And Truth, in sunny vest array'd,

By whose the Tarsel's eyes were made; And the shadowy tribes of Mind,

In braided dance their murmurs join'd,

And all the bright uncounted Powers,

Who feed on heaven's ambrosial flowers.

Where is the Bard, whose soul can now Its high presuming hopes avow?

Where he who thinks, with rapture blind,

This hallow'd work for him design'd?

High on some cliff, to heaven up-pil'd,
Of rude access, of prospect wild,
Where, tangled round the jealous steep,

Strange shades o'erbrow the vallies deep,

And holy Genii guard the rock,

Its glooms embrown, its springs unlock,

While on its rich ambitious head,

An Eden, like his own, lies spread,

I view that oak, the fancied glades among,

By which, as Milton lay, his evening ear,

From many a cloud that dropp'd ethereal dew,

Night spher'd in heaven its native strains could hear :

On which that ancient trump he reach'd was hung;

Thither oft his glory greeting,

From Waller's myrtle shades retreating,

With many a vow from Hope's aspiring tongue,.

My trembling feet his guiding steps pursue;

In vain-Such bliss to one alone,

Of all the sons of soul was known,

And Heaven, and Fancy, kindred powers,

Have now o'erturned th' inspiring bowers,

Or curtain'd close such scene from every future view.

ODE,

WRITTEN IN THE YEAR M DCC XLVI.

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest,

By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mold,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod,

Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By Fairy hands their knell is rung,

By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
There Honour comes, a pilgrim grey,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay,
And Freedom shall awhile repair,

To dwell a weeping hermit there!

ECA

LE

Oft with thy Bosom bare art found, Pleading for him the Youth who sinks to Grouns :

Published by Cadell & Davies, Strand, Sep 1797.