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'Till letter'd Athens round the pole Made gentler constellations roll,

*

In the blue heavens the Lyre fhe ftrung,
And near the Maid the Balance hung.
VI.

Then, SPENCER, mount amid the band,
Where knights and kings promifcuous stand.
What though the hero's flame reprefs'd
Burns calmly in thy generous breast ;
Yet who more dauntless to oppose
In doubtful days our home-bred foes?
Who rais'd his country's wealth fo high,
Or view'd with lefs defiring eye?

VII.

The fage who large of foul furveys
The globe, and all its empires weighs,
Watchful the various climes to guide,
Which feas, and tongues, and faiths divide,
A nobler name in Windfor's fhrine
Shall leave, if right the Muse divine,
Than fprung of old, abhorr'd and vain,
From ravag'd realms and myriads flain.
VIII.

Why praise we, prodigal of fame,
The rage that fets the world on flame ?
My guiltless Mufe his brow fhall bind
Whose godlike bounty spares mankind;

Names of Conftellations.

For

For thofe, whom blody garlands crown,
The brafs may breathe, the marble frown;
To him, through every refcu'd land,
Ten thousand living trophies ftand.

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W

HERE Kenfington high o'er the neighb'ring lands, 'Midft greens and fweets, and regal fabrick stands, And sees each spring, luxuriant in her bowers, A fnow of bloffoms, and a wild of flowers, The dames of Britain oft in crowds repair To groves and lawns, and unpolluted air. Here, while the town in damps and darkness lies, They breathe in fun-fhine, and fee azure skies; Each walk, with robes of various dies bespread, Seems from afar a moving tulip-bed, Where rich brocades and gloffy damasks glow, And chints, the rival of the show'ry bow.

Here England's Daughter, darling of the land, Sometimes, furrounded with her virgin band, Gleams through the fhades. She, tow'ring o'er the reft, Stands fairest of the fairer kind confefs'd,

Form'd

Form'd to gain hearts, that Brunswick's caufe deny'd, And charm a people to her father's fide.

Long have these groves to royal guests been known,
Nor Naffau first prefer'd them to a throne,
Ere Norman banners wav'd in British air;
Ere lordly Hubba with the golden hair
Pour'd in his Danes; ere elder Julius came ;
Or Dardan Brutus gave our isle a name ;
A prince of Albion's lineage grac'd the wood,
The scene of wars, and ftain'd with lovers' blood.
You, who through gazing crowds, your captive throng,
Throw pangs and paffions, as you move along,
Turn on the left, ye fair, your radiant eyes,

Where all un-levell'd the gay garden lies:
If generous anguish for another's pains

Ere heav'd your hearts, or fhiver'd through your veins,
Look down attentive on the pleafing dale,

And listen to my melancholy tale.

That hollow space, where now in living rows,
Line above line the yew's fad verdure grows,
Was, ere the planter's hand its beauty gave,
A common pit, a rude unfashion'd cave;
The landskip now fo fweet we well may praise,
But far, far fweeter in its ancient days,
Far fweeter was it, when its peopled ground

With fairy domes and dazzling tow'rs were crown'd.
Where in the midft thofe verdant pillars fpring,

Rofe the proud palace of the Elfin king;

For

For every hedge of vegetable green,

In happier years a crowded street was feen,
Nor all thofe leaves, that now the profpect grace,
Could match the numbers of its pigmy race.
What urg'd this mighty empire to its fate,
A tale of woe and wonder I relate.

When Albion rul'd the land, whofe lineage came
From Neptune mingling with a mortal dame,
Their midnight pranks the sprightly fairies play'd
On ev'ry hill, and danc'd in ev'ry fhade.
But, foes to fun-fhine, moft they took delight
In dells and dales conceal'd from human fight:
There hew'd their houses in the arching rock;
Or fcoop'd the bofom of the blasted oak;
Or heard, o'erfhadow'd by fome fhelving hill,
The distant murmurs of the falling rill
They, rich in pilfer'd fpoils, indulg'd their mirth,
And pity'd the huge wretched fons of earth.
Even now, 'tis faid, the hinds o'erheard their strain,
And strive to view their airy forms in vain;
They to their cells at man's approach repair,
Like the fhy leveret, or the mother hare,
The whilst poor mortals ftartle at the found
Of unfeen footsteps on the haunted ground.
Amid this garden, then with woods o'ergrown,
Stood the lov'd feat of royal Oberon.

From every region to his palace gate
Came peers and princes of the fairy ftate,

Who

Who, rank'd in council round the facred shade,
Their monarch's will and great behests obey'd.
From Thame's fair banks, by lofty tow'rs adorn'd,
With loads of plunder oft his chiefs return'd:
Hence in proud robes, and colours bright and gay,
Shone every knight and every lovely fay.
Whoe'er on Powell's dazzling stage display'd
Hath fam'd king Pepin and his court furvey'd,
May guess, if old by modern things we trace,
The pomp and fplendor of the fairy race.

By magic fenc'd, by fpells encompass'd round,
No mortal touch'd this interdicted ground;
No mortal enter'd, thofe alone who came
Stolen from the couch of fome terreftrial dame:
For oft of babes they robb'd the matron's bed,
And left fome fickly changeling in their stead.

It chanc'd a youth of Albion's royal blood
Was fofter'd here, the wonder of the wood; .
Milkah, for wiles above her
peers renown'd,
Deep-fkill'd in charms and many a mystic found,
As through the regal dome fhe fought for prey,
Obferv'd the infant Albion where he lay
In mantles broider'd o'er with gorgeous pride,
And stole him from the fleeping mother's fide.

Who now but Milkah triumphs in her mind!
Ah wretched nymph, to future evils blind!
The time fhall come when thou shalt dearly pay
The theft, hard-hearted! of that guilty day :

Thou

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