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E diftant 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 ftately brow

Of WINDSOR's heights th' expanfe below


King HENRY the Sixth, Founder of the College.

Of grove, of lawn, of mead furvey,
Whofe turf, whofe fhade, whofe flow'rs among
Wanders the hoary Thames along

His filver-winding way.

Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade,
Ah fields belov❜d in vain,

Where once my careless childhood stray'd,

A ftranger yet to pain?

I feel the gales, that from you blow,

A momentary blifs beftow,

As waving fresh their gladfome wing,
My weary foul they seem to footh,
And, redolent of joy and youth,

To breathe a fecond spring.

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And bees their honey redolent of spring.
Dryden's Fable on the Pythag. Syftem.

Say, Father THAMES, for thou haft feen

Full many a fprightly 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 chafe the rolling circle's fpeed,
Or urge the flying ball?

While fome, on earnest business bent,
Their murm'ring labours ply
?Gainft 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 fhed,

The funshine of the breaft: Theirs buxom health, of rofy hue, Wild wit, invention ever new,

And lively chear of vigour born; The thoughtless day, the eafy night, The fpirits pure, the slumbers light, That fly th' approach of morn.


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