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Till down the eastern cliffs afar [war. Hyperion's march they spy, and glittering shafts of
In climes beyond the solar road,
Where shaggy forms o'er ice-built mountains roam, The Muse has broke the twilight-gloom
To cheer the shivering native's dull abode.
And oft, beneath the od'rous shade
Of Chili's boundless forests laid,
She deigns to hear the savage youth repeat
In loose numbers wildly sweet
Their feather-cinctur'd chief, and dusky loves.
Th' unconquerable Mind, and Freedom's holy
Woods, that wave o'er Delphi's steep,
Or where Mæander's amber waves
How do your tuneful Echoes languish,
Left their Parnassus for the Latian plains.
When Latium had the lofty spirit lost,
They sought, oh Albion! next, thy sea-encircled
Far from the sun and summer gale,
To him the mighty mother did unveil
"This pencil take' (she said) whose colours clear, Richly paint the vernal year :
Thine too these golden keys, immortal boy!
Of horror that, and thrilling Fears,
Or ope the sacred source of sympathetic tears.'
Nor second he,† that rode sublime Upon the seraph-wings of Ecstasy, The secrets of th' abyss to spy.
He pass'd the flaming bounds of place and time; The living throne, the sapphire-blaze,
Where angels tremble while they gaze,
He saw; but, blasted with excess of light,
Closed his eyes in endless night.
Behold, where Dryden's less presumptuous car
Wide o'er the fields of Glory bear
Two coursers of ethereal race,
With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long resound
Hark, his hands the lyre explore!
Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn.
O! lyre divine, what daring spirit
Yet shall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,
Beneath the good how far!-but far above the great.
ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.
YE distant spires, ye antique towers,
Of WINDSOR's heights th' expanse below
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
His silver-winding way:
*King Henry the Sixth, founder of the college.
Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!
Where once my careless childhood stray'd,
I feel the gales that from ye blow
As waving fresh their gladsome wing
To breathe a second spring.
Say, father THAMES, for thou hast seen
To chase the rolling circle's speed,
While some on earnest business bent
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
And unknown regions dare descry:
Still as they run they look behind,
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
And lively Cheer, of Vigour born;
Alas! regardless of their doom
No sense have they of ills to come,
Yet see, how all around 'em wait
The ministers of human fate,
And black Misfortune's baleful train! Ah, show them where in ambush stand, To seize their prey, the murd'rous band Ah, tell them they are men!
These shall the fury Passions tear,
And Shame that sculks behind;