A voice, as of the cherub-choir, Gales from blooming Eden bear;

And distant warblings lessen on my ear,

That lost in long futurity expire.

Fond impious man, think'st thou yon sanguine cloud, Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood,

And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me; with joy I see

The diff'rent doom our fates assign. Be thine despair, and sceptred care,

To triumph, and to die, are mine.”

He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.

66

ODE FOR MUSIC.

(Irregular.)

I. AIR.

HENCE, avaunt ('tis holy ground),
Comus, and his midnight-crew,

And Ignorance with looks profound,
And dreaming Sloth of pallid hue,

Mad Sedition's cry profane,

Servitude that hugs her chain,

Nor in these consecrated bowers

Let painted Flatt'ry hide her serpent-train in flowers.

CHORUS.

Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain,

Dare the Muse's walk to stain,

While bright-eyed Science watches round:

Hence, away, 't is holy ground!"

II. RECITATIVE.

From yonder realms of empyrean day
Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay :

There sit the sainted sage, the bard divine,
The few, whom genius gave to shine

Thro' every unborn age, and undiscover'd clime.
Rapt in celestial transport they :

Yet hither oft a glance from high

They send of tender sympathy

To bless the place, where on their opening soul
First the genuine ardour stole.

'Twas Milton struck the deep-toned shell,
And, as the choral warblings round him swell,
Meek Newton's self bends from his state sublime,
And nods his hoary head, and listens to the rhyme.

III. AIR.

"Ye brown o'er-arching groves,
That Contemplation loves,

Where willowy Camus lingers with delight!

Oft at the blush of dawn

I trod your level lawn,

Oft woo'd the gleam of Cynthia silver-bright

In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of Folly,

With Freedom by my side, and soft-eyed Melancholy.”