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distant fpires, ye antique towers,

That crown the wat’ry glade,
Where grateful Science still adores

Her HENRY's holy Shade;
And ye, that from the stately brow
Of WINDSOR's heights th’ expanse below

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* King Henry the Sixth, Founder of the College.

Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose fhade, whose flow'rs among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His silver-winding way.

Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade,

Ah fields beloy'd in vain,
Where once my careless childhood ftray'd,

A stranger yet to pain?
I feel the gales, that from you blow,
A momentary bliss beftow,

As waving fresh their glad fome wing,
My weary soul they seem to footh,
And, * redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a second spring.


And bees their honey redolent of spring.

Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. System.

Say, Father THAMES, for thou haft feen

Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green

The paths of pleasure trace,
Who foremost now delight to cleave
With pliant arm thy glassy wave ?

The captive linnet which enthral ?
What idle progeny succeed
To chase the rolling circle's speed,

Or urge the flying ball?

While some, on earnest business bent,

Their murm'ring labours ply
Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint

To sweeten liberty :

Some Some bold adventurers disdain

The limits of their little reign,

And unknown regions dare desery : Still as they run, they look behind, They hear a voice in every wind,

And snatch a fearful joy.


Gay hope is theirs, by fancy fed,

Less pleasing when pofseft ; 'The tear forgot as soon as shed,

The sunshine of the breast :

Theirs buxom health, of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively chear of vigour born ; The thoughtless day, the eafy night, The spirits pure, the Numbers light,

That fly th' approach of morn.


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