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Why words fo flowing, thoughts fo free,
Stop, or turn nonsense, at one glance of thee?
Thee, dreft in Fancy's airy beam,

Abfent I follow thro' th' extended Dream;
Now, now I feize, I clafp thy charms,

And now you burst (ah cruel!) from my arms;
And swiftly shoot along the Mall,
Or foftly glide by the Canal,
Now shown by Cynthia's filver

ray,

And now, on rolling waters fnatch'd away.

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LIBER IV.

O DE IX.

N'

E forte credas interitura, quae Longe fonantem natus ad Aufidum Non ante vulgatas per artes

Verba loquor focianda chordis

Non, fi priores Maeonius tenet
Sedes Homerus, Pindaricae latent
Ceaeque, et Alcaei minaces

Stefichorique graves Camenae: Nec, fi quid olim lufit Anacreon, Delevit aetas: fpirat adhuc amor, Vivuntque commiffi calores Aeoliae fidibus puellae.

Vixere fortes ante Agamemnona
Multi; fed omnes illacrymabiles

Urgentur ignotique longa

Nocte, carent quia vate facro.

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Part of the NINTH ODE

Of the FOURTH BOOK.

A FRAGMEN T.

EST

L' fhould think that verfe fhall die,

you

Which founds the Silver Thames along,

Taught on the wings of Truth to fly
Above the reach of vulgar fong;

Tho' daring Milton fits fublime,
In Spencer native Muses play;
Nor
yet
shall Waller yield to time,
Nor penfive Cowley's moral lay-

Sages and Chiefs long fince had birth

Ere Cæfar was, or Newton nam'd; Thofe rais'd new Empires o'er the Earth, And These, new Heav'ns and Systems fram'd.

Vain was the Chief's, the Sage's pride!

They had no Poet, and they dy'd.
In vain they schem'd, in vain they bled!
They had no Poet, and are dead.

MISCELLANIES.

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