With giant-grafp fling back the folds of night, 145 And snatch the faithless fugitive to light.

So thro' the grove the impatient mother flies,.
Each funless glade, each fecret pathway tries;

Till the light leaves the truant-boy disclose,
Long on the wood-mofs ftretch'd in fweet repofe. 150

Nor yet to pleafing objects are confin'd

The filent feafts of the reflective mind.

Danger and death a dread delight inspire;

And the bald veteran glows with wonted fire, When, richly bronz'd by many a summer-fun, 155 He counts his fears, and tells what deeds were done.

Go, with old Thames, view Chelfea's glorious pile; And ask the shatter'd hero, whence his fmile?

Go, view the fplendid domes of Greenwich, go;

And own what raptures from Reflection flow. 160

Hail, nobleft ftructures imag'd in the wave!

A nation's grateful tribute to the brave.

Hail, bleft retreats from war and shipwreck, hail!
That oft arreft the wondering ftranger's fail.

Long have ye heard the narratives of age,
The battle's havoc, and the tempeft's rage;
Long have ye known Reflection's genial ray
Gild the calm close of Valour's various day.

165

Time's fombrous touches foon correct the piece, Mellow each tint, and bid each discord cease: 170 A fofter tone of light pervades the whole,

And breathes a pensive languor o'er the soul.

Haft thou thro' Eden's wild-wood vales pursued 18

Each mountain-fcene, magnificently rude;

To mark the fweet fimplicity of life,

175

Far from the din of Folly's idle ftrife:

Nor, with Attention's lifted eye, rever'd

That modest stone which pious PEMBROKE rear'd;

Which still records, beyond the pencil's power,

The filent forrows of a parting hour;

Still to the mufing pilgrim points the place,

Her fainted spirit most delights to trace?

180

Thus, with the manly glow of honeft pride, 19

O'er his dead fon old ORMOND nobly figh'd.

Thus, thro' the gloom of SHENSTONE's fairy grove, 185 MARIA's urn still breathes the voice of love.

E

As the ftern grandeur of a Gothic tower

Awes not fo deeply in its morning-hour,

As when the shades of Time ferenely fall

On

every

broken arch and ivied wall;

The tender images we love to trace,

Steal from each year a melancholy grace!'

And as the sparks of focial love expand,.

As the heart opens in a foreign land;

190

And with a brother's warmth, a brother's fmile, 195 The ftranger greets each native of his ifle;

So fcenes of life, when present and confeft,

Stamp but their bolder features on the breast;

Yet not an image, when remotely view'd,

However trivial, and however rude,

But wins the heart, and wakes the focial figh,

With every claim of clofe affinity!

200

But these pure joys the world can never know;

In gentler climes their filver currents flow.

Oft at the filent, shadowy close of day,

When the hufh'd grove has fung its parting lay;

205

When penfive Twilight, in her dusky car,

Slowly afcends to meet the evening-ftar;

Above, below, aërial murmurs fwell,

From hanging wood, brown heath, and bushy dell! 210

A thousand nameless rills, that fhun the light,