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Ah Fear! ah frantic Fear !
· I see, I see thee near.
I know thy hurried step; thy haggard eye!
Like thee I start; like thee disorder'd fly.
For, lo, what monsters in thy train appear !
Danger, whose limbs of giant mould
What mortal eye can fix'd behold ?
Who stalks his round, an hideous form,
Howling amidst the midnight storm ;
Or throws him on the ridgy steep
Of some loose hanging rock to sleep:
And with him thousand phantoms join'd,
Who prompt to deeds accurs'd the mind :
And those, the fiends, who, near allied,
O’er Nature's wounds, and wrecks preside;
Whilst Vengeance, in the lurid air,
Lifts her red arm, expos’d and bare:
On whom that raving brood of Fate,
Who lap the blood of Sorrow, wait :
Who, Fear, this ghastly train can see,
And look not madly wild, like thee !
Thou who such weary lengths hast past,
Where wilt thou rest, mad Nymph, at last !
Say, wilt thou shroud in haunted cell,
Where gloomy Rape and Murder dwell ?

Or, in some hollow'd seat

'Gainst which the big waves beat,
Hear drowning seamen's cries,in tempests brought?
Dark power, with shuddering, meek, submitted
Be mine, to read the visions old

(thought,
Which thy awakeping bards have told :
And, lest thou meet my blasted view,
Hold each strange tale devoutly true;

Ne'er be I found, by thee o'eraw'd,
In that thrice-hallow'd eve, abroad,
When ghosts, as cottage-maids believe,
Their pebbled beds permitted leave;
And goblins haunt, from fire, or fen,
Or mine, or flood, the walks of men !
O thou, whose spirit most possest
The sacred seat of Shakspeare's breast !
By all that from thy prophet broke,
In thy divine emotions spoke';
Hither again thy fury deal,
Teach me but once like him to feel :
His cypress wreath my meed decree,
And I, O Fear, will dwell with thee! Coliins.

THE PASSIONS.
WHEN Music, heavenly maid! was young,
While yet in early Greece she sung,
The passions oft, to hear her shell,
Throng'd around her magic cell,
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possess'd beyond the Muse's painting;
By turns they felt the glowing mind
Disturb’d, delighted, rais'd, refin’d;
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fir’d,
Fild with fury, rapt, inspir'di,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatch'd her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each (for Madness ruld the hour)
Would prove his own expressive power.

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First Fear his hand, its skill to try,

Amid the chords bewilder'd laid, And back recoild, he knew not wby,

Even at the sound himself had made.

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Next Anger rush'd ; his eyes, on fire,

In lightnings own’d his secret stings: In one rude clash he struck the lyre,

And swept with hurried hand the strings. With woful measures wan Despair-

Low, sullen sounds his grief beguild; A solemn, strange, and mingled air ;

'Twas sad by fits, by starts 'twas wild. But thou, O Hope, with eyes so fair,

What was thy delighted measure ? Still it whisper'd promis'd pleasure,

And bade the lovely scenes at distance hail : Still would her touch the strain prolong:

And from the rocks, the woods, the vale, She call'd on Echo still, through all her song;

And, where her sweetest theme she chose,

A soft responsive voice was heard at every close; And Hope, enchanted, smil'd, and wav'd her golden

hair.
And longer had she sung ;-but, with a frown,

Revenge impatient rose :
He threw his blood-stain'd sword in thunder down;

And, with a withering look,
The war-denouncing trumpet took,
And blew a blast so loud and dread,
Were ne'er prophetic sounds so full of wo!

And, ever and anon, he beat

The doubling drum, with furious heat. And, though sometimes, each dreary pause beDejected Pity, at his side,

[tween, Her soul-subduing voice applied, Yet still he kept his wild unalter'd mien, While each strain'd ball of sight seem bursting

from his head.

Thy numbers, Jealousy, to nought were fix'd;

Sad proof of thy distressful state! Of differing themes the veering song was mix'd :

And now it courted Love, now raving callid on

Hate.

· With eyes up-rais'd, as one inspir'd,

Pale Melancholy sat retir'd;
And, from her wild sequester'd seat,
In notes by distance made more sweet,
Pour'd through the mellow horn her pensive soul:

And dashing soft from rocks around,

Bubbling runnels join'd the sound; Through glades and glooms the mingled measure

stole, Or, o'er some haunted stream, with fond delay, Round an holy calm diffusing,

Love of peace, and lonely musing, In hollow murmurs died away.

But 0 ! how alter'd was its sprightlier tone When Cheerfulness, a nymph of healthiest hue,

Her bow across her shoulder flung, Her buskins gemm'd with morning dew, Blew an inspiring air, that dale and thicket rung !

The hunter's call, to Faun and Dryad known.

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The oak-crown'd sisters, and their chaste-ey'd

Satyrs and sylvan boys were seen [queen,

Peeping from forth their alleys green : Brown Exercise rejoic'd to hear;

[spear. And Sport leap' up, and seiz'd his beechen

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Last came Joy's ecstatic trial:
He, with viny crown advancing,

First to the lively pipe his hand addrest;
But soon he saw the brisk awakening viol,

Whose sweet entrancing voice he lov'd the best : They would have thought, who heard the strain,

They saw, in Tempe's vale, her native maids,

Amidst the festal sounding shades,
To some unwearied minstrel dancing ;
While, as his flying fingers kiss'd the strings,

Love fram'd with Mirth a gay fantastic round:
Loose were her tresses seen, her zone unbound;
And he, amidst his frolic play,

As if he would the charming air repay,
Shook thousand odours from his dewy wings.

O Music ! sphere-descended maid,
Friend of Pleasure, Wisdom's aid !
Why, goddess! why, to us denied,
Lay'st thou thy ancient lyre aside ?
As in that lov'd Athenian bower,
You learn’d an all-commanding power,
Thy mimic soul, O Nymph endear'd,
Can well recall what then it heard.
Where is thy native simple heart,
Devote to Virtue, Fancy, Art?
Arise, as in that elder time,
Warm, energic, chaste, sublime !

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