The living throne, the sapphire blaze, Where angels tremble, while they gaze, He faw; but, blafted with excess of light, Clos'd his eyes in endless night.

Behold, where Dryden's lefs prefumptuous car,

Wide o'er the fields of glory bear

Two courfers of ethereal race,

With necks in thunder cloth'd, and long

refounding pace.

III. 3.

Hark, his hands the lyre explore!

Bright-eyed Fancy, hov'ring o'er,

Scatters from her pictur'd urn

Thoughts that breathe, and words that burn. But ah! 'tis heard no more→→→→

Oh! Lyre divine, what daring fpirit

Wakes thee row? tho' he inherit

Nor

A PINDARIC ODE.

Nor the pride, nor ample pinion,

That the Theban Eagle bear,

92

Sailing with fupreme dominion

Thro' the azure deep of air:

Yet oft before his infant eyes would run
Such forms as glitter in the Muse's ray,

With orient hues, unborrow'd of the fun:

Yet fhall he mount, and keep his distant way Beyond the limits of a vulgar fate,

Beneath the Good how far-but far above the

Great.

G

THE

ADVERTISEMENT.

The following Ode is founded on a Tradition current in Wales, that Edward the First, when he completed the conqueft of that country, ordered all the Bards that fell into his hands to be put to death,