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THE NYMPHS.

IN TWO PARTS.

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THE NYMPHS.

Dique petitorum, dixit, salvete locorum,

Tuque novos cælo terra datura Deos; Fluminaque, et Fontes, quibus utitur hospita tellus, Et Nemorum Divæ, Naïadumque chori.

Ovid.

PART 1.

SPIRIT, who waftest me where'er I will,
And seest, with finer eyes, what infants see,
Feeling all lovely truth
With the wise health of everlasting youth,
Beyond the motes of Bigotry's sick eye,
Or the blind feel of false Philosophy,--

O Spirit, O Muse of mine,
Frank, and quick-dimpled to all social glee,
And yet most sylvan of the earnest Nine,
Who on the fountain-shedding hill,
Leaning about among the clumpy bays
Look at the clear Apollo while he plays ;-
Take me, now, now, and let me stand
On some such lovely land,
Where I may feel me, as I please,
In dells among

the trees,
Or on some outward slope, with ruffling hair,
Be level with the air;
For a new smiling sense has shot down through me,
And from the clouds, like stars, bright eyes are

beckoning to me.

Arrived! Arrived! O shady spots of ground,
What calmness ye strike round,

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