To thee yon Abbey dank, and lone, Yet fome there are, who, free from fear, Tho' midnight thunders fhook the pile; (As faintly flash the lightnings blue) Thin fhiv'ring Ghofts from yawning charnels throng, But fuch terrific charms as these, I ask not yet: My fober mind The fainter forms of Sadness please ; My forrows are of fofter kind. Thro' this ftill valley let me ftray, Wrapt in some strain of penfive GRAY: And, fcorning from the facred store To waste a note on Pride, or Power, Roves, when the glimmering twilight glooms, He too perchance (for well I know, His heart would melt with friendly woe) He too perchance, when these poor limbs are laid, Will heave one tuneful figh, and footh my hov'ring Shade. ODE. O D E. By Mr. GRAY. ΦΩΝΑΝΤΙΑ ΣΥΝΕΤΟΙΣΙ PINDAR, Olymp. II. I. 1. A WAKE, Æolian lyre, awake, And give to rapture all thy trembling strings. A thousand rills their mazy progress take: Now the rich stream of mufic winds along Deep, majeftic, fmooth and ftrong, Thro' verdant vales, and Ceres' golden reign: Now rolling down the steep amain, Headlong, impetuous, fee it pour : The rocks, and nodding groves rebellow to the roar. I. 2. Oh! Sovereign of the willing foul, Parent of sweet and folemn-breathing airs, Enchanting fhell! the fullen Cares, And frantic Paffions hear thy foft controul. On Thracia's hills the Lord of War Has curb'd the fury of his car, VOL. VI. X And And drop'd his thirsty lance at thy command. Of Jove, thy magic lulls the feather'd king The terror of his beak, and light'nings of his eye. With antic Sports, and blue-eyed Pleasures, Frisking light in frolic measures; Now pursuing, now retreating, To brisk notes in cadence beating Glance their many-twinkling feet. Slow melting ftrains their Queen's approach declare : With arms fublime, that float upon the air, O'er her warm cheek, and rifing bosom, move The bloom of young Defire, and purple light of Love. II. I. Man's feeble race what Ills await, Labour, and Penury, the racks of Pain, And Death, fad refuge from the ftorms of Fate The The fond complaint, my Song, difprove, Say, has he giv'n in vain the heav'nly Muse? Her Spectres wan, and Birds of boding cry, He gives to range the dreary fky: Till down the eastern cliffs afar Hyperion's march they spy, and glitt'ring shafts of war. In climes beyond the folar road, Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, To chear the shiv'ring Native's dull abode. And oft, beneath the od❜rous fhade Of Chili's boundless forefts laid, She deigns to hear the favage Youth repeat, In loofe numbers wildly sweet, Their feather-cinctured Chiefs, and dufky Loves. Her track, where'er the Goddefs roves, Glory purfue, and generous Shame, Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy flame. II. 3. Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep, Ifles, that crown th' Egæan deep, Where Where each old poetic Mountain Ev'ry shade and hallow'd Fountain Till the fad Nine in Greece's evil hour They fought, oh Albion! next, thy fea-encircled coaft. Far from the fun and fummer-gale, In thy green lap was Nature's Darling laid, Thine too these golden keys, immortal Boy! Of Horrour that, and thrilling Fears, Or ope the facred source of sympathetic Tears. III. 2. Nor fecond He, that rode fublime Upon the feraph-wings of Extafy, The fecrets of th' Abyfs to fpy. He pafs'd the flaming bounds of Place and Time: The |