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ENCE! avaunt ! 'tis holy ground,
Comus and his midnight crew,
And dreaming Sloth, of pallid hue;
Nor, in the consecrated bowers,
CHORUS. Nor Envy base, nor creeping Gain, Dare the Muses walk to ftain; While bright-ey'd Science walks around, Hence ! ayaunt ! 'tis holy ground.
RECITATI V E. From yonder realms of empyrian day,
Bursts on my ear th' indignant lay! There fit 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 higher oft a glance from high
They fend of tender fympathy, To blefs the place, where on their op'ning
fogl First the genaine ardor stole; 'Twas Milton ftruck the deep-con'd shell, And as the choral warblings round him
ODE TO MUSIC.
Meek Newton's self bends from his state
sublime, And nods his hoary head, and listens to the
A I. R.
« That contemplation loves,
• I've trode your level lawn,
light • In cloisters dim, far from the haunts of
Folly, • With freedom by my side, and soft-ey'd
RECITATI V E.
With solemn steps and flow, [forth
Great Edward, with the lillies on his brow,
From haughty Gallia torn; And sad Chatillon, on ber bridal morn, That wept her bleeding love ; and princely
And Anjou's heroine ; and the paler rose, The rival of her crown and of her woes ;
And either Henry there, The murder'd faint, and the majestic lord
That broke the bonds of Rome. Their tears, their little triumphs o'er,
Their human paffions move no more, Save Charity, that glows beyond the comb.
Rich streams of regal bounty pour'd, And bade their awful fanes and turrets rise, To hail their Fitzroy's feftal morning come.
And thus they speak, in foft accord,
ODE TO MUSIC.)
What the bright reward of gain?
The venerable Margaret fee
To this thy kindred train and me;
A I R.
Not obvious, not obtrusive the ;