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ODE III.

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.

E diftant Spires! ye antique Tow'rs!

YE

That crown the watry glade

Where grateful Science ftill adores
Her Henry's holy shade;

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And ye that from the stately brow

Of Windfor's heights th' expanfe below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead, furvey,

Whose turf, whofe fhade, whofe flow'rs, among

Wanders the hoary Thames along

His filver-winding way:

Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!

Ah fields belov'd in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A ftranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye

A momentary blifs beftow,

blow

As waving fresh their gladsome wing
My weary foul they seem to footh,
And, redolent † of joy and youth,
To breathe a second spring.

Say, father Thames! for thou haft feen

Full many a sprightly race,

Difporting on thy margent green,

The paths of pleasure trace,

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King Henry VI. founder of the College.
And bees their honey redolent of fpring.

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Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. Syftem.

Who foremost now delight to cleave

With pliant arm thy glassy wave?

The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny fucceed

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To chafe the rolling circle's speed,

Or urge the flying ball?

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While fome, on earnest bus'nefs bent,

Their murm'ring labours ply

'Gainft graver hours, that bring constraint,

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To fweeten liberty;

Some bold adventurers difdain

The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare defcry:
Still as they run they look behind,
They hear a voice in ev'ry wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,
Lefs pleafing when poffeft;
The tear forgot as foon as fhed,
The funfhine of the breaft;
Theirs buxom health of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,
And lively cheer of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the eafy night,
The spirits pure, the flumbers light,
That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom,
The little victims play!

No fenfe have they of ills to come,
Nor care beyond to-day:

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Yet fee how all around 'em wait

The minifters of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train!

Ah! fhew them where in ambush stand,
To feize their prey, the murd'rous band!
Ah! tell them they are men.

Thefe fhall the fury Paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind;

Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

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And Shame that fculks behind;

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And hard Unkindness' alter'd eye,
That mocks the tear it forc'd to flow;
And keen Remorse, with blood defil'd,
And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid fevereft wo.

Lo! in the vale of years beneath

A grifly troop are seen,

* And Madness laughing in his ireful mood.

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Dryden's Fable of Palamon and Arcite,

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This racks the joints, this fires the veins,

That ev'ry lab'ring finew strains,

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Those in the deeper vitals rage;

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Yet ah! why fhould they know their fate,
Since forrow never comes too late,

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And happiness too swiftly flies?
Thought would destroy their paradife.
No more; where ignorance is blifs
'Tis folly to be wife.

ODE IV.

TO ADVERSITY.

DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r,

Thou tamer of the human breaft, Whofe iron fcourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain,

The proud are taught to tafte of pain,

And purple tyrants vainly groan

With pangs unfelt before, unpity'd and alone.

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When firft thy fire to fend on earth
Virtue, his darling child, defign'd,
To thee he gave the heav'nly birth,
And bade to form her infant mind;
Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore
With patience many a year fhe bore ;
What forrow was thou bad'ft her know,

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And from her own fhe learn'd to melt at others' wo.

Scar'd at thy frown terrific fly

Self-pleafing Folly's idle brood,

Wild Laughter, Noife, and thoughtless Joy,

And leave us leifure to be good.

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Light they difperfe; and with them go

The fummer friend, the flatt'ring foe;

By vain Profperity receiv'd,

To her they vow their truth, and are again believ’d.

Wisdom, in fable garb array'd,

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Immers d in rapt'rous thought profound,

And Melancholy, filent maid,

With leaden eye, that loves the ground,

Still on thy folemn steps attend;

Warm Charity, the gen❜ral friend,

With Juftice, to herself fevere,

And Pity, dropping foft the fadly-pleafing tear.

Oh! gently on thy fuppliant's head,

Dread goddefs! lay thy chaft'ning hand,

Not in thy Gorgon terrors clad,

Nor circled with the vengeful band:

(As by the impious thou art seen,)

With thund'ring voice and threat'ning mien,
D

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