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Of grove, of lawn, of mead survey,
Whose turf, whose shade, whose flowers among
Ah happy hills! ah pleasing shade!
Ah fields belov'd in vain,
Where once my careless childhood stray'd
A stranger yet to pain!
I feel the gales that from ye blow,
A momentary bliss bestow,
As waving fresh their gladsome wing,
And, redolent of joy and youth,
Say, Father THAMES, for thou hast seen
Full many a sprightly race
Disporting on thy margent green
The paths of pleasure trace,
While some on earnest business bent
Their murm'ring labours ply
'Gainst graver hours, that bring constraint
To sweeten liberty:
Some bold adventurers disdain
The limits of their little reign,
Gay hope is theirs by fancy fed,
Alas, regardless of their doom,
No sense have they of ills to come,
Yet see how all around 'em wait
And black Misfortune's baleful train!
These shall the fury Passions tear, The vultures of the mind,
Disdainful Anger, pallid Fear,
And Shame that sculks behind;
Or pining Love shall waste their youth,
Ambition this shall tempt to rise, Then whirl the wretch from high, To bitter Scorn a sacrifice,
And grinning infamy.
The stings of Falshood those shall try,
And moody Madness laughing wild
Amid severest woe.
Lo, in the vale of years beneath
The painful family of Death,
More hideous than their Queen:
This racks the joints, this fires the veins,
That every labouring sinew strains,
Lo, Poverty, to fill the band,
To each his suff'rings: all are men,
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
Yet ah! why should they know their fate?
And happiness too swiftly flies.
Thought would destroy their paradise.
Τὸν φρονεῖν Βροτοὺς ὁδύ-
ESCHYLUS, in Agamemnone.
DAUGHTER of Jove, relentless Power,
Thou Tamer of the human breast,
Bound in thy adamantine chain
The Proud are taught to taste of pain,
And purple Tyrants vainly groan
With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone.