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I I

ODE

ON A DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE.'

*Ανθρωπος, ἱκανὴ πρόφασις εἰς τὸ δυστυχεῖν.

MENANDER. Incert. Fragm. ver. 382, ed. Cler. p. 245.

E distant spires, ye antique towers,
That crown the wat'ry glade,
Where grateful Science ftill adores
Her Henry's' holy shade;

And ye, that from the ftately brow

Of Windfor's heights th' expanse below

Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey,

Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flowers among

Wanders the hoary Thames along

His filver-winding way :

Ah, happy hills! ah, pleasing shade!

Ah, fields beloved in vain!

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A ftranger yet to pain!

I feel the gales that from ye blow
A momentary bliss bestow,

As waving fresh their gladfome wing,
My weary foul they seem to foothe,
And, redolent of joy and youth,3
To breathe a second spring.

Say, father Thames, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Difporting on thy margent green,
The paths of pleasure trace;
Who foremost now delight to cleave,

With pliant arm, thy glaffy wave?

The captive linnet which enthral ? What idle progeny fucceed

To chase the rolling circle's speed,+

urge the flying ball ?

Or urge

While fome on earnest business bent

Their murm'ring labours ply

'Gainst graver hours that bring constraint

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 every wind,
And fnatch a fearful joy.

Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Lefs pleafing when poffeft;
The tear forgot as foon as shed,
The funshine of the breast:
Theirs buxom health, of rofy hue,
Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively cheer, of vigour born;
The thoughtless day, the easy night,
The spirits pure, the flumbers light,

That fly th' approach of morn.

Alas! regardless of their doom
The little victims play;

No fense have they of ills to come,

Nor care beyond to-day :

Yet fee, how all around 'em wait

The minifters of human fate,

And black Misfortune's baleful train !

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

These shall the fury Paffions tear,
The vultures of the mind,
Difdainful Anger, pallid Fear,

And Shame that fculks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Or Jealoufy, with rankling tooth,

That inly gnaws the secret heart;
And Envy wan, and faded Care,
Grim-vifaged comfortless Despair,

And Sorrow's piercing dart.