Ye fpirits of the juft and good,
That, eager for the bleft abode,
To heav'nly manfions foar;
O! let your fongs his praise display,
'Till heav'n itself fhall melt away,
And time fhall be no more.
Praise him, ye meek and humble train,
Ye faints, whom his decrees ordain
The boundless blifs to fhare;
O praise him, 'till ye take your way
To regions of eternal day,
And reign for ever there.
Let us, what now impaffive ftand,
Aw'd by the tyrant's ftern command,
Amid the fiery blaze;
While thus we triumph in the flame,
Rife, and our Maker's love proclaim,
In hymns of endless praise.
FANCY, whofe delufions vain
Sport themselves with human brain;
Rival thou of Nature's pow'r,
Can'ft, from thy exhaustless store,
Bid a tide of forrow flow,
And whelm the foul in deepest woe:
Or in the twinkling of an eye,
Raise it to mirth and jollity.
Dreams and fhadows by thee ftand,
Taught to run at thy command,
And along the wanton air,
Flit like empty Goffimer.
Thee, black Melancholy of yore
To the fwift-wing'd Hermes bore:
From the mixture of thy line,
Different natures in thee join,
Which thou chusest to express
By the variance of thy drefs.
Now like thy fire thou lov'ft to feem
Light and gay with pinions trim,
Dipt in all the dyes that glow
In the bend of Iris' bow:
Now like thy mother drear and fad,
(All in mournful vestments clad,
Cyprefs weeds and fable ftole,)
Thou rusheft on th' affrighted soul.
Oft I feel thee coming on,
When the night hath reach'd her noon,
And darkness, partner of her reign,
Round the world hath bound her chain,
Then with meafur'd ftep and flow,
In the church-yard path I go,
And while my outward fenfes fleep,
Loft in contemplation deep,
Sudden I ftop, and turn my ear,
And lift'ning hear, or think I hear.
Firft a dead and fullen found
Walks along the holy ground;
Then thro' the gloom alternate break
Groans, and the fhrill fcreech-owl's fhrick.
Lo! the moon hath hid her head,
And the graves give up their dead :
By me pass the ghaftly crowds,
Wrapt in vifionary shrouds ;
Maids, who died with love forlorn,
Youths, who fell by maidens' scorn,
Helpless fires and matrons old
Slain for fordid thirst of gold,
And babes who owe their shorten'd date
To cruel ftep-dames ruthless hate;
Each their fev'ral errands go,
To haunt the wretch that wrought their woe:
From their fight the caitiff flies,
And his heart within him dies;
While a horror damp and chill
Thro' his frozen blood doth thrill,
Bears itself upon his head.
When the early breath of day
Hath made the fhadows flee away;
Still poffefs'd by thee I rove
Bofom'd in the shelt'ring grove,
There, with heart and lyre new ftrung,
Meditate the lofty fong.
And if thou my voice inspire,
And with wonted frenzy fire,
Aided by thee I build the rhyme
Such, as nor the flight of time,
Nor wafting flame, nor eating show'r,
Nor lightning's blaft can e'er devour.
Or if chance fome moral page
My attentive thoughts engage,
On I walk, with filent tread,
Under the thick-woven fhade,
While the thrush, unheeded by,
Tunes her artless minstrelsy.
Lift'ning to their facred lore,
I think on ages long past o'er,
When Truth and Virtue hand in hand
Walk'd upon the fmiling land.
Thence my eyes on Britain glance,
And, awaken'd from my trance,
While my bufy thoughts I rear,
Oft I wipe the falling tear.
When the night again defcends
And her shadowy cone extends,
O'er the fields I walk alone,
By the filence of the moon.
Hark! upon my left I hear
Wild mufick wand'ring in the air;
Led by the found I onward creep,
And thro' the neighb'ring hedge I peep;
There I fpy the Fairy band
Dancing on the level land,
Now with step alternate bound,
Join'd in one continu'd round,
Now their plighted hands unbind,
And fuch tangled mazes wind
As the quick eye can scarce pursue,
And wou'd have puzzled that fam'd clue,
Which led th' Athenian's unfkill'd feet Thro' the Labyrinth of Crete.
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