat-handed Phillis dreffes,
And then in hafte her bow'r the leaves,
With Theftylis to bind the fheaves;
Or, if the earlier season lead,
To the tann'd hay-cock in the mead.
Sometimes with fecure delight
The upland hamlets will invite,
When the merry bells ring round,
And the jocund rebecs found

To many a youth and many a maid,
Dancing in the chequer'd shade;

And young and old come forth to play
On a funshine holy-day,

Till the live-long day-light fail;
Then to the fpicy nut-brown ale,
With ftories told of many a feat,
Hów fairy Mab the junkets eat;
She was pinch'd and pull'd, fhe faid;
And he by frier's lanthorn led;
Tells how the drudging goblin sweat,
To earn his cream-bowl duly fet,
When in one night, ere glimpse of morn,
His fhadowy flail hath thresh'd the corn,
That ten day-lab'rers could not end;

Then lies him down the lubbar fiend,
And ftret h'd out all the chimney's length,
Balks at the fire his hairy ftrength,
And crop-full out of doors he flings,

Ere the first cock his matin rings.

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep,
By whifp'ring winds foon lull'd afleep.
Towered cities please us then,

And the bufy hum of men,

Where throngs of knights and barons bold
weeds of peace high triumphs hold,
With ftore of ladies, whose bright eyes
Rain influence, and judge the prize
Of wit, or arms, while both contend
To win her grace whom all commend.
There let Hymen oft appear

In faffron robe with taper clear,
And Pomp, and Feaft, and Revelry,
With mask and antique pageantry;
Such fights as youthful poets dream
On fammer eves by haunted ftream.
Then to the well-trod ftage anon,
If Johnfon's learned fock be on,
Or sweetest Shakspeare, Fancy's child,
Warble his native wood-notes wild.
And ever against eating cares,
Lap me in foft Lydian airs,
Married to immortal verse,

Such as the meeting foul may pierce,
In notes, with many a winding bout
Of linked sweetnefs long drawn out,
With wanton heed, and giddy cunning,
The melting voice through mazes running;
Untwisting all the chains that tie

The hidden foul of harmony;

That Orpheus' felf may heave his head

From golden fluinber on a bed

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