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VI. Old EDWARD's fons, unknown to yield, Shall crowd from Cressy's laurell’d field,
And gaze with fix'd delight ; Again for Britain's wrongs they feel, Again they snatch the gleamy steel,
And wish th’avenging fight.
To dry thy constant tear;
Wild war insulting near,
Her gentle promise keep :
And bid her shepherds weep.
By the Same.
By fairy hands their knell is rung,
There Honour comes, a Pilgrim grey,
J.F aught of oaten stop, or pastoral song, 1 May hope, chalte Eve, to footh thy modeft ear,
Like thy own folemn springs,
Thy springs, and dying gales,
With brede etherial wove, ... ,
Oe'rhang his wavy bed:
Or where the beetle winds
His small but fullen born,
Now teach me, mais compos’d,
Whose numbers stealing through thy dark’ning vale, v May not unseemly with its stillness suit, un
As musing Now, I hail w
Thy genial lov'd return ! ; ..
:) The fragrant Hours, and Elves ?
Who slept in flow’rs the day,',i,1 And many a Nymph who wreaths her brows with fedge, And sheds the freih'ning dew, and lovelier still,
The Pensive PLEASURES sweet ,
Prepare thy shadowy car.
Or up-land fallows grey
Reflect its last cool gleam. But when chill bluft'ring winds, or driving rain,?'? Forbid my willing feet, be mine the hut,
That from the mountain's side,
· Views wilds, and swelling floods,
Thy dewy fingers draw .....:
While Spring shall pour his show'rs, as oft he wont, And bathe thy breathing tresses, meekest Eve!,
While Summer loves to sport
Beneath thy ling’ring light;
Affrights thy shrinking train,
And rudely rends thy robes;
Thy gentleft influence own, . . .,
VERSES written on a BLANK LEAF, By Lord LANSDOWN, when he presented his
Works to the Queen, 1732.
A Mufe expiring, who with earliest voice, choice
Made kings and queens, and beauty's charms her Now on her death-bed, the last homage pays, O Queen, to thee ; accept her dying lays.